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“That’s all right, our father’s rich,” Daisy told him. “It’s the only thing we have going for us.”
Lmao
Marcus was a man who could break a horse, dance a quadrille, give a lecture on mathematical theory, bandage a wound, and fix a carriage wheel.
Livia and Aline had discovered that their older brother was never too busy to listen to them, and that no matter how insignificant their problems seemed, he was always ready to help. He was sympathetic, affectionate, and understanding—miraculous, really, when once realized that for most of his life, none of those qualities had ever been shown to him.
Crying
Unlike their father’s, Marcus’s alert dark eyes were often filled with glinting laughter, and he possessed a rare smile that flashed startling white in his swarthy face.
“Out with it, Marcus,” she commanded. “Or I shall make you suffer in unspeakable ways.” One of his brows lifted in a sardonic arch. “Since the Bowmans have already arrived, that threat is redundant.”
Bro lmao
As a supremely rational man, he did not believe in psychic premonitions, or any of the spiritualist nonsense that was becoming fashionable of late . . . but it did seem as if something in the atmosphere at Stony Cross Park had changed. The air was charged with expectant tension, like the vibrant calm before a storm. Marcus felt restless and impatient, and no amount of physical exertion seemed to pacify his growing disquiet.
“She’s not a lunatic,” Daisy told her sister. “She’s a New Yorker.”
As Annabelle and her husband, Simon Hunt, had been touring the locomotive works that they owned along with Lord Westcliff, a horrific explosion had nearly claimed their lives. Lord Westcliff had dashed into the building on a near-suicidal mission to save them, and had brought them both out alive.
My babies
“The reason I dislike him so, Daisy, is that he so obviously dislikes me. He considers himself to be my superior in every possible way; morally and socially and intellectually . . . oh, how I long for a way to set him back on his heels!”
“What was the wish?” Lillian demanded. “You never told me.” Daisy regarded her with a quizzical smile. “Isn’t it obvious, dear? I wished that Annabelle would marry someone who truly loved her.”
Her wish was more along the lines of, I hope that Lord Westcliff will meet a woman who will bring him to his knees.
Why any mention of the earl should affect her this way was a question for which there was no answer.
For there, leaning casually against the paddock fence, was none other than Marcus, Lord Westcliff.
She heard Arthur’s amused voice as he approached them. “Actually, miss—” “Never argue with a lady, Arthur,” the earl interrupted, having managed to regain his powers of speech, and the boy grinned at him. “Yes, milord.” “Are there ladies here?” Daisy asked cheerfully, coming from the field. “I don’t see any.”
LMAO
“I never lie,” he said, and she made an exasperated sound.
As he had watched her, the vivid enjoyment in her expression had been completely irresistible.
She was prettier than he had remembered, and so entertaining in her prickly stubbornness that he had been unable to resist the challenge she presented. And at the moment when he had stood behind her and adjusted her swing, and felt her body press along his front, he had been keenly aware of a primal urge to drag her to some private place, flip up her skirts, and—
Oh he's down bad
Suddenly he wanted to touch his tongue to her tender white skin, wanted to rip her dress down the front and drag his mouth from her throat down to her toes.
😩🙏🏼
Marcus shook his head helplessly. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, even as he knew what he was about to do. “My God. Sorry—” His mouth clamped over hers, and he began to kiss her as if his life depended on it.
Ohmygodddddd
“Westcliff looks for any excuse to demonstrate his superiority, doesn’t he?” “Was that what he was doing? It looked rather like he was trying to find an excuse to put his arms around you.”
The viscount almost never said what he meant, and if he ever felt a moment of compassion for anyone, he concealed it expertly. A lost soul, people sometimes called him, and it did seem likely that St. Vincent was beyond redemption.
Shaw smiled slightly. “My lord, since my ‘sexual congress’ is limited exclusively to my wife, who happens to be your sister, I believe I’ll have the good sense to keep my mouth shut.”
GIDEON I LOVE YOU
“You believe yourself to be in love with her.” “No,” Hunt countered in a relaxed manner, “I am in love with her.”
YOU TELL HIM SIMON
His gaze latched on to Lillian, who was dressed in a pale green gown, the bodice of which seemed to be held up only by a pair of little gold clips at the shoulders. Before he could control the direction of his wayward thoughts, he imagined detaching those clips and letting the green silk fall away from the creamy pale skin of her chest and shoulders—
Oh he's obsessed
Abstaining from dessert, Marcus drank a glass of port and entertained himself by stealing lightning-quick glances at Lillian Bowman.
“Do you feel anything?” she asked. Amused, Marcus shook his head. “May I ask what prompts your concern, Mrs. Hunt?” “Oh, it’s nothing. I just wondered if perhaps you might have noticed something different about me.” Marcus gave her a quick, impersonal inspection. “Your coiffure,” he guessed.
LMFAO
Hunt went still, his dark head inclined toward hers. Although Annabelle couldn’t see the arrested expression on her husband’s face, Marcus noticed it, and wondered why Hunt suddenly looked so uncomfortable and distracted. “Excuse us, Westcliff,” Hunt muttered, and pulled his wife away with unwarranted haste, forcing her to hurry to keep up with his ground-eating strides.
AHHH
As she took her leave of him, she could feel his gaze on her back, and she knew somehow that he watched her every second until she was out of sight.
😩
“I like the orangery. It’s my favorite place in the manor, actually.” “Mine also,” he said, approaching her slowly. “For many reasons, not the least of which is the privacy it offers.”
Soulmatism
Lillian interrupted with a scowl, thinking that it was undoubtedly the most annoying apology she had ever received.
Lmfao god fr
Lillian realized that he would not be making such a fuss if he was completely confident in his own ability to resist her.
“I want to feel you,” Westcliff muttered against her trembling lips, tugging in at the unrelenting obstruction of her padded basque. “I want to kiss you everywhere . . .”
DEAD
The perfume had worked rather too well.
It's only an aphrodisiac when it's on the person they loveeee
“It was that blasted perfume of yours—as soon as he caught one whiff of it, he went berserk.”
MY BABIES
“Good Lord, not Lord Westcliff.” Annabelle rubbed her weary eyes. “He couldn’t have cared less what I smelled like. It was my husband who went completely mad. After he caught the scent of that stuff, he dragged me up to our room and . . . well, suffice it to say, Mr. Hunt kept me awake all night. All night,” she repeated in sullen emphasis, and drank deeply of the tea.
I KNOW THATS RIGHT
“Lord Westcliff is hardly some fusty country gentleman,” Annabelle said. “He stays at his house in London quite often, and he’s invited everywhere. As for his superior manner—I suppose I can’t argue with that. Except to say that when one becomes better acquainted with him, and he lets his guard down, he can be very engaging.”
His smile changed, however, when he saw Annabelle, the cynicism transforming into a tenderness that made Daisy feel slightly wistful. It seemed as if something passed through the air between the couple, some intangible but intense connection that nothing could sever.
Crying
Standing beside his master, Brutus shifted and nuzzled the earl with rough affection, calming as Westcliff reached out to rub his nose.
Oh cute
“Milord made a point of telling me that if you were to ride, miss, you should be given Starlight,” the stable boy said, seeming impressed by the fact that Westcliff himself had condescended to choose a mount for her.
Ahhhh
She had to admit, the earl cut a dashing figure on a horse.
As her defiant gaze was imprisoned by his, she felt a searing charge of energy pass between them, an undirected physical impulse that made her want to strike him, hurt him, sink to the ground and roll with him in an outright brawl. No man had ever maddened her so.
😩🙏🏼
Hastily St. Vincent tucked Lillian behind him. “Westcliff, your guests are waiting. And although I’m certain they’re enjoying this fascinating drama, the horses are getting restless.”
Lmao he's so messy
Giving his arm to a fuming Lillian, he gazed down at her with a twinkle in his pale eyes. “It’s the dungeons for you,” he informed her. “And I intend to personally apply the thumbscrews.”
He's so funny I love him
He had made no conscious decision to approach her, but suddenly they were both on the ground, and her narrow shoulders were in his hands, and all he wanted to do was crush her in his arms in a paroxysm of relief, and kiss her, and then dismember her with his bare hands.
The fact that her safety meant so much to him was . . . not something that he wanted to think about.
“Damn it all to hell,” Marcus said beneath his breath, experiencing, for the first time in his life, the gnawing sting of jealousy.
She nearly yelped at the burst of searing fire in her leg, and then suddenly it eased, leaving her weak with relief.
No fr these leg cramps give me nightmares
He had been given the perfect opportunity to quash her pride—and he had chosen not to. She could not understand it.
😏
The earl’s smile became sardonic as he slid a speculative gaze over Lillian, as if considering whether the phrase “willful little angel” was an apt description.
Lmao
“Knowing of your penchant for trouble, Miss Bowman, I have concluded that it is safer to keep you in my sight, and within arm’s reach if possible.”
