The Marquess Wins a Wife Quotes

“Instead Jo gave a queer little sob and dashed at her eyes with her balled fist. And a moment later he found himself shoved unceremoniously back in his chair as both children vied for space upon his lap. A thin, bony elbow jabbed him in the gut even as a small head tucked itself against his shoulder. A pair of arms threatened to strangle him, but there was the muffled sound of tears near his ear. As if on instinct, his arms had closed around the children perched precariously upon his lap, grabbing a handful of Jo’s dress and Georgie’s shirt to keep them from tumbling off onto the floor.
​ Bewildered, it took Luke a moment to realize he hadn’t upset them with his revelation. They were simply happy. And despite the discomfiting wetness soaking into his collar—a consequence, he thought, of Joanna’s thankfulness—even this unseemly display of emotion was very nearly…pleasant, in its way.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“I’m proposing an honest, civil arrangement”—something of a rarity in his world—“in which we both benefit. You’ll have the protection I can provide, and I’ll have a foil against any potential matrimonial traps and—a woman I want in my bed.”
​Yes. Her pulse jumped, fluttering beneath his fingertips; a victim of the same helpless passion as he. Her fingers tightened around the coin he’d placed within her palm, and she gave a tiny shake of her head as if to clear it, her short, dark curls bouncing over her shoulders.
​“Would it be so much of a sacrifice?” he asked. “I am offering you everything.”
​Everything but love—and perhaps it was that understanding that made her eyes glitter alarmingly, made her press her lips together to still the quivering of them.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“Luke sank back into his chair, defeated. Within moments, he came to his decision…and it surprised him that it hadn’t even been a difficult one to make. He was going to keep them. It would be more of a responsibility than he had wanted, perhaps, but—there was a part of him, somewhere, that reveled in the thought. That this close-knit family would belong to him. That the warmth they shared would follow him back to London, and perhaps, from time to time, he could avail himself of it.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“My lord,” Luke corrected idly.
​“I beg your pardon?”
​“As you damned well ought.” Luke felt his hands clenching, and jammed them beneath the desk lest the mad impulse to reach across it and strangle the very life out of the man overtake him. “I am the goddamned Marquess of Ashworth, and you’ll address me as such.” He didn’t even recognize the guttural snarl that had come from him.
​Talbot fell silent, shrinking from the vitriol in Luke’s voice. “Sir—my lord—”
​“What manner of father leaves his children to fend for themselves, returning only when he is short of funds to steal whatever is not nailed down?” Luke inquired in a wrathful hiss. “What sort of father steals his son’s future? His daughters’ security? What sort of father leaves a child—a child!—to care for his children in his absence!”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“Their lives had been falling apart in bits and pieces for years, and still they weathered on. What must it be like to have that sort of determination, that resolve? He had watched his life fall to pieces years ago, and he’d simply let the broken shards lay where they had fallen. He had never managed to shove aside his apathy enough to repair it—but this. This he could fix. It wouldn’t even be difficult.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Imogen demurred, fluttering her fingers. “You know I am not well in the mornings, Lizzie. Perhaps Georgie—”
​A stomp of a small foot beneath the table, coupled with the pugnacious tilt of the boy’s chin. “I did them yesterday!”
​Luke suppressed a shudder of distaste as he reached for a piece of toast, since it seemed that nobody was particularly inclined to serve him. “It seems to me,” he said, “that as Miss Imogen is well enough to have consumed quite a good deal of breakfast, there is no reason she ought not to be capable of washing the dishes.”
​A queer silence settled over the table. His opinion clearly had been neither necessary nor desired, but there was something satisfying about having tendered it anyway and setting the rest of them speechless. The crunch of his toast between his teeth was the only sound, harsh and loud in the oppressive silence. “I don’t suppose there’s any marmalade?”
​“Well, I never!” Imogen snarled, her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion going a mottled red with outrage.
​“If you truly had never,” Luke said smoothly, “perhaps you would not be in your present condition.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“Lizzie swallowed back the hard lump that had risen in her throat and turned her attention back toward the potatoes. The steady thump of the knife shearing through them, dicing the vegetables into cubes, soothed her battered composure. At least until Imogen swanned into the kitchen a few moments later, looking cross. But then, she had looked cross a great deal lately.
​“Oh, good,” Imogen said, heaving a sigh of relief. “You’ve already begun dinner. I’m starving.”
​“You could have started it yourself at any time,” Lizzie muttered, only a little shocked at the sullen, surly tone with which she had inflected her words.
​“Me?” Imogen said, aghast. “For God’s sake, Lizzie, I’m not a servant!” She tossed herself into a chair in a flair of the dramatics that Lizzie had come to expect of her. “Cooking, cleaning, mending—I should have ruined my hands!”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife

“It’s time for breakfast.”
​“You’ll have to make it yourself, Imogen.”
​“Myself?” Imogen blinked, the last of her sleepiness disappearing in the wake of her burgeoning disbelief. “But I can’t cook.”
​“It’s not difficult. Have Willie show you where the eggs are kept.”
― Aydra Richards, The Marquess Wins a Wife