The Lady Meets Her Match Quotes

“The saucy Miss Tottenham slipped the strawberry into her delectable mouth, all the while looking at Cyrus. His thigh muscles tensed inside the velvet prison of his breeches. Hot pleasure shot through his body at the sight of the red berry slipping through her lips. Adding to his misery, a spurt of juice from the tender morsel painted her bottom lip red. He nearly groaned.
Tradition named the apple as the fruit of man's downfall, but tonight he'd argue mightily for the dangers of a ripe strawberry on a certain woman's lips.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Mr. Ryland was a riddle to unfold, an attractive one at that. The lone candle flickered behind him, outlining powerful shoulders, tempting solidness she wanted to test.
"But an evening of harmless flirtation isn't out of the question."
His gaze fixed on her. "I'd welcome an evening free of complications."
Did he just proposition her?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Growing up a steward's daughter on the grand Greenwich estate afforded her many opportunities. But life changed one fateful night, a reminder of who and what she was. Since then, she labored hard, building calluses anew on her hands and heart, all in an effort to fall into a deep sleep every night and forget what had happened years ago. Many more years of hard work stretched ahead of her.
Why not sip champagne once more?
What harm could come of that?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“A woman on the verge of moral downfall ought to be well dressed. Claire's particular transgression was gartered to her thigh, a paper hidden by yards of silk. She walked through the empty alley, confident in one comforting truth: no one dared ask a lady what her skirts concealed...”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Claire coaxed free another loop of cloth. The slow side of cotton against cotton matched the soft tenor or her voice.

'I have lots of talents Mr. Ryland. Listening is only one of them.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“They sat in a sphere of quiet, save the sound of their
breathing and the carriage’s creaks and sways. Outside,
the coachman yelled his encouragement to the steeds
moving them forward. The whole carriage cocooned
them in a peculiar world with the heaven’s wool-thick
mists pressing against the windows.
Her hand didn’t stop rubbing his neck, but she
shifted her leg, bending her knee to rest her leg on
his thigh. Her patten slipped off, dropping to the floor
with a thud.
Cyrus’s head moved off the squab. “Are you
undressing for my benefit?”
His smile’s wicked curve played on her. From her
stays to her drawers, everything was too tight, too
much against her skin. Cyrus reached for her hand
working his neck muscles. He brought it to his lips and
kissed her knuckles thrice with slow adoration.
“We don’t have to stop,” she said, her voice breathy
and quick. “I’m sure you have more aches and pains.”
Mid-kiss, he smiled against the back of her hand, his
warm breath brushing her skin.
“There are so many ways a man could go with
that.” Humor lightened his voice. “But I’m sure you
mean to provide tender care to my neck only.”
She grinned at her unintended innuendo. This was
the experience she craved—to flirt and tease, to kiss
and touch. Cyrus put his lips to her wrist, marking her
with hot kisses. A spangle of pleasure shot up her arm.
“You would break down the meanest soul with
your soft heart.” He set her hand on the blanket’s
scratchy folds, his thumb caressing her wrist.
“High praise, indeed, sir.”
Tinseled sparks danced across her skin, not letting
her recover from those gentle touches, his lips to her
arm. He stroked a lone finger on her hand that rested
between them.
“And you don’t care one bit that I’m the son of a
Midland swine farmer, do you?”
Cyrus asked the unexpected question, but his voice
conveyed confidence in her answer. Was her chivalrous
brawler showing a hidden spot? She peered at
him, wanting a better view of his shadowed features.
How was she to decipher this latest turn?
The carriage bumped and rocked, and the outside
candle lantern swung another shaft of light inside. His
quicksilver stare pinned her.
“Miss Mayhew, have you ever wondered how a
freehold farmer got to be in such a fine place?”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match

“Her feet moved into the vast space, but all she could
see was Cyrus. He strode through the room the way a
captain commands his ship. Was it possible his maroon
bruise made him more dashing?
He was a fine sight in a black broadcloth coat. Her
salacious gaze dropped to a brass button lower on his
waistcoat. The metal glimmered, winking at her with
flirtatious intent very near the tuft of hair she remembered
so well at his navel.
The corner of Cyrus’s mouth crooked. If she
looked ready to devour him, he read the message on
her face, no words required.
“Claire.”
He said her name like a treasured sound. Then, her
landlord bent low over her hand, kissing her knuckles
and keeping her fingers in a tender hold.
Her flesh sung a merry tune recalling how she’d
gripped those broad shoulders of his in a fit of passion.
Was that only two nights ago? Her cheeks turned hot
at the memory.
Cyrus rose to his full height, holding her hand. He
planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Mmmm…” he hummed approvingly. “You smell
of almonds.” His lips lingered on her hairline, giving
her another soft kiss. “And vanilla, I think. Something
you cooked?”
He breathed in her scent, standing close yet not
intimidating in the least. His own smell was clean
and starched with a hint of coffee. She reached high,
touching his face like a woman with every right to
partake of the feast he offered.
“It’s face powder.” One finger stroked the smooth
square of his jaw, her voice curving with amusement.
“Today I join the ranks of ladies who meet for luncheon,
and I can’t be sure if I’ve been lured here or
goaded by one very challenging man put on earth to
harass my senses.”
She caressed his jaw, the grain of his skin smooth
to the touch. He must’ve shaved in the last hour. His
mouth quirked sideways, pressing the maroon bruise
higher up his cheek.
“Something tells me you’re the perfect woman to
soothe such a man or put him in his place.” His pewter
stare flicked over her exposed skin, settling on her
cleavage. “As to your senses, I shall treat them with
the utmost care.”
― Gina Conkle, The Lady Meets Her Match