The Finest Print Quotes

“She wanted all the versions of him. What he showed the world, what he didn’t.

Was it so naive to hope he could want all the versions of her in return?”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Come again?" He turned and looked at her from under his hat.

"You called me madam." Her cheeks turned pink from more than the sun. "But I’m not married."

To her immense surprise, the American finally raised his hat and smiled, hitting her with green, green eyes and a beautiful flash of white teeth against his dark beard.

She heated unexpectedly, grappling with a surge of instantaneous recognition. This was it. The face of every man she’d ever read about that made her heart skip— princes and pirates and heroes, both dashing and dastardly. She hadn’t realized until she turned into a human candlewick: that’s what they all looked like.

"Well, thank you very much, Miss."

"What… are you thanking me for?" Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

He tipped his hat. "The first good news I’ve had since I arrived in London.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“And beneath all the luster hid the most dazzling prize of all⁠—A thoroughly grisly little brain.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“some people were well-aware of the ramifications of an informed public, and made every effort to put up roadblocks to that effect.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“don’t make it a habit to talk behind a lady’s back, Inspector.” He eyed the man up and down. “Then again, a lady doesn’t usually feel the need to turn hers on me.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“My circumstances haven’t changed, only my heart.”

“I understand.” She was beaming. “I’d rather wait for your circumstances than your heart anyway.”

In his darkest days, he knew he would return here, to this moment.

Anticipating the rest of their lives.

Knowing it was all still possible.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“I’m going to find a tenant for the upstairs residence.” He checked his knot. “Then I’m going to lease the worst house on the nicest street I can afford.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Fear not.” Oliver kissed his mother’s hand and widened his smile. “Nobody will be looking at me so long as you are on my arm.”

Aunt Cora beamed.

“I invented that too,” Uncle Nate said dryly.

"Invented it? You secured the patent,” Aunt Cora teased, and Uncle Nate turned a smile on her that put Ollie’s dimples to shame.

Cecily grimaced. “Not today, I beg you.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Hmmm?" Cecily busied herself with selecting a pastry for her father. "Jam, Papa?"

"Don't distract me with biscuits." He raised one eyebrow. "I invented that trick.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Shall we?” Ethan offered her his arm, lifting the corner of his mouth, right where she wanted to put her lips.

I love you.

For years, Belle had been saving her words.

But in the end, she only needed three.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“You were rather rude to Mr. Marks,” she breathlessly admonished him, twisting to loosen her corset.

“I’ll be nice now,” he muttered. “How many petticoats am I fighting today?”

“Three.” She gasped as he fisted them in one hand. “But no drawers.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Marks was now sketching with intent. “I don’t know if anyone has ever told you, Miss Sinclair, you’re a very beautiful woman.”

“She’s been told,” Ethan rumbled, placing his hands on the back of her chair. “She’s aware.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“It stops now, Belle,” he muttered. “This torment, we’re ending it.”

“Yes.” She gripped his wrists.

"I mean it.” His voice was husky with untold emotion. “I’m done— I’m finished withholding from you. I’m not a saint, and there is no benediction in this world or the next worth allowing you to think I don’t see you. To think I don’t want you.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“She wanted all the versions of him. What he showed the world, what he didn’t. Was it so naive to hope he could want all the versions of her in return?”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Ethan…”

“Hmm?” He could drop her arm; there were no more pushcarts in sight. He decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Ah. If you have a moment, there’s something I want to speak with you about.”

“You mean other helping you sneak into a crypt?”

“I’m not sneaking into a crypt,” she admonished, meeting his half smile. “I’m simply verifying the general feasibility of sneaking into a crypt. And, I might add, I didn’t ask you to help me.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Cecily was still scheming. “Let’s focus on what we know. Belle is spending her days with who I can only presume is a handsome American⁠—”

“Who quotes Poe,” Lena added. “We mustn’t overlook that.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Do we need something stronger than lemonade?” Cecily all but clapped her hands.

“He’s an American,” Belle continued against her own wishes.

“What?”

“He’s tall and kind and— his shoulders…” She pressed her cheek, as if to stop her rebellious mouth from moving. “He has a beard.”

“Oh my…”

"Definitely something stronger,” Cecily instructed Lena.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“You’re parsing words.” Ethan folded his arms, digging in. When she turned contrary, she had a tendency to lift her chin, a stubborn little arc that exposed the alluring line of her neck.

“And you’re obfuscating them.”

“Such vocabulary.”

“I’ve been studying.” She tossed him an arch glance. “I’d hate for your pages to run short, after all the fuss you made about working in inches.”

His gaze drifted over a faint flush painting her throat. “Inches should no longer be a problem.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Apparently, we need to establish a second rule— don’t get me arrested. Unless you know how to break me out. Which, come to think of it, would not surprise me any more than finding you skulking around every corner of London.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“You shouldn't listen to me. I only know half as much as I pretend to."

"Well, in that case, I suppose can listen to you half the time." A small smile played at the corner of her lips. "But not about arsenic."

His grin stretched, beckoning hers, and— damn, there it was again, that spark, that small absorbing heat, as though their mirrored smiles were kindling. The whisky burn once again stirred him, and he knew by the answering flare in her hazel eyes, she saw it happen.

He cleared his throat, absently running his hand along his newly smooth jaw.

“You shaved, I see.” Her eyes followed his fingers.

“Yes.”

She lowered her eyes and found a fresh page in her journal. “I’m partial to it, you know.”

“The poison? Or the beard?”

“Ah.” She pressed her thumb to the nib of her pen. “What fun would it be if I told you?”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“That's what you wanted an adjective for? Cobwebs?" She was, predictably, again at his elbow. "Cobwebs cannot be dodgy."

“Why in hell not? I certainly try to dodge them.”

“Yes, you are doing the dodging. But you’ve modified the cobwebs to be of questionable character, which they aren’t. Now the whole sentence reads wrong— it’s supposed to be eerie, nearly spectral⁠—”

“Fine.” He set down the composing stick and flattened his palms on the worktable. “I’ll rephrase. I need a four- or five-word adjective to describe morally upstanding cobwebs that does not detract from the spectral nature of the magistrate’s moonlit study.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“"That's what you wanted an adjective for? Cobwebs?" She was, predictably, again at his elbow. "Cobwebs cannot be dodgy."

“Why in hell not? I certainly try to dodge them.”

“Yes, you are doing the dodging. But you’ve modified the cobwebs to be of questionable character, which they aren’t. Now the whole sentence reads wrong— it’s supposed to be eerie, nearly spectral⁠—”

“Fine.” He set down the composing stick and flattened his palms on the worktable. “I’ll rephrase. I need a four- or five-word adjective to describe morally upstanding cobwebs that does not detract from the spectral nature of the magistrate’s moonlit study.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“And beneath all the luster hid the most dazzling prize of all⁠—

A thoroughly grisly little brain.

Hadn’t he thought it, the first time he saw her? Green and gold. She was lucky. She was gilded.

She was his only good news.

Belle Sinclair was going to save his sorry neck.

He could feel it.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“She looked around the derelict shop. “All we have now is a story and a press.”

“True.” He smiled, a wide, brilliant arc of possibility, and Belle fell straight into it. “It’s more than either of us had before.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“You have a creditor?” Belle’s voice dropped to a whisper. She glanced around the shop uneasily.

“Well, I don’t keep him here.” Fletcher rolled his eyes and pushed away from the desk to move to the streaked window. “I’ll just visit him weekly and deliver all my earnings.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“How would it work?” she said slowly. “If we did… this?”

She unthinkingly pointed to the story on the desk, which was regrettable, as now they were both looking at the illustration of an impending ravishing.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Look.” Fletcher sighed. “We’re going about this backward. Let’s establish a rule— as I said before, there’s no pretension in this shop and nor will there be in this conversation.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you what I want, you tell me what you want.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“This is grisly.” He pointed at the page. “And it’s damn clever.”

Belle stared at the journal in his hand, her ears ringing. A rush of pride and disbelief radiated from her chest, all the way up to a smile she was trying very much to keep to herself.

Grisly. Damn clever.

If he did in fact intend to proposition her, he was making a strong case for himself.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“This is precisely why polite society had rules— so strange bearded Americans didn’t proposition eccentric spinsters in the middle of the Inner Temple Garden.”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print

“Let’s hope he has a grandson with a chiseled jaw.”

“Helena.” Their father slid Lena a look as he neatly cut his roast. “Might you refrain from discussing chiseled jaws at the dinner table?”
― Erin Langston, The Finest Print