The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes (London Highwaymen, #2)

by Cat Sebastian

P.S. I refuse to believe that you are a woman. There is something inexpressibly masculine about expecting to be believed.

“You have been busy,” he murmured, thinking of what a waste it was that in all the thousands of love poems written across the ages, nobody had ever thought to catalogue their beloved’s proficiency in crime.

What a trick it was to be able to say I beg your pardon in a way that meant fuck off and die, and to look serene and saintly while saying it.

It had been a long year, during which one of the few lessons she had learned was never to let anyone know that you needed anything. Need was only weakness by another name. And if someone could give you what you needed, they could just as easily take it away.

She was left to conclude that he simply liked talking to people. She was exhausted just watching him. She was exhausted just thinking about it.

he was one of those men who greeted all attempts at argument with vitriolic disagreement, simply on principle.

what were the pair of them, after all, but a collection of things gone wrong and then, slowly, made right again.