The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane Quotes

“She wanted his touch, wanted him to find that spot where her need left her begging and hungry. Anxious and half mad.
And when he touched her, teased her open, slid his finger over the wetness and inside her, her hips arched up, welcoming his touch.
"Oooh," she gasped, as his finger slid over her again, swirling in a circle and then pressing down right where it was the tightest and vibrating against her until she was nearly at her peak. "Please-”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“For here he was about to take her to that passionate brink and she reached upward, her hips rising, her breath catching as she dared not even exhale...
Yet he stopped, and let himself go farther down, until his lips blew a hot, steamy kiss over her sex, leaving her gasping, and then it was his tongue on her, lapping at her, drawing her into his mouth and sucking at her sex.
He'd slid his fingers inside her again, easing their way in, but it was his mouth, teasing over her, that left her gasping for air, reaching upward, nearly at that brink.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“Well, she did say once that a disorganized closet was a sign of... a sign of..." she began, glancing around him and looking ready to bolt like a fawn in the forest.
"A sign of what?" he asked, his hand reaching out and cradling her chin, stilling her movements.
He gave her her due- she chucked up her chin and met his gaze with a steely one of her own. "Lady Essex says untidy closets are a sign of darker troubles."
"Truly?" he mused as he leaned over her and inhaled deeply around the shell of her ear. "How dark?"
She might be doing her best to look unmoved, but he could see her pulse fluttering in her neck, see her lips part slightly, her lashes waver as they softly closed. "I haven't the vaguest notion-" she began, and stopped as his lips brushed against a spot right behind her ear. "My lord! Whatever are you doing?"
"Discovering your dark secrets.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“Pierson glanced up at the steps, seeing not the Marquess of Ilford, but the lady standing silhouetted in the doorway. Melliscent.
She looked down at him with something akin to feral pleasure. A dangerous admiration that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The look in her eyes was an offer and a promise.
In that moment, he realized how little he knew her. Had known her. The woman he once thought to marry. The woman he'd been mad to possess.
Then he glanced over at Louisa and he was struck by the contrast of the two- Melliscent, a cool, cold goddess, demanding of admiration and conquest. And Louisa, her quiet beauty asking for nothing, but giving everything in return.
Which left him considering how little he knew of Louisa.
How well could any man know the mysteries inside a woman?
But one thing he couldn't shake was the sense that Louisa, unlike the woman on the steps, wouldn't have left him broken and tormented.
She'd have persevered out of loyalty. And love. For she would never agree to wed unless her heart was engaged.
Deeply and thoroughly.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“Both Pierson and Roselie gaped at her very proper response- for here they were making a very improper retreat out of Alack's, down the steps and nearly to the carriage-clogged street outside and Miss Tempest sounded like the finest graduate of a Bath school.
"I might be cowhanded, my lord," she told him pertly, "but I am not rag-mannered."
"I like her," Roselie told her brother."I don't think you are alone in that regard," Tuck muttered, though no one was paying him much heed.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“Wakefield," she gasped, as her world began to tighten, as her hands fisted onto his jacket, her eyes grew wide open and looking at him.
They were still dark, still dangerous, so very full of passion, but she would have followed him, devil that he was, anywhere in that moment.
She was lost and he would show her the way.
"Pierson," he whispered back, his finger delving into her, sliding over her sex and sliding back inside her. Deeper. Harder.
She rocked against him, rode his touch, his strokes.
And when she said his name again, called it, gasped it, it was because he'd taken her over that edge, carried her into a world she couldn't have imagined.
"Pierson!" she cried out, her body quaking, falling, rising all at once. "Oh, Pierson, yes!"
For now she knew the way.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“And here she'd thought that love was all soft verses and lulling melodies.
No, indeed. Love, or rather passion, was hard and full of twisting, demanding desires that left one restless, anxious, frenzied and...
For a second, his kiss deepened and then in an instant it was gone.
He reeled back from her, gasping, pulling air into his lungs like a drowning man having found the water's surface.
Louisa wished she could find the wherewithal to breathe as well, for she was dizzy and reeling in a whirlpool of desires.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“As he turned around, he discovered Miss Tempest, her back to him, caught in a tangle of rose canes.
A rose trapped by thorns.
If the front of Miss Tempest was enticing, her backside was even more so. It showed a decidedly feminine figure, with curves and soft angles that could tease a man into believing the lady was just as pliable.
And any man who thought that, Pierson reminded himself, would be a fool.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“Oh, he might still be half-seas over, but he wasn't so bosky that he couldn't discern a feminine shape that begged to be explored- though she was obviously doing her best to hide it beneath the plain gown she wore. She might even be a proper bit, if it weren't for the path of ruined crockery in her wake.
That spoke of an impulsive and passionate nature. A dangerous mix in a pretty miss that begged to be unleashed in a different way. Say, in a man's bed.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane

“a heart that is not shared with others, beloved by another, only withers and dies.”
― Elizabeth Boyle, The Viscount Who Lived Down the Lane