The Traitor Quotes

“Honeysuckle was like his wife: a quietly lovely exterior hid a more beguiling and intangible beauty than one suspected.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Michael found his tongue.
“I must write to my sisters at Blackthorn and ask them whether the wee piggies have sprouted wings.”
“Blackthorn is your estate in Ireland?”
Michael was silent for another half furlong, making the day nothing short of miraculous—or damned strange.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“I’ll find somebody to marry the damned woman,” Michael spat.
“Dear fellow, on general principles one should not procure a spouse for any female whom one refers to as the damned woman. Miss Danforth is not pleased to have me for a husband. I don’t think she’d allow any convenient eligible of your acquaintance to so much as kiss her cat.”
The turn of phrase was unfortunately prurient, the mistake of a man who’d misplaced his native language for too many years.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Sebastian was smiling at her, and that more than any rousing argument suggested to Milly he might not grasp the situation in all its terrible entirely.
“I cannot marry you, my lord.”
“You can kiss me, but you can’t use my name?”
“And I cannot marry you. I am a companion, in service, in case you’ve forgotten.” His smile did not falter, so Milly fired her biggest cannon. “I cannot read. What baroness cannot even read the menus put before her by the cook? Cannot read bedtime stories to her own children? Can barely follow along in the Book of Common Prayer—”
His smile shifted, becoming tender rather than pleased.
“You can sing to the children instead, tell them stories you make up, or listen to their own fanciful tales. You’re resourceful, my dear, and you shall contrive. As a baroness, you will contrive magnificently.”
Based on the pride Milly heard in his tone, St. Clair had already dispatched announcements to Lady Freddy’s cronies, cried the banns, and said his vows. He was not resigned to this dire turn of events; he was rejoicing in it.
While she…could not read. When St. Clair slipped his arms around her again, Milly leaned into him and tried not to cry.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Aunt, my ladies, I do beg your pardon. You will forgive me for taking the liberties a fiancé ought not to attempt unless privacy is assured.”
Milly’s head came off Sebastian’s shoulder, only to be shoved gently against his shirt. He was back on his English, and sounding coolly pleased with himself.
“A fiancé?” Lady Avery echoed. “You’re snatching your aunt’s companion for your baroness, St. Clair?”
Lady Covington produced a lorgnette. “She’s a pretty little thing. Not too old.”
I am not—” Milly began, only to find Sebastian’s mouth brushing over hers.
“My dear Millicent is not in the habit of permitting me kisses. I must apologize for having become carried away.” And then, murmured right next to her ear, “Calme, s’il vous plaît, petite tigresse.”
His petite tigress stifled the urge to bite him. She settled for stomping on his toes, which had no effect whatsoever.
“Blessed saints,” Lady Freddy said, clapping her gloved hands. “I own myself relieved to have a simple explanation for a small lapse. Milly,you will go straight up to bed, and, Sebastian, you shall draft the particulars for the professor to send to our friends. Ladies, shall we away? I cannot abide the idea that the Countess Thrall might be winning every hand for want of our steadying influence on the gentlemen.”
With pointed looks at Sebastian and Milly, Freddy’s companions followed her out. The professor lingered only a moment, his expression bemused.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Milly could not abide the drawling humor in his tone. She got her hands on him. Sank her fingers into his every-which-way hair,plastered herself to him, and kissed his fool, blathering mouth into silence.
“She wants you to have somebody to love, you idiot man,” she growled against his teeth. “Somebody to love you.”
He might have argued, except Milly was not turning loose of his mouth. Something shuddered through him, a groan or a sigh, and his arms came around her slowly, then quite, quite snugly.
“Better, my lord.”
“My aunt has hired a madwoman.”
He was a madman, but he kissed wonderfully, turning Milly’s assault into a dance, a twining of tongues, sighs, and bodies that had nothing to do with dueling pistols—at least in Milly’s mind.
She would never presume to know his lordship’s.
St. Clair’s hand cupped Milly’s breast from below, a lovely caress, one that inspired her to sink her fingers into the firm musculature of his backside. The urge to climb him stole into Milly’s imagination, along with a burning desire to relieve St. Clair of his remaining clothes.
“I’ll just get my fich—”Lady Freddie’s voice stopped abruptly as the front door was thrown open, and cold air swirled into the foyer.
“Sebastian, unhand Miss Danforth.”
Four little words, but they presaged Milly’s ruin. Over her shoulder, she saw the professor intently examining the roses—or studying the scene in the mirror—while Lady Avery and Lady Covington examined Milly and Sebastian.
And Sebastian did not unhand her, for which Milly’s knees were grateful.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“They experimented with different lengths of the necklace. Lady Freddy eventually decided it should lie exactly where a young widow might have positioned it—so the gold pendant fell right above her cleavage.
“Have I shocked you, Milly?”
To my very toes, my lady. I shall endeavor to age every bit as shockingly as you have. The professor will be the envy of all who behold you. Though it might be chilly later on, best tuck a fichu into your pocket, my lady.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“I believe Lady Freddy could use your assistance to finish dressing for tonight’s card party. She muttered dire imprecations should she be outshone by a Mrs. Flynn. One fears for her health when such moods overtake her.”
The professor’s references to her ladyship’s décolletage were a marvel of delicacy.
Milly hurried past him up the stairs. “Summer is coming, Professor. We can hope for a mild evening.”
“A wiser bet than hoping her ladyship might learn a bit of decorum. My thanks, Miss Danforth.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“The romping part would be the ruin of you.” The way he said it suggested romping might be the ruin of him as well, which notion both intrigued and saddened.
“You lecture me when you could be kissing me, and then tell me you have no honor. There’s an inconsistency in your actions, my lord—or in your kisses. But no matter. I can find kisses and romping aplenty. I suspect your Mr. Brodie would oblige me easily enough were I simply plagued by curiosity.”
She’d shocked him, which gave her no satisfaction at all, when she’d been trying to make a point.
“You will not torment Michael the way you are tormenting me, Millicent, and we will not romp.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Such boldness. He liked her boldness, but the real problem was that she trusted him. amnation was too mild a fate for such a woman. “You want me to say that a gentleman’s honor forbids it. You are longing for me to give you that lie, but I am not honorable, my dear. I am the Traitor Baron, my days are numbered, and those whose loyalty I claim are put in danger.”
“Everybody’s days are numbered.” He heard her aunts speaking, heard the toughness and scorn of old women in her tones, and wanted to scare her out of her complaisance.
“I have been challenged four times in the last six months, Milly.Millicent Danforth trusted him bodily, morally, logistically, every way a woman could trust a man, and hertrust was a strong aphrodisiac to someone who’d arguably committed treason.
He came around the desk and sat back against it without glancing down at her writing. “Millicent, this will not do.”
“You should go to bed, then.”
“I want to take you to bed with me. I want to keep you in my bed and make passionate love to you until exhaustion claims us both, then rut on you some more when we’ve caught a decent nap.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You won’t, though. Why not?”
..."So I take you to bed and romp away a few hours with you and get a child on you. Then we must marry, and you become not the discreet dalliance of a disgraced baron, but his widow. Your social doom is sealed by that fate, and I cannot abide such a thought.”lordship was trying desperately to shock her, while Milly wanted desperately to impress him with her letters.
“I will not marry you,” she said. Not for all the e’s, o’s, l’s, and even v’s would she worry him like that. “I am not of an appropriate station, for one thing, and I expect somewhere there’s a rule about baronesses being able to read and write. I confess the romping part piques my curiosity.”
He swore softly in French but remained close to her, half leaning, half sitting on the desk.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Pleasure blossomed beyond the physical, giving Milly leave to consume the man she’d plastered herself against. He tasted of bergamot, which blended wonderfully with the sandalwood and spice scent of him, with the lace and silk of his attire.
Milly got an arm around his waist and cupped his cheek against her palm while St. Clair returned her explorations.
“You taste of lavender. Of course, you taste of lavender.”
He lapsed into French, telling her he’d like to lay her down in lavender fields and make endless love to her. For eternal summer nights under a soft full moon he wanted to—
Milly’s French was not quite up to the literal translation, not when St. Clair’s hand had traced down from her throat to her décolletage”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“A man who is born to ask questions is a man enthralled with life, just as Milly was enthralled with St. Clair’s kisses. She wanted to understandthem, wanted to take them apart sensation by sensation until she comprehended the beauty and danger of them.
St. Clair knew exactly how snugly to hold her, so she felt cherished rather than confined.
He knew what a comfort his hand in her hair could be, what a novel and dear intimacy. He knew—he was likely born knowing, to borrow his phrase—how to use his mouth, so his lips clung and melded with her own, so her entire body poured itself into kissing him back.St. Clair’s kisses were fierce and tender, and they made Milly feel fierce and tender. She sank her fingers into his hair, brushed her thumb over his ear, and squirmed as close to him as their position on the piano bench would allow.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Sebastian lowered himself beside her, but this time he straddled the bench. Slowly, he settled his arms around her, and more slowly threaded his hand into the hair at her nape.
“You should flee, Milly Danforth, for I am about to kiss you.” Again, and make a proper job of it, because he surely would not repeat this folly a third time.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “You should stop lecturing me, St. Clair, for I won’t run off.”
Stubborn, fierce woman. He settled his mouth over hers, likecoming home from war, like all the beauty in all the slow movements to all the tender concerti in the world. Miss Danforth sighed into his mouth and snuggled closer.
Sebastian’s last coherent thought was that he would die to protect this woman from her scheming relations, from any harm whatsoever, but he was helpless to protect her from himself.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“She took his hand, and he arranged her in waltz position. “Close your eyes.”
Why not? She closed her eyes, the better to enjoy his fragrance, the better to enjoy the fiction that they might, even in this parlor, indulge in a few steps of the dance.
The door was open, in any case. Let the footmen think what they would.
“You will let me lead you in an exploration of the letter e.” He gathered her closer and moved off with her, slowly but confidently. Three steps up, a little shift, andthree steps back. Another shift, and the same pattern, again and again.
“You’re making a chain stitch with me.”
“You have maligned a perfectly agreeable letter, Miss Danforth. A simple loop exists not to confound you, but to pleasure your hand in its making.”
Or her entire body. He danced wonderfully, and to be held like this—Milly’s opinion of the letter e underwent a drastic revision.
“I think you have it, madam, but now we will venture on to the letter l.”
She liked the letter l even better, because it was six steps up, and six steps back, a more ambitious undertaking in the small parlor.
“There are two l’s in Millicent,” she said. And for no reason, no reason at all, this inspired her to lay her cheek against his chest. They e’d and l’d and o’d (as in Danforth) a while longer before St. Clair came to a gliding halt.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Too late, Sebastian realized what he’d admitted. He did want Milly Danforth, badly. She was brave, loyal, and possessed of a kissably stubborn mouth. Worse yet, she bore the fragrance of Provence and understood how shame could corrode a soul.
“So marry her, why don’t you? You must have an heir, or the St. Clair holdings revert to the Crown.If Miss Danforth is so oblivious to gossip, then marry her, get some babies on her, and set her up at the family seat. Twenty years from now, your son should be able to barter his expectations for an heiress, new wars and new traitors will have arisen, and your infamy will be forgotten.”
Rather than tell Michael he sounded much like a certain elderly aunt, Sebastian straightened a saddle blanket folded carelessly on a trunk. “I would be condemning Miss Danforth to widowhood.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“Of course I like Miss Danforth.”
“So polite, Baron. You ‘like’ her—you like Cook, you like the old fellows at your flower club, you like your aunt’s card-party coven. Youwant Milly Danforth, want her naked and panting, spread beneath you while you rut yourself into forgetting your sorry past. That’s what all this wandering around the park is about. You don’t need to protect her from Society, you need to protect her from you and your mighty sword.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“She’s damned pretty, your Amelia, but she would have been a chilly night’s work in bed. The point is, Miss Danforth didn’t notice. She didn’t notice when the Pierpont whelp turned off the path rather than cross his steps with yours. She didn’t notice when Lady Fleming and both of her escorts turned their backs on you...Miss Danforth passed your test with flying colors. Nobody wouldcut her when she’s out with Lady Freddy. You were examining her reaction to being out with you, and she earned top marks.”

“Miss Danforth flunked miserably, Michael. The outing was intended to show her why association with me is not a sound idea, to give her a distaste for my company, but she was too distractedby the brutalities in her past to notice. She accused the Duke of Mercia of wanting charm. Who maintains these bridles?”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“She jabbed him in the sternum with a bony, surprisingly painful finger. “You are competent to get the girl to Chelsea. John Coachman’s gout is acting up, and the undercoachman takes a half day today, along with the footmen. Call. For. Your. Phaeton.” Four more jabs right to the sternum. Sebastian had never had any call to jab a man in the breastbone before, but if he were still in the interrogation business, he would have added it to his repertoire of torments.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“This was an order. Freddy enjoyed giving orders, but Sebastian could not oblige her. “I’ll have the coach brought around instead, the weather being unpredictable. The press of business is such that—” Tante advanced on him, hands on her hips. A line of Shakespeare flitted through his head, about the lady being small but fierce. “She has lost her only friend, Sebastian. Miss Danforth’s aunt, her only supporter in this world, has gone to her reward, and the girl buried her other aunt only three months past. She is alone, but for what kindness we can show her.” An aunt. Merde. It would be an aunt. “John Coachman knows the roads—” She jabbed him in the sternum with a bony, surprisingly painful finger. “You are competent to get the girl to Chelsea. John Coachman’s gout is acting up, and the undercoachman takes a half day today, along with the footmen. Call. For. Your. Phaeton.” Four more jabs right to the sternum. Sebastian had never had any call to jab a man in the breastbone before, but if he were still in the interrogation business, he would have added it to his repertoire of torments.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“You are such a cheering influence, Michael. Take yourself off to bed, there to dream of the end of the world or whatever gives a nice Catholic boy comfort on a long and cold night.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor

“He studied his hands, and by firelight, his expression was long-suffering to the point of martyrdom. Milly heard Shakespeare whispering from the shadows, Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hands?”
― Grace Burrowes, The Traitor