Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal Quotes

“This was wrong, dangerous, stupid...and necessary to the survival off her soul.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“You worry me, Mags, so self-contained and quiet. Hazelton would not have been my choice for you."

"Why not?"

"He's a man who dwells in the shadows and appears to like it there. You have enough shadows of your own."

"Maybe he sees me as I really am because shadows don't deter him.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“The sound of her voice was so pretty, it almost disguised the ugliness of her words.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Ben stood at the parlor window, glancing neither to the right nor to the left of him lest he see three grown men looking as worried as he felt. Westhaven found the courage to speak first. “Either we’ve all developed a fascination with red tulips, or somebody had better go out there and fetch the ladies in. They’ve neither of them likely thought to bring a handkerchief.” Deene screwed up his mouth. “Declarations of love—that’s what red tulips stand for.” His Grace cracked a small smile. “You young fellows. Quaking in your boots over a few female sentimentalities. Believe I’ll go make some declarations of my own.” He set down his empty glass and left the room. “Marriage,” said Westhaven, “calls for a particular variety of courage. I’m thinking His Grace’s experience in the cavalry is likely serving him well right now.” “Come away.” Ben took each man by the arm, but neither of them moved. “Let him make his charge in private. I have some ideas for you both to consider, and if you’re with me, His Grace will fall in line that much more easily.” Westhaven smiled, looking very like his father. “Don’t bet on it. Windhams can be contrary for the sheer hell of it.” This was a joke or a warning. Ben wasn’t sure which. “The Portmaine family motto is ‘We thrive on impossible challenges.’” Deene arched a blond eyebrow. “You just manufactured that for present purposes. You’re from the North, and your family motto is probably something like ‘Thank God for friendly sheep.’” Which”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Each time he saw her, she was a little more frazzled, a little more tightly wound. Each time he saw her, he was a little more frazzled, more tightly stretched between growing desire and an even more intense need to protect her despite her secretiveness and stubbornness. “You’re”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I will serenade you from the street, Maggie Windham. I will be so callow, you will marry me to save me from embarrassment.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I wanted to tell you.” Maggie was smiling now, and when he pulled back enough to appreciate that fact, she started toying with the hair at his nape. “Tell me what?” Her fingers went still. “You never miss a detail, Benjamin. Surely you knew when I nearly fainted at Lady Dandridge’s…?” He rose and dusted off his knees, then resumed his place beside her—right smack beside her. “You’d been wandering in the rain for God knows how long, missing sleep, and likely doing without proper sustenance. If every woman who laced her stays too tightly were carrying, the population would shortly double.” “Benjamin, we are going to have a baby. I should have told you this sooner, but I did not want you to feel trapped.” She was back to smoothing her skirts and gripping his hand, suggesting she hadn’t composed herself quite as quickly as appearances might indicate. “Maggie, do you feel trapped?” It was a sincere question, the sort of sincere question that kept a sincere man up late of a night and might cause him more than one pang in years to come. “By the child? Of course not.” Or it might not. “You want this child?” “Gracious God, Benjamin. I spent years dealing with Cecily because Bridget was mine to love. I’ve protected my ducal family because they were mine to love. This child is mine to love, and you are mine to love. How could you think I’d feel otherwise?” “We are going to have to watch this tendency of yours to protect all whom you love.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “I want a big family, but we’re getting a rather late start on things.” “Then we’ll just have to be diligent about it.” His”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I love you, Maggie Windham. I love your courage, I love your independence, I love your determination, and I want it for my own.” He paused and gathered his own courage. “I want—I pray—that our children take after their mother.” The words took an instant to penetrate the emotion wracking the woman beside him, a silent, fraught moment during which Ben’s hopes and dreams, his very heart and soul hung suspended between the light of hope and the shadow of despair. “Benjamin.” She pitched into him, right there in the sunshine, sobbing and clinging and bawling for all the world to see. “Hold me, please. Hold me and never let me go, not ever. Not for anything.” He”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Miss Bridget, you are in error regarding one detail.” He advanced into the room and left the door open behind him. “Their Graces are not your guardians, I am. As your legal custodian, I am ordering you to scat.” The girl blinked at him, her eyes brown instead of green, but otherwise much like Maggie’s. “Scat, my lord?” “Begone, shoo, be off with you. Your sister and I need privacy.” Bridget’s lips curved up in a smile that presaged heart-stopping beauty, and then—Ben was hard put not to smile right back—she winked at him and flounced out of the room. “I”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“And is this why you won’t marry your earl? Because you think she’ll go after him if you do?” Maggie, pretty, brave, competent Maggie subsided back into her chair and bowed her head. “She will. She’ll stop at nothing once she understands exactly what has happened. I know this, and I’ve tried to tell Benjamin, but he’s proud, and he’s too good-hearted himself to understand what she’s capable of. He doesn’t listen.” “Sister?” When Maggie looked up, Bridget pointed to the large, dark, unsmiling man looming in the doorway. “I think he’s listening now.” ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“As soon as you have Bridget’s things secure in the boot, take the women to Moreland.” “And just where the hell do you think you’re going?” “To finish a case.” When he got to the door of Cecily’s town house, he didn’t knock. He barged in, located the woman who’d created such mayhem in Maggie’s life, and gave himself permission—just this one last time—to deal in shadows and darkness. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Oh, Benjamin, I do love you.” She cuddled into him, to every appearance unaware that she’d just uttered words to send a man’s heart thundering all over inside his ribs. She”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“You were ever a curious child,” His Grace was saying. “Drove your brothers nigh to distraction with it and goaded them to excel in their studies. Your mother was the one who pointed this out to me.” Her mother. Hand-in-hand with His Grace, the duchess was looking radiantly lovely despite having dried her tears—and Maggie’s—just moments before. “They goaded me,” Maggie said. “I could not have a pack of boys shorter than me strutting about reciting Latin all wrong.” “Of course not.” His Grace kissed her temple, a gesture Maggie could not recall him offering to her since she’d been a little girl. “You are a Windham. If Westhaven becomes half the duke his mama expects him to be, it will be in large part because his sisters trained him up for it.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“She gave birth to me, but she is not my mother. That awful, scheming, selfish, unnatural woman is not my mother.” Maggie stood there amid the crimson tulips, tears coursing down her face, until she felt strong, slender arms encircle her and a graceful hand stroke over her hair. “Of course not, my dear,” the duchess said, her tone fierce and proud. “I am your mother, His Grace is your papa, and you are our daughter.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“His Grace regarded his oldest daughter and the way Ben Portmaine hovered around the girl, clucking and fussing like a mother hen—or a particularly smitten rooster.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“He loomed over her, his eyes dark, his expression implacable. “You are wearing my ring, Maggie Windham.” “I am wearing your ring because you were hen-witted enough to sneak it onto my night table when I was too overset to notice, and I did not want to lose it, and leaving expensive jewelry around where any maid might misplace—” But now the handsome wretch was smiling down at her. “Hen-witted, Maggie? I kiss your cheek in parting, slip a ring onto your night table, and you say I’m the one who’s rendered hen-witted?” “It’s one of Her Grace’s words. When she uses it on the boys, they positively reel with abused dignity.” “Reel into bed, Maggie, and expect me to call on you quite early tomorrow.” It”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Benjamin put a finger to her lips. “We will manage all of that. You will go to bed.” Maggie stood by the bed and folded her arms across her middle. “How does my going to bed accomplish anything?” “It lets me be about the business of gathering information without having to worry that you’re out wandering around in a pouring rain, ruining your bonnet, your health, and my nerves. Get in bed.” He”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I’m having the coach brought around, and then I’m taking you home. You will go directly to bed and not awaken until you are thoroughly rested. You will eat a proper breakfast—do you hear me?—and then you will not go haring about in a cold rain without my escort.” She gave him an odd look, and then the corners of her mouth turned up in that dear, unexpected smile. “You sound exactly like His Grace.” “The man has five daughters. My sympathy for him grows by the day.” Her”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Good afternoon, affianced wife.” As if she’d conjured him with her thoughts, Benjamin stood in the door to the office, hat in hand. “Must you call me that?” He sauntered around her desk and leaned down to buss her cheek. “Yes, until I can call you wife in truth. You look tired, Maggie mine. Has some wretched bounder been keeping you up all night?” “Not lately.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“They’re sound theories,” Benjamin replied. “And they let me both steal a bite from your ices and feed you a few spoonfuls of my own.” She had to glance away lest he see her smile. “I was distracted, else you should not have gotten away with such outrageous behavior. I know what you’re doing, though.” “I’m glad somebody knows what I’m about, because I seem to have lost my own grasp of it entirely.” He smiled at her, an open, charming smile that had Maggie’s insides fluttering around like the birds flitting from branch to branch above them. “You’re making it seem as if we’re enamored of one another.” She kept her eyes on the horses before them, because an honest smile from Benjamin Portmaine was enough to steal her few remaining wits. “I am enamored of you.” He slowed the horses to let a landau lumber on ahead of them. “You’re gorgeous, passionate, intelligent, and independent—also a financial genius. I’m the man who proposed to you earlier this week, if you’ll recall.” “Must you remind me?” “Frequently, until you comprehend that I did not ask out of anything other than an honest desire to make you my countess.” She”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“You should not do this, Benjamin.” No, he should not, but she sounded forlorn rather than truly upset. He climbed on the bed and scooted under the covers to sit beside her. Lovely cool sheets she had—probably cotton—and her scent was all around him. “Not do what?” “You will start kissing me, and I’ll get all muddled, and if I haven’t conceived already, you’ll see that I do by morning. I can’t think…” She huffed out a breath. “No woman could think when you exert yourself to be seductive.” “My dear, you are quite overwrought, though under the circumstances, one can expect no less.” He arranged himself on his back amid her pillows. “Come here.” He drew her gently down against him and wrapped an arm around her. “It isn’t my intention to muddle you.” Though it was gratifying in the extreme to think he could. “Then what are you doing here?” She shifted a little, restlessly, as if she’d never cuddled with anybody in a bed before—another gratifying thought. “Get comfy, my love.” He hiked one of her legs against his thighs, taking care that she did not touch his half-aroused cock in the process. “I am going to make an admission which will cause me to blush.” “As long as you don’t burst out in song.” She moved again, bringing her arm up to curl against his chest. “Should I light a candle to better appreciate your blush?” “You must please yourself, though I am naked. One would hope you’d appreciate more than just my blush.” She might have chuckled a little at that, and she might have stirred around just a little more to hide it, the minx. She did not light a candle. “This muddling business, Maggie. It goes both ways.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Greetings, affianced wife.” She crossed her arms. “Greetings, my lord. I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t stand amid the roses and serenade me.” “Now that’s interesting.” He took a wicker chair and tried not to notice how pretty her bare feet were by moonlight. “You don’t sound grateful. I was in the glee club for three straight years at university and always chosen for solos. Shall I demonstrate?” As he filled his lungs with air, she put a hand over his mouth, her fingers bearing the fragrance of cinnamon and flowers. “You are daft, Benjamin Portmaine.” He covered her hand with his own and brought it to his thigh, linking their fingers. “I’m engaged, which might qualify as daft, but my lady seems bent on avoiding me. Be warned, Maggie mine: I gave you today to rally your nerves and even suffered through dinner tête-à-tête with His Grace. Tomorrow we shop for a ring—His Grace’s orders, or Her Grace’s, carried by her most trusted emissary.” Maggie”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“You break her heart, and you’ll have to deal with me and her three brothers, and if you survive that, Her Grace will ensure your social ruin unto the nineteenth generation. I remind you, all of my boys are crack shots and more than competent with a sword.” “It is not my intention to break her heart.” “Oh, it’s never our intention.” His Grace’s brows drew down in thought, and he was once again the affable paterfamilias. “Maggie is different. I hope that’s from being the oldest daughter, but her unfortunate origins are too obvious a factor to be dismissed. She’s in want of… dreams, I think. My other girls have dreams. Sophie dreamed of her own family, Jenny loves to paint, Louisa has her literary scribbling, and Evie must racket about the property as her brothers used to, but Maggie has never been a dreamer. Not about her first pony nor her first waltz nor her first… beau.” Nor her first lover. The words hung unspoken in the air while the fire crackled and hissed and a log fell amid a shower of sparks. It wasn’t what Ben would have expected any papa to say of his daughter, but then, marrying into a family meant details like this would be shared—Esther Windham misplaced her everyday jewels, and Percy thought his daughters should be entitled to dream. In a different way, it felt as if Ben were still lurking in doorways and climbing through windows, but this window was called marriage, and Maggie was trying to lock it shut with Ben on the outside. “I’m not sure Maggie wants to marry me.” It was as close as he’d come to touching on the circumstances of the betrothal. His Grace regarded him for a long moment. “I’m her papa, but I was a young man once, Hazelton. Maggie is only a bit younger than Devlin and a few months older than Bart would have been. When I married, I had no idea either of my two oldest progeny existed. I’d no sooner started filling my nursery when—before my heir was out of dresses—both women came forward, hurling accusations and threats. If my marriage can survive that onslaught, surely you can overcome a little stubbornness in my daughter?” It was, again, an insight into the Windham family Ben gained only because he was engaged to marry Maggie. Such confidences prompted a rare inclination toward direct speech. “I think Maggie’s dream is to be left alone. If she jilts me, she’ll have one more excuse to retire from life, to hide and tell herself she’s content.” “Content.” His Grace spat the word. “Bother content. Content is milk toast and pap when life is supposed to be a banquet. Make Maggie’s dreams come true, young Hazelton, and show her contentment is shoddy goods compared to happiness.” “You make it sound simple.” “We’re speaking of women and that particular subspecies of the genre referred to as wives. It is simple—devote yourself to her happiness, and you will be rewarded tenfold. I do not, however, say the undertaking will ever be easy.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I do not want to marry you, Benjamin.” “You’ve been crying.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, her skin silky soft to his touch. “We don’t need to set a date if you’re not ready to.” “You aren’t listening to me.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and removed his hand from her face. “I cannot marry you, and this is all moving too quickly. I don’t want to shame my family—that’s the last thing I want, but I don’t want…” She raised troubled eyes to his. “I don’t want to make a laughingstock of you when I jilt you.” “Portmaines are not strangers to broken engage-ments.” “Port…?” He saw when she recollected his family name. “Were we to marry, you’d become Maggie Portmaine.” “But we’re not going to marry.” She was appallingly convinced of this, and it irritated him more—worried him more—each time she emphasized her position. “You said things were moving too quickly, Maggie, but if you’ve conceived, they can’t move quickly enough.” Her gaze became haunted, and her hand went to her belly. “You listen to me,” he said, dropping his voice and covering her hand with his own. “Just for today, we are engaged. We need make no other decisions than that. You can jilt me, and I’ll step aside, or we can marry, or we can remain engaged for a time and make further decisions later.” She was listening; she was even watching his mouth as he spoke. He kissed her on the lips for no other reason than he didn’t want her arguing with him. “I want you for my countess, Maggie. I’d made up my mind before we found ourselves in this contretemps, but I wanted to woo you, to squire you about and give you the attention and courting you deserve. Give me a few weeks. We’ll know better what we’re dealing with, and we’ll placate the Lady Dandridges of Society in the meanwhile.” “I can do that,” she said slowly, “but, Benjamin, that’s all I can do. You must not take a notion that we will be wed.” “And if there’s a baby?” She shook her head, but when he took her in his arms, she went unresisting into his embrace. He hoped there was a baby, which surprised him. He understood the necessity for an heir but hadn’t felt any urgency as long as Archer enjoyed good health.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Whatever Her Grace had said, he was now an engaged man, which had become his objective at some point in the recent past. The relief was fading, leaving a fierce determination to get the woman beside him to the altar, from which position he would be able to keep her safe. Maggie”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“This is an unexpected pleasure. You may have a seat, if you prefer.” He quirked one dark eyebrow. “If I prefer?” “I raised five sons, Mr. Hazlit. Men like to prowl and paw and stalk about, just as little boys must ride down the banisters on rainy days.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“I don’t want…” She squirmed against him, her body seeking relief or greater arousal, she wasn’t sure which. “You do, too, and God knows I want, as well.” His hand was on her knee where it rested above his hip. “You’ll let me do this, Maggie Windham, or I’ll go mad. We’ll both go mad.” Do”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Mr. Hazlit!” She kept her voice down with effort, but when a man sneaked up behind a lady and slid his arms around her waist, some exclamation was in order. “Hush.” He turned her in his arms, though part of Maggie was strongly admonishing herself to wrestle free. He’d let her go. She trusted him that far, when a servant was likely to appear any moment with a tea tray. “Something has you in a dither. Tell me.” His embrace was the most beguiling, irresistible mockery of a kindness. Gayle had offered her a hug a few days ago, a brusque, brotherly gesture as careful as it was brief. This was different. This was… Benjamin Hazlit’s warm, strong male body, available for her comfort. No conditions, no awkwardness, no dissembling for the benefit of an audience. She sighed and tucked her face against his throat, unwilling—or unable—to deny herself what he offered. For a few moments, she was going to pretend she wasn’t alone in a sea of trouble. She was going to pretend they were friends—cousins, maybe—and stealing this from him was permitted. She was going to hold on to the fiction that she was as entitled to dream of children and a husband to dote upon as the next woman. “You are wound as tight as a fiddle string, Maggie Windham.” Hazlit’s hand settled on her neck, kneading gently. “Are the domestics feuding, or has Her Grace been hounding you?” “She never hounds or scolds.” Maggie rested her forehead on his shoulder, her bones turning to butter at his touch. “She looks at us, disappointment in the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, and you want to disappear into the ground, never to emerge until you can make her smile again. His Grace says it’s the same for him.” When she was held like this, Maggie could detect a unique scent about Hazlit’s person: honeysuckle and spice, like an exotic incense. It clung to his clothing, and when she turned her head to rest her cheek on the wool of his coat, she caught the same fragrance rising from the exposed flesh of his neck. That hand of his went wandering, over her shoulder blades, down her spine. “You are tired,” he said, his voice resonating through her physically. “What is disturbing your sleep, Maggie? And don’t think I’ll be distracted by more hissing and arching your back.” “I’m not a cat.” “You’ve cat eyes.” He turned her so his arm was around her waist. “Let’s sit by the fire, and you can tell me your troubles.” Such”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Mr. Hazlit, a pleasure.” Hazlit took her hand and bowed over it. “My lady, you’re in radiant good looks. His lordship must be attending to more than just his letters if you’re blooming so nicely.” “Blooming?” She beamed at the man. “Westhaven, we must have Mr. Hazlit to dinner. He says I’m blooming.” She withdrew her hand. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business while I go blossoming on my way.” She closed the door quietly, leaving Westhaven to watch the bemused expression fade from Hazlit’s face. “Women in the throes of early motherhood should all be so serene as your lady wife,” Hazlit said. “You’re to be commended.” “I’m to be pitied.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Allow me.” Hazlit crossed the room in three strides and held the door for the tweeny, then took the tray from her. “Our thanks.” Our thanks? “I think you need a wife, in truth, Mr. Hazlit, so convincingly do you take on your role of doting swain.” “Perhaps I do.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal