Lady Eve's Indiscretion Quotes

“I am going to faint.” “You shall not.” Deene moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her, a bulwark against the roaring in her ears and the constriction in her chest. “Breathe, Evie. It’s just one more horse.” Oh, but not just any horse. Eve knew those gorgeous brown eyes, the deep chest, the little snip of pink skin on the end of the mare’s big, velvety nose. “She’s white now, no longer gray. This is my Sweetness, isn’t it? Tell me this is my dearest… oh, Husband. What have you done?” “I can send her back, if you’d rather not… I didn’t want to upset you, Evie. But you’d asked, and I thought perhaps you’d worried…” “Hush.” She turned in his arms to put her hand over his mouth, but then craned her neck to keep the mare in her sight. “Oh, hush. She will never leave my care again, never. You must promise me, Lucas. Right now, swear to me she is mine to keep.” “She is yours to keep, always. I swear it, vow it, and promise it. It’s in the settlements, it’s in the bill of sale, it’s in my last will and testament. She will always be yours to keep.” That”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“He likes to touch me and not just… all kinds of touches. He takes my hand. He puts his arm around my waist or my shoulders. When he takes a seat beside me, there’s no decorous space between us, even if we’re in company or before the servants. He’s like… a cat, or a dog. Proximity seems to comfort him.” Brushing her hair comforted him, assisting her to dress and undress comforted him, feeding her, and most wonderful of all—cuddling up the entire night long, not just for a few minutes of postcoital lassitude, comforted him each and every night. Eve admitted to herself that she took comfort from all these casual generosities on Deene’s part too. They nourished her confidence in some way she could not describe and fed some other emotion she wasn’t likely to discuss with anybody, ever. “This”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“All these years I thought I was alone with what had befallen me, but I had a friend in you, didn’t I?” “I haven’t always been a friend to you, Evie. When a man finds himself damnably attracted to a woman who has suffered enough at the hands of…” She shut him up with a kiss, a soft, helpful kiss such as a wife bestows on a husband inclined to temporize when he ought to be listening. “I love you, Lucas. I love you for the faith you have in me, for your patience, for your honor, for so many reasons. I love you and I trust you and I love you.” He heaved the biggest sigh ever. “And you won’t feel compelled to ride in any more races to demonstrate these lovely sentiments you hold toward me?” “Not on horseback.” Though”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“My courses are late, Husband.” This merited her a sigh and a kiss to her cheek. Her cheek? “Being the sort of intimate husband I am—and being married to the lusty sort of wife you are—one noticed this.” She liked that he thought she was lusty… But he’d noticed? What else had he noticed? “Did you notice that I was scared to death on that horse today?” “Of course. The more frightened you are, the calmer you get. Usually.” Another kiss to her other cheek. “Though you were not particularly calm on our wedding night.” Oh, he would bring that up. Eve had wanted to ease into the topic, to whisk right over it, to drop hints and let him draw conclusions. Subtlety was wanted for the disclosure she had in mind. “I was not chaste.” God help her, she’d spoken those words aloud. Deene’s chin brushed over her right eyebrow then her left; his arms cradled her a little more closely. “You were chaste.” “No, I was not. I had given my virtue… Lucas, are you listening to me?” “I always listen to you. You did not give your virtue to anyone. It was taken from you by a cad and a bounder who’d no more right to it than he did to wear the crown jewels.” Eve’s husband spoke in low, fierce tones, even as the hand he smoothed over her hair was gentle. “How did you know?” He’d known? All this time he’d known and said nothing? “I thought at first you were simply nervous as any bride would be nervous of her first encounter with her husband, but then I realized you were not nervous, you were frightened. Of me, of what I would think of you. As if…” He rolled with her so she was sprawled on his chest and his arms were wrapped around her. By the limited light in the room, Eve met his gaze. “Your brother Bartholomew caught up with the fool man first, and the idiot was so stupid as to brag of the gift you’d bestowed on him. He was further lunatic enough to brag about the remittance his silence would cost your family. He bragged on his cleverness, duplicity, bad faith, and utter lack of honor to your own brother.” “Bart never said… Devlin never breathed a word.” “I don’t think Devlin knew. By the time Devlin arrived on the scene, Bart had beaten the man near to death and summoned a press gang. I know of this only because I happened to share a bottle—a few bottles—with Lord Bart the night before we broke the siege at Ciudad Rodrigo. He regretted the harm to you. He regretted not avenging your honor unto the death. He regretted a great deal, but not that you’d survived your ordeal and had some chance to eventually be happy.” “You have always known, and you have never breathed a word.” “I have always known, and I have done no differently than any other gentleman would do when a lady has been wronged. You are the one who has kept your silence, Evie, even from your own husband.” He was not accusing her of any sin; he was expressing his sorrow for her. Eve tucked herself tightly against him, mashed her nose against his throat, and felt relief, grief, and an odd sort of joy course through her. “All”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I am so proud of you.” It was the last thing Eve expected her mother to say, much less in a public location. “Proud of me?” “Oh, you rode like a Windham. I wish Bartholomew had been alive to see his baby sister out there, soaring over one fence after another. I wish St. Just had been here to brag on you properly. I wish… oh, I wish…” She reached for Eve and enfolded her daughter in a fierce, tight hug. “You showed them, Eve. You showed us all. Deene will be wroth with you for such a stunt, but he’ll get over it. A man in love forgives a great deal. Just ask your father.” Her Grace whispered this between hugs, tighter hugs, and teary smiles. “Mama, Deene is the one who said I ought to ride. I would never have had the…” The courage. The faith in herself. The determination… All the things she’d called upon time after time in the past seven years, her own strengths, and she’d been blind to them. “I could not have ridden that race without my husband’s blessing and support, Mama.” “But you did ride it,” Her Grace said, pulling Eve in for another hug. “I about fainted when you had that bad moment. Your father had to watch the last fences for me, but then the finish… You were a flat streak, you and that horse. I’ve no doubt he’d jump the Channel for you did you ask it. Oh, Eve… You must promise me never to do such a thing again, though. I could not bear it. Your father nearly had another heart seizure.” “I did no such thing, and I will ask you, Duchess, to keep your voice down if you’re going to slander my excellent health in such a manner.” His Grace was capable of bellowing, of shouting down the rafters, of letting every servant on three floors know at once of his frequent displeasures, but the duke was not using ducal volume as he approached his wife and youngest daughter. He was using his husband-voice, his volume respectful, even if his tone was a trifle testy. “Papa.” Eve pulled back from her mother’s embrace to meet her father’s blue-eyed gaze. Mama might be willing to make allowances, but His Grace was another matter entirely. “Evie.” He glanced from daughter to mother. “You’ve upset your mother, my girl. Gave her a nasty moment there at that oxer.” She was to be scolded? That was perhaps inevitable, given that His Grace— Her father pulled her into his arms. “But what’s one bad moment, if it means you’re finally back on the horse, though, eh? I particularly liked how you took the water—that showed style and heart. And that last fence… quite a race you rode, Daughter. I could not be more proud of you.” He extended an arm to the duchess, who joined the embrace with a whispered, “Oh, Percival…” So”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Deene nudged Beast forward, intent only on getting to Evie and William, on holding his wife in his arms and taking her somewhere safe and private where he’d never, ever let her go, nor even sit on a horse again. “Deene.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“God help them.” Kesmore went on to swear viciously as Eve’s horse cleared the big oxer only to land in bad footing. Deene was already spurring Beast forward, when Dolan’s hand shot out and grabbed the reins. Deene brought his crop down hard on Dolan’s wrist and was prepared to use it on Kesmore’s restraining hand as well when Lady Louisa spoke. “You can’t do a thing to help, Deene. Not now.” ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Listen to me, dearest, most precious wife, but pat the horse while you do, because Dolan is looking this way.” Eve thumped William soundly on the neck, as a male jockey might. “You will win this race not because we have money riding on the outcome. I assure you we can afford the loss, and we don’t honestly need the coin if we win. I promise you this. You will win this race not because it means we keep William—he’s already covered every mare I could possibly put him to. I promise you this as well.” He wasn’t finished. Eve gathered up her reins just as Goblin started to prop in earnest, and the stewards started motioning her closer to the starting line. “There is more I would say, my dear.” Deene reached over and stroked a hand down her shoulder, and Eve felt all manner of tension dissipating at just his touch. “You will win this race because it is yours to win, because this horse is yours to command. I have every faith in you, every faith. But if you don’t win, that hardly matters. I will love you for the rest of my days and beyond, because when I asked for your trust, you gave it to me.” Another”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I’ve married into a family of lunatics, and now the Denning line must strengthen this deplorable tendency. I’m not having any children, and what children I do have aren’t going to be given any ponies. They shall ride pigs, see if they don’t.” “Joseph.” Deene’s tone held banked humor. “You are excused. Find Louisa and try not to lose your composure entirely.” “Louisa awaits us on the rise, the better to plan my commitment to Bedlam as this race unfolds.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Evie, will you stay with me? Maybe this was her answer; maybe she would make damned sure she conceived an heir for him, and their obligations to each other would be at an end. It was not fair, that she’d be so obstinate, that she’d make such demands on him, that his best efforts to keep all the promises he owed should come at such a cost. It was not fair to him; it was not fair to her. The solution Deene had envisioned, a gentleman’s agreement undertaken with ungentlemanly determination, began to waver before his eyes. Eve shifted, and then her mouth was gone, leaving a need to join with her that came from Deene’s very soul. When she would have mounted him—a novel boldness, coming from her—Deene rolled with her, so she was beneath him—so she could not get away. Before he was done loving her, her cries of pleasure were swallowed in his kisses, her fingernails scored his back and buttocks, and her tears wet his chest. And yet, he could not ask her again: Evie, will you stay with me? ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Evie, will you stay with me?” He nearly whispered the question, so much did he dread the answer. His heart started a slow pounding in his chest when she did not immediately offer him reassurances. “Evie?” She drew back a little. “We will get through this race, Deene. Until that finish line is crossed, other obstacles are just going to have to wait, aren’t they?” He”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“And when the fair Louisa takes you into disfavor, Kesmore, do you go charging forth into the bedroom, saber at the ready, risking all, only to have her freeze you with a look or a word?” Kesmore pretended to fuss the pillow under his arse rather than smile openly at Deene’s misery. “It might surprise you to know, young Deene, that the fair Louisa, particularly on those rare and mistaken occasions when she has taken me into disfavor, generally wants me to come charging in with my saber at the ready. She is not a woman who finds a propensity for pretty talk a winning quality in her swain, and I am not a swain to disappoint my lady.” “If I do ask Evie what she wants of me,” Deene said, glowering at the fire, “she will say, if I have to ask her, then I don’t understand what the problem is, or some such rot. Women speak in riddles when you most need them to be clear and direct.” “Why do you need to be anything? Many a considerate husband goes for a week without pestering his wife, Deene. The ladies become indisposed, they get preoccupied, they… need their rest.” Deene blinked. “I’m thinking of entering William in the June meet at Epsom.” “Ah. A show of preoccupation. Brilliant strategy, one heartily endorsed by the most proud and unsatisfied husbands the world over. Why don’t you instead find a cozy, private moment between the sheets and ask your wife not about lawsuits or scandals, but if she’d like you to make love to her? Tell her you miss her more than you’d miss the beating heart torn from your chest, and nothing would bring you as much gratification as seeing to her pleasure.” “What if she says no?” “I didn’t say you should necessarily ask her with words—or expect her to see to your pleasure while you’re about it.” Deene’s brows shot up. He was off the couch in the next moment and heading for the door. “Thanks for the libation. My regards to Lady Louisa.” ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Eve realized after about a week that her strategy wasn’t working. Part of the problem was that other than preventing Deene from starting his lawsuit, she wasn’t entirely sure what her aim had been. To keep him at arm’s length? That wasn’t happening. Each night, he made deeper inroads on her attempts to separate their routine: he brushed her hair, he attended her baths, he helped her into and out of her clothing, and he asked for her assistance with his. The staff was colluding with him, telling him when she ordered a bath, when she’d asked not to be disturbed in the middle of an afternoon. It was maddening, really, to find such a pleasant, considerate husband where Eve needed to find a calculating, underhanded, self-interested opponent. And if she’d intended to keep him from her bed? That wasn’t happening either. Each night he tended to his ablutions, then climbed between the sheets and took her in his arms. If she turned her back to him, he rubbed her back or her neck and shoulders. His attentions were unselfish, pleasurable, and in no way could Eve consider them intimate advances. And”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“He tossed her onto Willy’s back—such a little thing, his wife, and so full of dignity—then swung onto the mare. Willy was a gentleman and Sweetness not given to coming into season at the first sight of a stallion, else the ride would have been a disaster, though Deene privately considered Bannister was right: as long as Willy had Eve’s attention, the horse would have nothing to do with mares or work or anything else. Rather like his owner. When”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“did not bode well. If she was going to tell him she wanted her own bedroom, he’d fight her. If she wanted to visit her parents, he’d go with her. If she was going to try to talk him out of trying to gain custody of Georgie… He’d listen. He wouldn’t make any promises, but he would listen. “A”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Yon colt is pouting.” Bannister’s tone was lugubrious. “He wants the lady to watch him go.” “Lady Deene is a trifle indisposed.” “Then the colt will be indisposed too. Your horse has fallen in love, and though you breed him to half the shire, he’ll not try his heart out until her ladyship is on that rail, watching him go.” “For God’s sake, Bannister, he’s a horse. He can’t fall in love.” Bannister snorted and fell silent, leaving Deene to watch as his prized stallion put in a lackluster performance for no apparent reason. “He wants her ladyship,” Aelfreth said when the horse was making desultory circles on the rail. “He kept looking at her spot, and she’s not there.” Even Deene had seen that much. It was pathetic, how a dumb animal… “Keep walking him, Aelfreth. My wife has taken me into dislike, but she’s as smitten with the damned horse as ever, or I very much mistake the matter. Bannister, have my saddle put on the mare.” When”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“She’d slept well enough. He’d been the one to lie there feigning sleep, arms around her, listening to her tears and wondering how many times he was supposed to apologize—except he had the sense his efforts in that direction had only made the situation worse. “I’ll”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“You will excuse me, Anthony, and if you ever make such cavalier comments again about the nature of my marriage, my motives for marrying, or my regard for my wife, I will disinherit you, call you out, and aim to at least terminate your reproductive abilities.” Deene”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I am enamored of my new wife.” “I am in transports to hear it. Likely she is as well.” Deene turned and hooked his elbows over the mare’s half door. “I wasn’t aware a man bruited such sentiments about, or is this another aspect of domestic life about which I am too newly married to be knowledgeable?” Kesmore looked like he might be considering parting with a smile in a few weeks time, provided the weather held fair. “You’ll learn. They teach us, no matter we’re slow to absorb the lesson. Make the first time count, though.” “The first time?” “For God’s sake, man, the first time you tell her you love her. Make it count. Even His Grace knew that much.” “Of course I love her.” Who could not love such a courageous, generous, fierce, passionate… The words trailed off in Deene’s mind, disappearing into a mist of surprise, wonder, and joy. He was at risk for babbling and laughing out loud, for doing something outrageous, like kissing Kesmore on the cheeks. “Of course I love my wife.” The feeling settled around Deene’s heart, warm, substantial, and right. He loved his Evie; he would always love her. The certainty was his both to keep and his to share with her when the moment was right. “Of”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Eve doesn’t cry much.” Except sometimes, deep in the night, when they’d made a particularly tender kind of love, and then she clung and wanted to be held securely until she dropped off to sleep in Deene’s embrace. And he wanted to hold her. Kesmore glanced over sharply. “Your wife had best not be crying on your worthless account, Deene. My lady would take it amiss, and you do not want such a thing on your conscience, presuming you survived the thrashing I would be bound to mete out.” “Marriage has made you quite ferocious, Kesmore.” Kesmore paused outside a roomy foaling stall. “On behalf of a woman I care about, I will always be capable of ferocity. See that you recall this should you ever be inclined toward the wrong sort of weak moment.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I do wonder, you know.” Even though she wasn’t quite as prim and tidy as she had been thirty minutes earlier, Eve still managed to project an air of domestic calm. “What do you wonder about?” “Are all new couples as… enthusiastic about their marital duties as we are?” Her question was fraught with insecurity, making Deene regret his earlier reference to the damned succession. “Ask your sisters, why don’t you? I’m sure they’re dying to hear what you think of marriage and of my efforts as a husband and lover.” Her brows rose. “One doesn’t think to discuss such things, even with sisters.” “Yes, one does. I trust your reports will be flattering, so you can’t accuse yourself of breaching any kind of marital loyalty.” He frowned at her. “Your reports will be flattering, won’t they?” She beamed at him. “They will be adoring, Deene. Gushing, breathless, and quite appreciative as well. Also lengthy—quite lengthy and fulsome. And you’re right: Sindal, Hazelton, and Kesmore all needed either an heir or a spare. I’m sure my sisters will want to compare notes.” Which wasn’t at all what he’d meant. His muttered, “Hang the blooming succession,” however was obscured by a stout knock on the door. “Our staff knows not to knock softly when we’re behind a closed door. That ought to tell you something, Wife.” They”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I’ve had a note from Louisa. She and Kesmore will be calling on us soon, and then I suppose the floodgates will open.” “Must they?” He liked her family, liked them a great deal, but he’d loved these weeks to get to know his wife and her smiles. He was developing some sense of her silences too, though, so he settled his arm around Eve’s shoulders. “Tell me, Wife.” “I should not resent it when my sisters observe the civilities, but, Deene, I do. I am jealous of my time with you.” “How gratifying to know.” She punched him in the ribs. “Rotten man. You’re supposed to say you feel the same way.” Of”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“She was smiling at him—he had a whole catalogue of her smiles by now, both with and without her dimple—and she was ready to accommodate whatever his pleasure might be. “We”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Evie.” He brushed her hair back from her temple. “Time to wake up, love. We must greet our staff.” She straightened and peered out the window. “So many of them, and this is not even your family seat.” Our family seat. He did not emphasize the point. “Let me pin you up.” She turned on the seat while he fashioned something approximating a bun at her nape. The moment was somehow marital, and to Deene, imbued with significance as a result. Deene had laced up, dressed, and undressed any number of ladies, but there was nothing flirtatious in the way Eve presented to him the pale, downy nape of her neck. He kissed her there and felt a shiver go through her. “You are going to be the sort of husband who is indiscriminate with the placement of his lips on my person, aren’t you?” She did not sound pleased. “When we are private, probably. You always smell luscious, and I am only a man.” His”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Why the sigh, love?” “This has happened too fast, and I am not at all at peace with it. I like you, Lucas, I like you a very great deal…” Whatever arguments she was trying to resurrect, they died on another sigh as Deene started massaging her neck. “I like you a very great deal too, and we’ll manage, Eve. Trust me on that. I’ll call on you tomorrow before I head into Town, and expect to see you there forthwith. No leaving me to face all the good wishes myself, if you please.” The longer he worked at the tense muscles of her neck, the more she rested against him. “Give me a week, Lucas.” “Do something for me.” She was becoming a warm, boneless press of female against him with results as predictable as they were inappropriate. “What?” “Drive out. Take that little fellow who was in the traces today, hitch up one of your sister Sophie’s great beasts, but don’t hole up here and fret yourself into a decline. Drive out, Eve Windham. Get into the sunshine, call on the neighbors with your news, let Her Grace show you off a bit, but get the ribbons into your hands again soon.” She pulled away a little to peer up at him. “This is an odd request, but I’ll tend to it.” “And my only request until I can squire you about in Town.” She blinked. “My headache feels better.” He’d been able to ease her headache, and she liked him a very great deal. Deene kissed her cheek, waited until she’d disappeared into her room, then strode off to have that drink His Grace had mentioned. Eve had agreed to drive out. A celebration was, indeed, in order. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“You are the first fellow Eve has permitted to do more than sniff her hem since her come out, Deene. If she wants you, then I’ll deliver you to her trussed up like a naked goose if I have to.” They’d”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“I can make you a promise, Eve Windham. Several promises, in fact.” “Just not vows, please. I cannot abide the thought of vows.” “If we marry, we will consummate the union for legal purposes and to put the compulsory obligations behind us. Thereafter, I will not press you for your attentions until such time as you indicate you are willing to be intimate with me in a marital sense.” She peered over at him. His cheeks were the same color now. “You would leave me in peace after one night?” “Not entirely. For appearances, we will live together as man and wife, share chambers, and go down to breakfast together. We will dote and fawn in public and make calf eyes at each other across the ballrooms, but I will not importune you.” The small, guttering flame of hope burned a trifle brighter. His plan had potential to avoid disaster. She did not know what motivated his foolish generosity, but the plain fact was, after the wedding night, he might not want to have anything to do with her. “And if I never indicate that I’m interested in my conjugal duties?” “Never is a long time, and I am a very determined man who is quite attracted to you. Also a man in need of heirs, and I am confident you’ll not deny me those.” The flame nearly went out. Of course he’d need heirs. “Unfair, Lucas.” Except, he was compromising, while Eve was practically loading four sets of dueling pistols and aiming them at Deene’s chest. “You have an heir.” “Who is unmarried, older than me, and for reasons not relevant to the current discussion, not a good candidate for marriage. The succession is my obligation, Eve, and I’ve avoided it long enough.” She had at least ten childbearing years left, possibly twenty. That was a long time to muddle through with a man who had been nothing but considerate toward her. And an impossibly long time to mourn him, should the worst occur. “On the conditions you’ve stated—that following the wedding night you will not exercise your rights unless and until I’m comfortable with the notion, we can be married, but, Lucas, when you hate the choice you’ve made—when you hate me—don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “I will not hate you, I will not hate my choice. That I do vow.” His”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“Young lady, you will attend your mother in her sitting room at once.” And Deene was supposed to just toddle back down the stairs to await an uncertain fate? “If Your Grace would allow Lady Eve and me a chance to discuss the events of the—” “You, sir!” His Grace was not inclined to keep his voice down when discretion might be most appreciated. This was known by all familiar with him, and beside Deene, Eve graduated from wincing to cringing. “Your Grace, Lady Eve’s nerves are not aided by a display of temper, though you have every reason to rail at me.” The ducal eyebrows went up. “I have every reason to kill you, young man. The harm you have done cannot be explained or excused, and no adequate reparation ever made to my daughter.” This was the moment for Eve to step forward and explain that they were betrothed, that the indiscretion was just that, more a slip than a sin. Certainly not a matter of a lady’s slighted honor. His Grace’s gaze went to his daughter while a silence stretched, a silence during which Deene wanted to go down on bended knee and beg the blasted woman to marry him. “Unhand my daughter, Deene.” Eve slipped away from Deene’s side and disappeared into the house. His Grace waited a long moment while Eve’s footsteps faded rapidly, and then the older man glanced about. “You, come with me. And get that mulish expression off your face. The last thing Her Grace will do is castigate Eve for a situation that must lie exclusively at your handsome, booted feet.” Was there a softening in His Grace’s eyes? Deene was not about to bet his life on it. When the duke led him to a chamber on the first floor, Deene noted an absence of footmen, maids, or other curious ears. “Your Grace, I think you well might have to call me out.” Moreland opened the door to the ducal study and preceded Deene through it. He closed the door, then turned, and without any warning whatsoever, delivered a walloping backhand across Deene’s cheek. “Perhaps I shall have to call you out, Deene. Let’s make it a convincing show, then, shall we?” ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“To sit beside Eve and not touch her was difficult. To sit beside her and not argue his case was making Deene clench his jaw and ball his fists and recite the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, Greek, French, and German. Marrying Eve made such sense. When last he’d considered the notion, he hadn’t been dealing with nasty rumors that had Mildred Staines eyeing his crotch and the clubs going oddly silent when Deene walked into the room. The idea of taking Eve to wife loomed as not just right, but necessary for them both. The list of arguments in support of their wedding circled through his head faster than the wheels of their conveyance bore them toward a reckoning: He and Eve were of appropriate rank. They had shared interests. Their lands marched. They were compatible in ways both mundane and intimate. He needed to marry well, and Eve needed to marry a man who’d be a true husband to her if she was to have the children and loving family that was her God-given right. He’d give her all the children she wanted and delight in doing so… A white marriage, for God’s sake… As Eve turned the cart up the Moreland drive, it occurred to Deene that in some convoluted, unfathomable female manner, Eve was probably seeking to relieve her family of worrying over her and punish herself in the bargain with this notion of a white marriage. Which he could not allow. She deserved so much better. She deserved every happiness a family and home of her own could afford, and more, given… given everything. She”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion

“He munched away on his bread, while Eve concluded there was never a species, a gender, or a creature on earth as blockheaded as the honorable English male in possession of a pair of dueling pistols—or swords, foils, whatever the proper term was. Unless”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Eve's Indiscretion