A Lady Never Surrenders Quotes

“Love is taking chances when every rational part of you screams, ‘Don’t risk it.’ Because it’s only when your heart has been ripped open that you get a chance to find the one person capable of making it whole.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“You weren't always so...appreciative. When I said that men enjoyed my company, you said you found that hard to believe."

What?" he retorted with a scowl. "I never said any such thing."

"Yes, you did, the day that I asked you to investigate my suitors. I remember it clearly."

"Theres no way in hell I ever..." The conversation came back to him suddenly, and he shook his head. "You're remembering only part, sweeting. You said that men enjoyed your company and considered you easy to talk to. It was the last part I found hard to believe."

"Oh." She eyed him askance. "Why? You never seem to have trouble talking to me. Or rather, lecturing me."

"It's either lecture you or stop up your mouth with kisses," he said dryly. "Talking to you isn't easy, because every time I'm near you I burn to carry you off to some secluded spot and do any number of wicked things to you."

She blinked, then gazed at him with such softness that it made his chest hurt. "Then why don't you?"

-Celia and Jackson”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“You may find this hard to believe, Mr. Pinter," she went on defensively, "but some men enjoy my company. They consider me easy to talk to."

A ghost of a smile touched his handsome face. "You're right. I do find that hard to believe."

Arrogant wretch.

-Jackson and Celia”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“What I want,” he said softly, “is you. Just you.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“I can already see that you and she will be thick as thieves.”
“I do hope so.”
The dreamy look on her face made his heart catch in his throat. Oh God, what he wouldn’t give to keep the look there forever. But what if he couldn’t? What if-
“Oh no, you don’t,” Celia said. “I can already see Proud Pinter creeping in.”
He laughed. She knew him so well.
“Hand me your cravat,” she said, snapping her fingers.
“What?”
“I shall hold on to it, and if you try to deny me again, I’ll leave it in my bedclothes and make sure Minerva finds it.”
He chuckled. “No need for that.” Coming over to the bed, he bent to kiss her pouting mouth. “I swear I’ll be here as early as I can tomorrow, ready to do battle for you, my love.”
“You’d better,” she muttered. As he headed for the door, he heard her add,” I could still ring the bell, you know.”
He grinned at her. “Go ahead, my lady. I’ll stand right here while you throw the house into an uproar.”
That seemed to reassure her, for she made a face, then said, “Oh, go on with you.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Much as you joke about it, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find you here. My brothers are unpredictable, and Gran might just chase you around the manor with her cane.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Shall we, my lady?"
"You go on," she said coolly. "I need to speak to Mr. Pinter alone."
Glancing from her to Jackson, the duke nodded. "I'll expect a dance from you later, my dear," he said with a smile that rubbed Jackson raw.
"Of course." Her gaze locked with Jackson's. "I'd be delighted."
The minute the duke was gone, however, any "delight" she was feeling apparently vanished. "How dare you interfere! You should be upstairs searching my suitors' rooms or speaking to their servants or something useful instead of-"
"Do you realize what could have happened if I hadn't come along?" he snapped. "This room is private and secluded, with a nice hot stove keeping it cozy. All he would have had to do was lay you down on one of those damned benches that are everywhere and-"
He caught himself. But not quickly enough.
"And what?" she prodded. "I would have let him ravish me like the wanton I am?"
Confound it all. "I wasn't saying that."
"That's what it sounded like. Apparently you have some notion that I have no restraint, no ability to resist the attentions of a man I've known since childhood."
"You have no idea what a man can do to a woman!" Jackson shouted.
She paled. "It was just a kiss."
He strode up to her, driven by a madness he couldn't control. "That's how it begins. A man like him coaxes you into a kiss, then a caress, then..."
"I would never let it go beyond a kiss," she said in outrage. "What sort of woman do you think I am?"
He backed her toward the wall. "The sort who is too trusting to realize what some men are really after. You can't control every situation, my lady. Some men take what they want, and there isn't a damned thing you can do about it."
"I know more about the true nature of men than you think." She stopped short as she came up against the wall. "I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" He thrust his hands against the wall on either side of her, trapping her.
He thought of his mother and the heartbreak she'd endured because some nobleman had taken a fancy to her. A roiling sickness swamped him at the idea of Lady Celia ever suffering such a thing because she was too reckless and naïve to recognize that she was not invincible.
Bending in close, he lowered his voice. "You really believe you can stop any man who wants to hurt you, no matter how strong and determined he is?"
Challenge shone in her eyes. "Absolutely."
It was time someone made her realize he vulnerability. "Prove it," he growled. Then he brought his mouth down on hers.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Because you deserve a duke, damn it!” A troubled expression furrowed his brow. “You deserve a man who can give you the moon. I can’t. I can give you a decent home in a decent part of town with decent people, but you…” His voice grew choked. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. It destroys me to think of what you’ll have to give up to be with me.”
“I told you before-I don’t care!” she said hotly. “Why can’t you believe me?”
He hesitated a long moment. “The truth?”
“Always.”
“Because I can’t imagine why you’d want me when you have men of rank and riches at your fingertips.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “You grossly exaggerate my charms, but I can’t complain. It’s one of many things I adore about you-that you see a better version of me than I ever could.” Remembering the wonderful words he’d said last night when she’d been so self-conscious, she left the bed to walk up to him. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
His wary gaze locked with hers. “Proper Pinter. Proud Pinter.”
“Yes, but that’s just who you show to the world to protect yourself.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, reveling in the ragged breath that escaped him. “When you let down your guard, however, I see Jackson-who ferrets out the truth, no matter how hard. Who risks his own life to protect the weak. Who’d sacrifice anything to prevent me from having to sacrifice everything.”
Catching her hand, he halted its path. “You see a saint,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not a saint; I’m a man with needs and desires and a great many rough edges.”
“I like your rough edges,” she said with a soft smile. “If I’d really wanted a man of rank and riches, I probably would have married long ago. I always told myself I couldn’t marry because no one wanted me, but the truth was, I didn’t want any of them.” She fingered a lock of hair. “Apparently I was waiting for you, rough edges and all.”
His eyes turned hot with wanting. Drawing her hand to his lips, he kissed the palm so tenderly that her heart leapt into her throat. When he lifted his head, he said, “Then marry me, rough edges and all.”
She swallowed. “That’s what you say now, when we’re alone and you’re caught up in-“
He covered her mouth with his, kissing her so fervently that she turned into a puddle of mush. Blast him-he always did that, too, when they were alone; it was when they were with others that he reconsidered their being together forever. And he still had said nothing of live.
“That’s enough of that,” she warned, drawing back from him. “Until you make a proper proposal, before my family, you’re not sharing my bed.”
“Sweeting-“
“Don’t you ‘sweeting’ me, Jackson Pinter.” She edged away from him. “I want Proper Pinter back now.”
A mocking smile crossed his lips. “Sorry, love. I threw him out when I saw how he was mucking up my private life.”
Love?
No, she wouldn’t let that soften her. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t turn cold later. “You told Oliver you’d behave like a gentleman.”
“To hell with your brother.” He stalked her with clear intent.
Even as she darted behind a chair to avoid him, excitement tore through her. “Aren’t you still worried Gran will cut me off, and you’ll be saddled with a spoiled wife and not enough money to please her?”
“To hell with your grandmother, too. For that matter, to hell with the money.” He tossed the chair aside as if it were so much kindling; it clattered across the floor. “It’s you I want.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“To have a goddess like you in his arms and not appreciate it…”
He kissed her, unable to resist the lush, succulent mouth so close to his. He put everything he felt into it, so he could wipe out any hurt the Neds of the world had given her.
When he broke away, realizing he was treading dangerous ground, she said hoarsely, “You weren’t always so…appreciative. When I said that men enjoyed my company, you said you found that hard to believe.”
“What?” he retorted with a scowl. “I never said any such thing.”
“Yes, you did, the day that I asked you to investigate my suitors. I remember it clearly.”
“There’s no way in hell I ever…” The conversation came back to him suddenly, and he shook his head. “You’re remembering only part, sweeting. You said that men enjoyed your company and considered you easy to talk to. It was the last part I found hard to believe.”
“Oh.” She eyed him askance. “Why? You never seem to have trouble talking to me. Or rather, lecturing me.”
“It’s either lecture you or stop up your mouth with kisses,” he said dryly. “Talking to you isn’t easy, because every time I’m near you I burn to carry you off to some secluded spot and do any number of wicked things with you.”
She blinked, then gazed at him with such softness that at made his chest hurt. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because you’re a marquess’s daughter and my employer’s sister.”
“What does that signify? You’re an assistant magistrate and a famous Bow Street Runner-“
“And the bastard of nobody knows whom.”
“Which merely makes you a fitting companion for a hellion with a reputation for recklessness.”
The word companion resonated in his brain. What did she mean by it?
Then she pressed a kiss to his jaw, eroding his resistance and his reason, and he knew precisely what she meant.
He tried to set her off of him before he lost his mind entirely, but she looped her arms about his neck and wouldn’t let go. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“All the wicked things you want to do with me.”
Desire bolted in a fever through his vein. “My God, Celia-“
“I won’t believe a word you’ve said if you don’t.” Her gaze grew troubled. “I don’t think you know what you want. Yesterday you gave me such lovely kisses and caresses and then at the ball you acted like you’d never met me.”
“You were with your suitors,” he said hoarsely.
“You could have danced with me. You didn’t even ask me for one dance.”
Having her on his lap was rousing him to a painful hardness. “Because I knew if I did, I would want…I would need…”
She kissed a path down his throat, turning his blood to fire. “Show me,” she whispered, “Show me now what you want. What you need.”
“I refuse to ruin you,” he said, half as a caution to himself.
“You already have.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“But she doesn’t love him.”
Mrs. Plumtree cast him a searching glance. “How do you know?”
Because she spent the afternoon in my arms, letting me kiss and caress her, eagerly responding to my desire for her. Even hinting that she might feel the same. Until she tossed me from the room in a panic when she realized what I’ve known all along-that mere mortals like us can never cross the divide.
Still, that didn’t mean he had to stand by and watch her suffer in a marriage to the wrong man. “Because Lady Celia told me.”
He cursed himself even as he said the words. It was a betrayal-he’d promised to keep their conversations private-but he refused to watch her marry a man she clearly didn’t love. That would be as bad as marrying a man like him and losing her fortune.
“She’s trying to gain a husband so precipitously only because you’re forcing her to,” he went on. “If you’d just give her a chance-“
“She has had plenty of chances already.”
“Give her another.” Remembering Celia’s insecurity over being thought a tomboy, he added, “This little experiment is sure to have increased her confidence with men. If you allow her more time, I’m sure she could find a gentleman she could love, who would love her in turn.”
“Like you?” Mrs. Plumtree asked.
He gave a caustic laugh. “Your granddaughter isn’t fool enough to fall in love with a man of my rank. So you’re wasting your bribes and threats on me, madam.”
“And what about you? How do you feel about her?”
He’d had enough of this. “I suspect that whatever I say, you’ll believe what you wish.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Why would you think there was anything more between me and Mr. Pinter?"
Because you blush when his name is mentioned. Because he follows you with his eyes. Because I do not know what to make of him, and that worries me.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Love is when you endure pain for the sake of a beloved sister and husband, if that’s what it takes to nurture the child of their illicit union.”
Then she glanced at Gran. “Love is sometimes doing the wrong things because you’re at your wit’s end in knowing how to help your family.”
He drew her into his arms. “Love is taking chances when every rational part of you screams, ‘Don’t risk it.’ Because it’s only when your heart has been ripped open that you get a chance to find the one person capable of making it whole.”
With her own heart beating wildly, she smiled at him. “And you say you aren’t poetic.”
“Well,” he said, with a glint in his eye, “perhaps a few of us can be good at everything.”
And as he pulled her into a dark corner and kissed her with great sweetness, she acknowledged that at some things, he was very good indeed.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Speak of my future wife in anything but the most reverent of tones again, and it will be pistols at dawn.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Suppose he really is in love. What about her? She never has anything good to say about him.”

“Yet she blushes whenever he enters a room. And she stares at him a good deal. Or hadn’t you noticed that, either?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Gazing up at him, she softened her tone. “But I do not want her hurt, Isaac. I must be sure she is desired for herself and not her fortune. Her siblings had a chance of not gaining their inheritance unless the others married, so I always knew that their mates loved them, but she…” She shook her head. “I had to find a way to remove her fortune from the equation.”
“I still say you’re taking a big risk.” He glanced beyond her to where Celia was talking to the duke. “Do yo really think she’d be better off with Lyons?”
But she doesn’t love him…If you’d just give her a chance-
“I do not know,” Hetty said with a sigh. “I do not know anything anymore.”
“Then you shouldn’t meddle. Because there’s another outcome you haven’t considered. If you try to manipulate matters to your satisfaction, she may balk entirely. Then you’ll find yourself in the sticky position of having to choose between disinheriting them all or backing down on your ultimatum. Personally, I think you should have given up that nonsense long ago, but I know only too well how stubborn you can be when you’ve got the bit between your teeth.”
“Oh?” she said archly. “Have I been stubborn with you?”
He gazed down at her. “You haven’t agreed to marry me yet.”
Her heart flipped over in her chest. It was not the first time he had mentioned marriage, but she had refused to take him seriously.
Until now. It was clear he would not be put off any longer. He looked solemnly in earnest. “Isaac…”
“Are you worried that I am a fortune hunter?”
“Do not be absurd.”
“Because I’ve already told you that I’ll sign any marriage settlement you have your solicitor draw up. I don’t want your brewery or your vast fortune. I know it’s going to your grandchildren. I only want you.”
The tender words made her sigh like a foolish girl. “I realize that. But why not merely continue as we have been?”
His voice lowered. “Because I want to make you mine in every way.”
A sweet shiver swept along her spine. “We do not need to marry for that.”
“So all you want from me is an affair?”
“No! But-“
“I want more than that. I want to go to sleep with you in my arms and wake with you in my bed. I want the right to be with you whenever I please, night or day.” His tone deepened. “I love you, Hetty. And when a man loves a woman, he wants to spend his life with her.”
“But at our age, people will say-“
“Our age is an argument for marriage. We might not have much time left. Why not live it to the fullest, together, while we’re still in good health? Who cares about what people say? Life is too short to let other people dictate one’s choices.”
She leaned heavily on his arm as they reached the steps leading up to the dais at the front of the ballroom. He did have a point. She had been balking at marrying him because she was sure people would think her a silly old fool.
But then, she had always been out of step with everyone else. Why should this be any different? “I shall think about it,” she murmured as they headed to the center of the dais, where the family was gathering.
“I suppose I’ll have to settle for that. For now.” He cast her a heated glance. “But later this evening, once we have the chance to be alone, I shall try more effective methods to persuade you. Because I’m not giving up on this. I can be as stubborn as you, my dear.”
She bit back a smile. Thank God for that.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Only one thing had her balking: his cool kiss. Especially when compared to Mr. Pinter's hot ones.
Curse that man. No matter how much she told herself his kisses hadn't meant anything, her wounded pride wanted to believe otherwise. Her wounded pride insisted they'd been too passionate to be meant only as a lesson.
Her wounded pride was a blasted nuisance.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Well, she would marry a man who didn't need or want her fortune. Mr. Pinter didn't fall into that category.
And given how blank his expression became as his gaze met hers, she'd been right to be skeptical. he would never be interested in her in that way.
He confirmed it by saying, with his usual formality, "I doubt any man would consider your ladyship unacceptable as a wife."
Oh, when he turned all hoity-toity, she could just murder him. "Then we agree that the gentlemen in question would find me satisfactory," she said, matching his cold tone. "So I don't see why you assume they'd be unfaithful."
"Some men are unfaithful no matter how beautiful their wives are," Mr. Pinter growled.
He thought her beautiful?
There she went again, reading too much into his words. He was only making a point. "But you have no reason to believe that these gentleman would be. Unless there's some dark secret you already know about them that I do not?"
Glancing away, he muttered a curse under his breath. "No."
"Then here's your chance to find out the truth about their characters. Because I prefer facts to opinions. And I was under the impression that you do, too."
Take that, Mr. Pinter! Hoist by your own petard. The man always insisted on sticking to the facts.
And he was well aware that she'd caught him out, for he scowled, then crossed his arms over his chest. His rather impressive chest, from what she could tell beneath his black coat and plain buff waistcoat.
"I can't believe I'm the only person who would object to these gentlemen," he said. "What about your grandmother? Have you consulted her?"
She lifted her eyes heavenward. He was being surprisingly resistant to her plans. "I don't need to. Every time one of them asks to dance with me, she beams. She's forever urging me to smile at them or attempt flirtation. And if they so much as press my hand or take my for a stroll, she quizzes me with great glee on what was said and done."
"She's been letting you go out on private strolls with these scoundrels?" Mr. Pinter said in sheer outrage.
"They aren't scoundrels."
"I swear to God, you're a lamb among the wolves," he muttered.
That image of her, so unlike how she saw herself, made her laugh. "I've spent half my life in the company of my brothers. Every time Gabe went to shoot, I went with him. At every house party that involved his friends, I was urged to show off my abilities with a rifle. I think I know how to handle a man, Mr. Pinter."
His glittering gaze bored into her. "There's a vast difference between gamboling about in your brother's company with a group of his friends and letting a rakehell like Devonmont or a devilish foreigner like Basto stroll alone with you down some dark garden path."
A blush heated her cheeks. "I didn't mean strolls of that sort, sir. I meant daytime walks about our gardens and such, with servants in plain view. All perfectly innocent."
He snorted. "I doubt it will stay that way."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, why are you being so stubborn? You know I must marry. Why do you even care whom I choose?"
"I don't care," he protested. "I'm merely thinking of how much of my time will be wasted investigating suitors I already know are unacceptable."
She let out an exasperated breath. Of course. With him, it was always about money. Heaven forbid he should waste his time helping her.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Behind her, the two Sharpe sisters came out to cross the courtyard. He dragged in a heavy breath as the younger one caught his eye.
Masters approached to look out the window, too. "And there she comes, the most beautiful woman in the world."
"And the most maddening," Jackson muttered.
"Watch it, Pinter," Masters said in a voice tinged with amusement. "That's my wife you're talking about."
Jackson started. He hadn't been staring at Mrs. Masters. "I beg your pardon," he murmured, figuring he'd best not explain.
Masters would never accept that Lady Celia was to her sister as a gazelle was to a brood mare. The newly wedded barrister was blinded by love.
Jackson wasn't. Any fool could see that Lady Celia was the more arresting of the two. While Mrs. Masters had the lush charms of a dockside tart, Lady Celia was a Greek goddess-willowy and tall, small-breasted and long-limbed, with a fine lady's elegant brow, a doe's soft eyes...
And a vixen's temper. The damned female could flay the flesh from a man's bones with her sharp tongue.
She could also heat his blood with one unguarded smile.
God save him, it was a good thing her smile had never been bestowed on him. Otherwise, he might act on the fantasy that had plagued him from the day he'd met her-to shove her into some private closet where he could plunder her mouth with impunity. Where she would wrap those slender arms about his neck and let him have his way with her.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Someone else was approaching, and Jackson was none too happy about it. He hadn’t seen Devonmont since the house party and wouldn’t mind never seeing the man again, but since Devonmont was his new sister-in-law’s cousin, that was unlikely.
As the man neared them, Celia cast Jackson an assessing glance. “You do know he never meant a thing to me.”
“That makes me only slightly less inclined to smash his face in.”
“Jackson!” she said laughingly. “You would never do any such thing.”
“Try me.” He glanced at her. “Don’t let this sober façade fool you, sweeting. When it comes to you, I can be as jealous as the next man.”
“Well, you have no reason.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek and whisper, “You’re the only man I’ll ever love.”
He was still reveling in that remark when Devonmont reached them. “I take it this would not be a good time for me to kiss the bride?” he drawled.
Jackson glared at him.
“That’s what I thought,” Devonmont said, laughing. “But seriously, Pinter, you’re a very lucky man.”
“How well I know it,” Jackson said.
“And I say most sincerely that your wife is a very lucky woman as well.”
Jackson was taken aback. “Thank you, sir,” he managed.
After Devonmont nodded and walked away, Celia said, “Surely that softens you toward him a little.”
“Perhaps,” Jackson conceded. “Though it’s a good thing Lyons isn’t here. I don’t think I could be civil to both in one day.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“That’s a much better kiss than the one you gave her when you won the shooting match!”
“And a much better proposal of marriage than the one you gave her yesterday morning!” Minerva chimed in.
“Leave him be!” Celia chided as Jackson went red about the ears. “He saved my life twice, figured out who killed Mama and Papa, and taught Gran some humility. We can’t all be good at everything, you know.”
Amid the laughter, he kissed her again, but her family didn’t let that go on for long. It was cold outside, after all. Gran herded them inside to the great hall, where the servants had brought out refreshments. There, everyone had to take turns congratulating them and clamoring for all the usual details of how it had started and when it had become true love.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Aren’t you still worried Gran will cut me off, and you’ll be saddled with a spoiled wife and not enough money to please her?”
“To hell with your grandmother, too. For that matter, to hell with the money.” He tossed the chair aside as if it were so much kindling; it clattered across the floor. “It’s you I want.”
“Jackson!” she cried as he approached her. “Someone might hear you!”
“Good.” Catching her about the waist, he backed her toward the bed. “Then you’ll be well and truly compromised, and there will be no more question of our marrying.”
While she was still thrilling to the masterful way he’d decided to take charge, he tumbled her onto the bed, following her down to cover her body with his.
As she gaped at him, shocked to see her cautious love behave so delightfully incautious, he murmured, “Or better yet, they can find us here together in the morning and march us right to the church.”
Then he took her mouth with his.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“You’re the only person who doesn’t see the advantage in such a match.”
“That’s because I don’t believe in marriages of convenience. Given your family’s history, I’d think that you wouldn’t either.”
She colored. “And why do assume it would be such a thing? Is it so hard to believe that a man might genuinely care for me? That he might actually want to marry me for myself?”
“Why would anyone wish to marry the reckless Lady Celia, after all,” she went on in a choked voice, “if not for her fortune or to shore up his reputation?”
“I didn’t mean any such thing,” he said sharply.
But she’d worked herself up into a fine temper. “Of course you did. You kissed me last night only to make a point, and you couldn’t even bear to kiss me properly again today-“
“Now see here,” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “I didn’t kiss you ‘properly’ today because I was afraid if I did I might not stop.”
That seemed to draw her up short. “Wh-What?”
Sweet God, he shouldn’t have said that, but he couldn’t let her go on thinking she was some sort of pariah around men. “I knew that if I got his close, and I put my mouth on yours…”
But now he was this close. And she was staring up at him with that mix of bewilderment and hurt pride, and he couldn’t help himself. Not anymore.
He kissed her, to show her what she seemed blind to. That he wanted her. That even knowing it was wrong and could never work, he wanted to have her.
She tore her lips from his. “Mr. Pinter-“ she began in a whisper.
“Jackson,” he growled. “Let me hear you say my name.”
Backing away from him, she cast him a wounded expression. “Y-you don’t have to pretend-“
“I’m not pretending anything, damn it!”
Grabbing her by the sleeves, he dragged her close and kissed her again, with even more heat. How could she not see that he ached to take her? How could she not know what a temptation she was? Her lips intoxicated him, made him light-headed. Made him reckless enough to kiss her so impudently that any other woman of her rank would be insulted.
When she pulled away a second time, he expected her to slap him. But all she did was utter a feeble protest. “Please, Mr. Pinter-“
“Jackson,” he ordered in a low, unsteady voice, emboldened by the melting look in her eyes. “Say my Christian name.”
Her lush dark lashes lowered as a blush stained her cheeks. “Jackson…”
His breath caught in his throat at the intimacy of it, and fire exploded in his brain. She wasn’t pushing him away, so to hell with trying to be a gentleman.
He took her mouth savagely this time, plundering every part of its silky warmth as his blood pulsed high in his veins. She tasted of red wine and lemon cake, both tart and sweet at once. He wanted to eat her up. He wanted to take her, right here in this room.
So when she pulled out of his arms to back away, he walked after her.
She didn’t stop backing away, but neither did she turn tail and run. “Last night you claimed this wouldn’t happen again.”
“I know. And yet it has.” Like someone in an opium den, he’d been craving her for months. And how that he’d suddenly had a taste of the very thing he craved, he had to have more.
When she came up against the writing table, he caught her about the waist. She turned her head away before he could kiss her, so he settled for burying his face in her neck to nuzzle the tender throat he’d been coveting.
With a shiver, she slid her hands up his chest. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want you,” he admitted, damning himself. “Because I’ve always wanted you.”
Then he covered her mouth with his once more.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Then he happened to glance at the viscount, and his blood stilled. The viscount’s eyes followed Celia’s every move, and his finger kept stroking his goblet as if he wanted to stroke some part of her.
Jackson gritted his teeth. No way in hell was he letting that bloody foreigner-or Devonmont, or even the duke-stroke anything of hers. “Are we going to stand around all day discussing which guns are more effective at killing,” he snapped, “or are we actually going to kill something?”
Gabe exchanged a glance with his sister. “You’re right. ‘Prickly’ is the word.”
“Mr. Pinter is probably just eager to earn his kiss,” Stoneville put in. “And given how the numbers stand right now, he may very well do so.”
They all pivoted to look at his lordship.
Stoneville chuckled. “Devonmont has killed a pathetic eight brace of birds, Gabe a respectable fifteen, Basto an impressive seventeen and a half, Lyons an even more impressive nineteen, and Pinter an astonishing twenty brace. My sister is tied with him at twenty brace.”
“Good show, Pinter!” Gabe said amiably. “You must beat her so none of us have to pay for a blasted rifle.”
“Here now, Gabe,” the duke cut in irritably, “I have as much chance of beating her as Pinter does. I’m only behind by one brace.”
“I don’t’ care who beats her,” Gabe said. “Just make sure one of you does, in case I can’t catch up. She’ll pick the most expensive gun in Manton’s shop.”
“You’re such a pinchpenny, Gabe,” Celia teased as they tramped back over the field, headed toward the east end of the estate.
“That’s because need every guinea I have, in case you don’t marry.”
The lord might have meant the comment as a joke, but clearly Celia didn’t take it that way. When the blood drained from her face, Jackson felt a stab of sympathy. He could understand why she wanted to show her family that she could find a decent husband. But decent was the operative word.
“Oh, I daresay Lady Celia will be married sooner than you think,” the duke remarked. When he slid a knowing glance at Celia and she smiled faintly, Jackson felt his heart drop.
The duke seriously had his eye on her. And apparently she knew it.
Confound it all.
As they stopped, Jackson began loading his gun with quick, efficient movements. That blasted duke could look all he wanted, but he was not marrying Celia.
Nor even getting another chance to kiss her. Not if Jackson had anything to say about it.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Foreign, eh?" Hetty frowned. "Then I am glad Mr. Pinter is looking into his background. You have to be careful with foreigners."
"Right. I wouldn't want to rush into marriage with a stranger," Celia said tartly. "Oh, wait, yes, I would. My grandmother has dictated that I must."
Hetty stifled a smile. "Sarcasm does not become you, dear girl."
"Draconian ultimatums don't become you, Gran."
"Complain if you must, but I still mean to see you married by year's end.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“It’s wonderful,” he choked out. “Absolutely wonderful.” He smoothed his hand over her belly. “I can’t imagine anything better than having a child with you, my love. But are you sure?”
She relaxed. “As sure as anyone can be at this point. Your aunt and I think I may be nearly three months along, so…”
When she trailed off with a blush, he added up numbers in his head, then let out a laugh. “It probably happened that night in the cottage.”
“Or the night in my bedchamber.”
“Then it’s a good thing I came to my senses and gave you that ‘proper proposal’ you demanded. Or I’d be staring down the barrel of your percussion rifle just about now.”
“I doubt that. I would just have married the duke,” she teased.
He scowled. “Over my dead body.”
She laughed. “You know perfectly well you would have proposed long before I knew I was with child.”
“Ah, but would you have said yes? I thought you once told me that a lady never surrenders.”
“She doesn’t.” Eyes sparkling, she buried her fingers in his hair and drew his head down to hers. “Except where love is concerned. I’ve come to realize that in matters of love, a clever lady always surrenders.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“As you wish. But I felt several personal items here while I was a guest at the house party, so if you don’t mind, I’ll fetch those before I leave.” That would give him an excuse to find her room and make her listen.
“Very well.” As Jackson headed for the door, Stoneville called out, “Your room is in the west wing, isn’t it?”
Jackson halted to eye him warily. “Yes. Why?”
“You may not know that there’s a shortcut through the south wing.” The marguess stared steadily at him. The family resided in the south wing. “Indeed, I would love your opinion on a piece of art. I’m thinking of selling it, and you might know of a buyer. It’s a fine military painting by Goya hanging right next to Celia’s door, if you’d care to take a look on your way past.”
He couldn’t believe it-Stoneville was telling him how to find Celia’s room.
“Just remember,” Stoneville added, “if you should happen to run into anyone, explain that I wanted your opinion about some art.”
“I appreciate your faith in my judgment, my lord,” he said. “I will certainly take a look at that painting.”
Stoneville’s gaze hardened as he stood. “I trust that you’ll behave like a gentleman while you’re passing that way.”
He bit back a hot retort-his lordship was one to talk. But the fact that the man was helping him with Celia was a small miracle, and he wasn’t about to ignore that. “Yes. A perfect gentleman.”
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“We’ve known his family forever. He doesn’t seem to care about the scandal in ours, and he’s an excellent shot-“
“That would certainly be at the top of my list of requirements for a husband,” Minerva broke in, eyes twinkling. “’Must be able to hit a bull’s-eye at fifty paces.’”
“Fifty paces? Are you mad? It would have to be a hundred at least.”
Her sister burst into laughter. “Forgive me for not knowing what constitutes sufficient marksmanship for your prospective mate.” Her gaze grew calculating. “I heart that Jackson is a very good shot. Gabe said he beat everyone today, even you.”
“Don’t remind me,” Celia grumbled.
“Gabe also said he won a kiss from you.”
“Yes, and he gave me a peck on the forehead,” Celia said, still annoyed by that. “As if I were some…some little girl.”
“Perhaps he was just trying to be polite.”
Celia sighed. “Probably.
I didn’t kiss you “properly” today because I was afraid if I did I might not stop.
“The thing is…” Celia bit her lower lip and wondered just how much she should reveal to her sister. But she had to discuss this with someone, and she knew she could trust Minerva. Her sister had never betrayed a confidence. “That wasn’t the first time Jackson kissed me. Nor the last.”
Minerva nearly choked on her chocolate. “Good Lord, Celia, don’t say such things when I’m drinking something hot!” Carefully she set her cup on the bedside table. “He kissed you?” She seized Celia’s free hand. “More than once?”
Celia nodded.
Her sister cast her eyes heavenward. “And yet you’re debating whether to enter into a marriage of convenience with Lyons.” Then she looked alarmed. “You did want the man to kiss you, right?”
“Of course I wanted-“ She caught herself. “He didn’t force me, if that’s what you’re asking. But neither has Jackson…I mean, Mr. Pinter…offered me anything important.”
“He hasn’t mentioned marriage?”
“No.”
Concern crossed Minerva’s face. “And love? What of that?”
“That neither.” She set her own cup on the table, then dragged a blanket up to her chin. “He’s just kissed me. A lot.”
Minerva left the bed to pace in front of the fireplace. “With men, that’s how it starts sometimes. They desire a woman first. Love comes later.”
Unless they were drumming up desire for a woman for some other reason, the way Ned had. “Sometimes all they feel for a woman is desire,” Celia pointed out. “Sometimes love never enters into it. Like Papa with his females.”
“Mr. Pinter doesn’t strike me as that sort.”
“Well, he didn’t strike me as having an ounce of passion until he started kissing me.”
Minerva shot her a sly glance. “How is his kissing?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s very…er…inspiring.” Much better than Ned’s, to be sure.
“That’s rather important in a husband,” Minerva said dryly. “And what of the duke? Has he kissed you?”
“Once. It was…not so inspiring.” She leaned forward. “But he’s offering marriage, and Jackson hasn’t even hinted at it.”
“You shouldn’t settle for a marriage of convenience. Especially if you prefer Jackson.”
I don’t believe in marriages of convenience. Given your family’s history, I would think that you wouldn’t, either.
Celia balled the blanket into a knot. That was easy for Jackson to say-he didn’t have a scheming grandmother breathing down his neck. For that matter, neither did Minerva.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Jackson…” she whispered.
“I love to hear my name on your lips,” he rasped against her ear. “Say it again.”
“Jackson…this isn’t another lesson…is it?” She had to know. She had to be sure.
“It ought to be,” he growled. “God knows you didn’t learn the first one very well, or we wouldn’t be here together, alone.”
When he lifted her onto the table, knocking off some of the books, she gasped. “I’ve never been good with lessons.”
He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Perhaps you haven’t had the right teacher. Or the right lessons, my lady.”
“Celia,” she countered, burying her hands in his thick, raven hair. He had the most beautiful hair, soft to the touch, with lovely waves that spilled wantonly over her fingers. “If I’m to call you Jackson, you must call me Celia.”
His eyes turned molten gray as they locked with hers. “Celia,” he breathed. Then he brought his hands up to flick open the buttons of her redingote and pull out her lace tucker so he could toss it aside.
She caught her breath. “Wha-What are you doing?”
“Continuing your lessons.” He spread open her redingote gown to expose her undergarments. “I want to taste you. Will you let me, sweeting?”
Sweeting? That alone would have softened her resolve, for no mad had ever called her such a lovely thing. But the fact that he was asking for what Ned had tried to force from her melted her resistance even further.
“I’m willing to repeat a lesson as often as it takes to learn it,” she said, shocking her own boldness.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“I want my pistol back," she snapped.
"You'll get it tomorrow. Given your foolish belief that carrying it will protect you in any circumstance, it's better that you don't have it to hide behind. Perhaps then you won't be tempted into private encounters with randy gentlemen."
A hot blush seared her cheeks. "The only randy gentleman I need protection from is you. Next time I have you in my sights, I will shoot you."
"Then you'd better not miss," he drawled. "Because if you ever aim a gun at me again, I'll have you arrested for assaulting an officer of the law."
While she was still gasping, he strode from the orangery. She picked up her reticule and flung it at the door just as it closed. He was a beast! A monster! And he'd even made her forget to ask him if he'd learned anything about her suitors!
Tears started in her eyes. It was so...typical of him to rattle her by saying such an awful thing. She would swear he did it on purpose. He was always riding roughshod over her. Kissing her passionately one minute and threatening to have her arrested the next-the unnatural devil!
She collapsed onto a bench, struggling to hold back her tears. She would not cry over him. She would not! Men were dreadful creatures. And Gran wanted her to marry one of them?”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“Then don't give me a deadline. Let me do it in my own way."
"As you have been until now, keeping every man at arm's length, scaring them away with your target shooting?" Gran shook her head. "You cannot fall in love if you do not let a man close. And you will not let a man close unless you have a reason. I know you. If I rescind that ultimatum, you will bury yourself on this estate and never come out.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders

“But if her idiot suitors were staying at Halstead Hall with her, then by thunder, he'd be here, too. They wouldn't take advantage of her on his watch. "We're agreed that you won't do any of that foolish nonsense you mentioned, like spying on them, right?"
"Of course not. That's what I have you for."
Her private lackey to jump at her commands. He was already regretting this.
"Surely the gentlemen will accept the invitation," she went on, blithely ignoring his disgruntlement. "It's hunting season, and the estate has some excellent coveys."
"I wouldn't know."
She cast him an easy smile. "Because you generally hunt men, not grouse. And apparently you do it very well."
A compliment? From her "No need to flatter me, my lady," he said dryly. "I've already agreed to your scheme."
Her smile vanished. "Really, Mr. Pinter, sometimes you can be so..."
"Honest?" he prodded.
"Irritating." She tipped up her chin. "It will be easier to work together if you're not always so prickly."
He felt more than prickly, and for the most foolish reasons imaginable. Because he didn't like her trawling for suitors. Or using him to do it. And because he hated her "lady of the manor" role. It reminded him too forcibly of the difference in their stations.
"I am who I am, madam," he bit out, as much a reminder for himself as for her. "You knew what you were purchasing when you set out to do this."
She frowned. "Must you make it sound so sordid?"
He stepped as close as he dared. "You want me to gather information you can use in playing a false role to catch s husband. I am not the one making it sordid."
"Tell me, sir, will I have to endure your moralizing at every turn?" she said in a voice dripping with sugar. "Because I'd happily pay extra to have you keep your opinions to yourself."
"There isn't enough money in all the world for that."
Her eyes blazed up at him. Good. He much preferred her in a temper. At least then she was herself, not putting on some show.
She seemed to catch herself, pasting an utterly false smile to her lips. "I see. Well then, can you manage to be civil for the house party? It does me no good to bring suitors here if you'll be skulking about, making them uncomfortable."
He tamped down the urge to provoke her further. If he did she'd strike off on her own, and that would be disastrous. "I shall try to keep my 'skulking' to a minimum."
"Thank you." She thrust out her hand. "Shall we shake on it?"
The minute his fingers closed about hers, he wished he'd refused. Because having her soft hand in his roused everything he'd been trying to suppress during this interview.
He couldn't seem to let go. For such a small-boned female, she had a surprisingly firm grip. Her hand was like her-fragility and strength all wrapped in beauty. He had a mad impulse to lift it to his lips and press a kiss to her creamy skin.
But he was no Lancelot to her Guinevere. Only in legend did lowly knights dare to court queens.
Releasing her hand before he could do something stupid, he sketched a bow. "Good day, my lady. I'll begin my investigation at once and report to you as soon as I learn something."
He left her standing there, a goddess surrounded by the aging glories of an aristocrat's mansion. God save him-this had to be the worst mission he'd ever undertaken, one he was sure to regret.”
― Sabrina Jeffries, A Lady Never Surrenders