To Wed a Wicked Earl Quotes

“He did not blame them. Because in truth, that's what he did, what he was. Seduce and dominate. Charm and manipulate. A user of women. How they would scoff, Rothbury mused bitterly, if they knew that he was secretly in love with the silly little chit, spectacles and all.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Those aren't from my mother's garden, are they? She'll throttle you."
"No," he said, making a grand show of looking insulted. "I would never."
"Sorry," she said with a cringe.
"They're from your neighbor's garden, actually.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“I mean, I'm happy to see you, but why aren't you home?"
"Wherever my wife sleeps is my home.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“By some miracle, Charlotte's polite smile never wavered. It was a proud moment for her. After all, it wasn't every day that a little old lady told you right to your face that your bosom was as flat as a flounder.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Before Charlotte could utter a syllable, Tristan picked up her gloved hand and kissed her lightly on the
knuckles.
“Good day, Charlotte,” he said.
“Good day,” she answered. She turned to bid farewell to Lady Rosalind, but she seemed to have
disappeared.
Numbly, she descended the front steps toward a waiting Rothbury, who only had eyes for the Devines’
front door, looking quite like he wanted to murder someone.
“Perfection, dear brother,” Rosalind proclaimed, while peeking out the little window next to the door.
“Utter perfection.”
Slipping a finger inside his cravat to loosen it a bit, Tristan craned his neck from side to side, easing the
building tension. “If he kills me, I’ll see to it that you get hanged for murder as well.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“See. I told you I would get that boy to the alter eventually. All I had to do was pretend I was a loon.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“A throbbing ache started to grow in her womb. She wanted more, wanted something...
"Rothbury, please," she begged. "Please."
And then his fingers were there, delving inside, spreading her moisture up and down and around her opening. Her hips circled and dipped along with his movements. She moaned, saying his name. He groaned, panting along with her. Expertly, he handled her. Rhythmically, sweetly, he tortured her.
"Open my trousers," he breathed.
She complied.
Soon he was freed, his hardness jutting upward, seeking her heat.
"Look at me," he bit out through his teeth.
As if through a haze, she met his heated, intense gaze.
"This is the only time in my life I will ever hurt you."
Her brow scrunched and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him just what exactly he meant, when the tip of his manhood pulsed at the opening of her center.
"Hold on," he said, his voice strained.
Charlotte gripped his shoulders. Rothbury gripped her hips. Lifting her, he hesitated for a moment.
"Do you want it?"
She nodded and made some sort of noise, half whimper and half the word "yes."
He bent his head to suckle one of her breasts again. For long moments, he held her poised above him as he toyed with her nipples, flicking, lapping, and gently running the bottom row of his teeth against them.
When she started to wriggle, he impaled her in one smooth, swift motion.
She cried out, nearly surging off of him.
"Shh. Shh." He kissed her eyelids, the apples of her cheeks. "Only this time, my angel. Only this time it hurts."
He kept very still, waiting for some sort of response from her, she imagined.
Where there was once only pleasure, she now felt a stabbing pain. It seemed to radiate around his arousal. Her breathing slowed. This couldn't be it. There had to be more...
And then she felt a sort of tickling. She looked down at their joined bodies to find Rothbury using his thumb to flick quickly against a tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds. It felt... wonderful.
Like magic, her hips began to move of their own accord. Her breathing increased and the throbbing, damp pleasure returned. She rocked against him.
"There you are, Charlotte," he murmured against her throat. "Better?"
She nodded shakily, tiny shivers shimmering down her upper body as he nipped at her earlobe.
His large hands held her backside tightly against him, controlling, rolling her with him in a primal rhythm.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Dropping to his knees before her, he loved her, worshiped her with his mouth, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and finally reaching her moist, intimate center.
She cried out his name and he knew she was shocked at his behavior, but he didn't care.
He devoured her, holding her tightly against his mouth as he drank her.
Alternating between swirls of his tongue and long, languid licks, he let her moans and sighs be his guide to pleasuring her. Her body shook and he knew she was close. He quickened his movements.
He slid his hands from her bottom around to her waist, and to her rib cage. Reaching her breasts, he plucked at her nipples while he suckled the tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds.
She screamed. And he continued his sweet torture until her knees buckled.
He caught her to him. Holding her close he carried her to his bed, his cock so fiendishly hard he thought he'd go mad if he didn't take her at that moment.
In a stunningly short amount of time, he rid himself of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Her legs spread for him and he sank himself between her thighs.
Her limbs shaking, Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist and eagerly met her husband's lips for a kiss.
His body was simply magnificent, she thought, running her hands down his muscled back, over the hard muscles of his arms and chest.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Do it again," she whispered, tilting her head, offering her mouth to him.
Staring down at her swollen bottom lip, he gave it a little lick.
A small, soft moan sounded from the back of her throat.
"Ask nicely," he whispered.
"Please." She gave a lock of hair at his neck an impatient tug.
He came undone. Delving his tongue inside her sweet mouth, he walked her backward until her back met one of the pillars. With one hand cradling the back of her head for protection, his other hand held her hip immobilized, under his control. Rhythmically, he sank his tongue into her honeyed depths, mimicking the motion of making love.
She whimpered, the sound a desperate plea. Her fingers threaded through the damp hair at the base of his neck; her other hand clutched at his forearm.
He squeezed her hip, his long fingers digging into her soft bottom as he rocked her into his arousal.
For several moments, she ground her hips against him as he plundered her mouth. The kiss was no longer enough. He wanted to take her. Right here, right now. His fingertips trailed down the back of her neck to caress her shoulder, her arm, her breast. His breath hitched when she pushed herself more firmly into his hand. She wanted his touch. He complied of course: he would never deny her. Gently he kneaded her through the fabric of her dress, purposely passing his thumb over the hardened tip. She made a small sound of pleasure that nearly pushed him over the edge.
The manor, the rain, the mud disappeared. Reason and practicality were momentarily suspended. Nothing mattered in those moments. Nothing but the ever-escalating power of their passion.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Do you know what I think?"she asked, rearranging the blanket to wear around her shoulders like a shawl.
"Not this again."
"I think there's more to you than you let people believe. I think you actually do care what people think. Oh sure, it's fun having everyone think you're dangerous and cold, but inside, where it matters, you're just warm pudding."
"Warm pudding?"
"Quite," she uttered confidently, with a firm nod.
The things that came out of that woman's mouth never failed to astound him. "Well, I'm going to... to leave now," he said slowly, as if he thought her the strangest creature on earth- just to tease her. When she laughed at herself, he smiled and muttered, "Good night, my sweet Charlotte." Fists on the edge of the couch, he made to push himself up.
"Wait," she said. And he froze.
Slowly, she sat up more fully, swinging her legs down. Which put her knees between his planted fists.
He couldn't help but give a low chuckle. "Charlotte, if I didn't know you better, I would venture to say that you are deliberately tempting me."
"Tempting you to what?" she asked, her tone utterly oblivious.
He had had enough. "Remember that little problem I forewarned you about? The one about a man and a woman never being able to become friends because lust gets in the way? That eventually, one or both of us would end up wanting something very intimate from the other?"
She nodded jerkily.
"Well, I'm there. I've been there. For years.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Just when she was about to rush back up the steps, a large, warm hand settled at her waist. She turned, giving a jolted whimper as Rothbury's lips settled atop hers.
His mouth was hot, ravenous, intoxicating. She had no idea where his gloves had gone, but his hands were bare, sliding up and down her back, cupping her backside and holding her tightly to him.
Charlotte groaned at his glorious siege of her senses. She wanted to touch him as well, only it took extreme concentration to do something as raise her arms. Gliding her hands up his strong arms and then his neck, she sunk her fingers into his thick hair at his nape, pressing herself closer to him, needing him to touch her more.
He spun her around, pushing her back against the stone wall of the terrace. With a finger at her bottom lip, he easily coaxed her open, sinking his tongue inside to mate with hers. Surely, her bones were melting.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“This kiss, this first kiss, was not subtle, soft or gentle. It was as if they were ravenous for each other. She opened so easily for him. He didn't expect this reaction from her. Truly, he hadn't expected to kiss her today. But as their mouths joined, their lips caressing, moving hungrily, steadily becoming more demanding, he wondered why he hadn't done this sooner.
"I could kiss you for hours," he drawled hotly against her mouth. "Possibly for days." It felt as if he was savoring heaven. Something Rothbury never thought he would ever even glimpse let alone taste.
She responded to his words by grasping at the sodden material of his linen shirt, her arms trapped in between their chests.
The feel of her lush mouth under him was intoxicating. She tasted sweet, wet, the rivulets of rain upon their faces making the kiss wilder, hotter somehow.
His lips moved hotly over hers. He had thought about this moment for so long, and now that it was actually happening... it was better than he ever imagined it could be.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“My lord? Are you all right?"
Rothbury inhaled the fresh, almost lemon-tinged air wafting before him, the scent seeping deep into his lungs coaxing forth an unexpected pang of responsiveness.
Eyes of sapphire blurred and spun before his gaze. "'Tempt not a desperate man.'"
"I believe that's enough Shakespeare for one evening, my lord."
For a moment the air seemed to sparkle about her head, causing him added confusion. "Are you an angel?" he heard himself mutter.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Rothbury," she whispered. "I need to feel you inside of me again."
His eyes fluttered open, then met her gaze.
Staring into her eyes, he positioned himself at her opening, then with one hand at her hip, he entered her slowly at first, thinking she must be tender from the day before.
She arched against him, silently giving him leave to enter more fully.
And he did, then, nearly losing himself in that second.
Together they began to move, their rhythm steady and firm. Soon her moans grew desperate and her heels pressed into his buttocks.
He increased the pace, pumping into her wildly now, determined to bring them both to utter bliss.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Charlotte groaned feverishly, a tension building within her core that begged for release.
Grunting, he lifted his hips slightly, expertly angling his body so that part of him pressed against the nubbin of flesh.
She called out his name, clasping his shoulders. Her hips pumped furiously now, a building, pulsing ache growing and growing, winding tighter and tighter still. Until it exploded.
And then they both cried out, surging upward and down, their bodies shaking with pleasure.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“You did say you would help me find a husband."
"Didn't I?" he joked, meaning himself.
She grinned. "A real one."
"Good-bye my wife," he said, one side of his mouth lifting, a roguish gleam in his eye.
"You are coming?" she persisted. "You promised to help me." She felt suddenly desperate. Not for finding a suitor before she found herself shackled to Witherby, but for Rothbury. Desperate to know what he was thinking.
"I don't know," he said. "I was thinking of coming to Town for a slightly different reason."
"And that is..."
"To seduce my wife." And with that he knocked on the side of the carriage, signaling the driver to go, leaving Charlotte with a curious feeling deep in her belly, a flicker of heat.
It wasn't fear, however. It was anticipation.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Go on, Charlotte," came a dark whisper from her left. "Take a bite."
She turned to see Rothbury smiling devilishly. Heat billowed up from her belly as she stared at his mouth. Images of their kiss swam into her vision. She blinked them away.
She licked her lips. He watched, licking his own.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Shortly, she passed what she assumed was the center: a wide expanse of lawn, a white garden bench at each end, and a circular pond enlivened with water lilies and irises. Just like the rest of Aubry Park, at least what she had seen of it, the center of the labyrinth was a charming surprise. A place where she might be inclined to sit and read under other circumstances.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Splatters of mud stained Rothbury's fine lawn shirt, which clung slickly to the broad expanse of his back like a second skin. Having rolled up his sleeves at the onset of his task, his muscled arms were now streaked with mud and rain as were the tall boots and tight black breeches that hugged the sinewy muscles of his long, undoubtedly strong legs.
Her admiring gaze alighted upon his golden-brown hair, which now looked more brown than golden as it was wet with perspiration and mist. A few locks lay plastered to his neck in wispy whorls.
Charlotte suddenly felt overly warm. Seeing him... wet... somehow embarrassed her. It felt dark, intimate. Truly, if it weren't for the mud- and clothes- she rather thought this would be what he looked like after a bath.
A shiver ran down her arms as her eyes drifted to the dewy trails of rain droplets that ran over his slightly bristled jaw and neck, disappearing in the nest of his loosely tied cravat.
And then her hungry gaze raised... and connected with Rothbury's. All thoughts flew straight out of her head.
Looking at her from over his shoulder, he straightened, his smile twisting with arrogance.
Despite the chill in the air, her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. How long had he been watching her in-depth perusal? Long enough, she supposed, if the heated gleam in his eyes was any indication at all.
She blinked, shaking her head hurriedly, hoping by that action she was silently telling him, "No, I definitely was not looking at you."
He answered her gesture by nodding slowly, telling her he knew exactly what she had been doing and that he had caught her in the act.
She gave her head another insistent shake.
Still looking at her from over his shoulder, he sauntered back to the carriage, his smile broadening. He lifted his shoulder as if to say, "I don't care. Look all you want."
She shook her head again, tightly.
He winked.
She gulped.
And then he set back to work with the other men to free the carriage.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“And then in a swift, calculating move, Rothbury sprang forward, covering her body with his own.
For a second her breath felt trapped in her chest and she was instantly immobile underneath his weight. His warm, hard thigh sat heavy between hers.
Panting from exertion, a shameful lick of heat ignited deep in her belly. Effortlessly, he joined her wrists together, holding them above her head with only one hand while the long, blunt-tipped fingers of the other trailed a silky path down her cheek.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
Her breath hitched at the explosion of feeling and thought thrumming through her. He looked so dominant above her, so beautiful, like he was created specifically for seduction. None of her wicked imaginings had prepared her for the plethora of sensations he sparked with only his fingertips upon her face.
Belatedly, she realized her body refused to listen to her mind. She had quit squirming. In fact, she had begun to relish the intoxicating feel of his long, lean-muscled body atop hers. His warm, bare chest pressed onto her bodice, his solid thigh planted firmly against her sex.
Her eyes dipped to his mouth, which was partially open, baring his straight white teeth. All she would have to do was arch her neck and her mouth would fasten to his.
She shivered, surprised and ashamed at the way her body reacted to him. She needed to escape before he discovered her identity.
But her mind warred between what was right and what felt wonderful. In the end, years of dire warnings from her pious father about the sins of the flesh returned at least some of her good sense.
"Get off of me," she demanded, albeit weakly.
"Absolutely not," he growled, his breath feathering hotly against her mouth, her cheek, her neck. "I'll not let you get away now. Not before I find out who you are. Wanted a taste, did you?”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Tangled up in sheets and pillows, Charlotte scrambled rearward on her back using her elbows and heels. But the earl was too quick- even with the blindfold still in place.
"Oh, no, you don't," he said with dark amusement. He crawled stealthily toward her, like a stalking panther, his tousled dark blond locks completely loose and hanging in his face. "You're not going anywhere until I find out who you are."
The muscles of his chest rippled with his movements. For a second Charlotte felt paralyzed by her fascination. He was mesmerizing. Hesitating, she had to remind herself to keep moving backward, for some wicked part of her wanted to do nothing more than wait for him to catch her.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Rothbury inhaled the familiar lemon-tinged air wafting before him. He remained silent, ignoring the zing of awareness thrumming through him, and listened for the sound of footfalls instead.
Whoever had entered the room, it was definitely a young woman. He'd bet one of his prized Arabians on it, but it wasn't Cordelia. She smelled perpetually of pungent roses, which he had been partial to in the beginning of their short love affair, but which now merely reminded him that the woman connected to it was just as clingy and thorny as the flower itself.
But this scent- he inhaled deeply as it now surrounded him- inspired contentment, which was a miracle in itself, considering all he wanted to do presently was break free, find Lady Gilton, and throttle her elegant neck.
"Who's there?" Rothbury demanded, his tone firm but quiet. He pulled at the twisted silk binds holding his wrists together behind him, noting they were finally starting to tear. "Come now," he said in a tone he used on skittish horses. "Tell me who's there.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Oh, thank you! Thank you," she chirped, surprising him by bounding across the room and clasping him tight for a quick hug.
His arms hung heavy and loose at his sides during her gentle siege.
Rothbury had enchanted exotic opera singers into returning to his bed time and again. He had warmed coldhearted courtesans into confessing their undying love and he had seduced a number of beautiful, feisty women who were just as fickle in picking their lovers as he was. But Charlotte's hug unsettled him, knocked him off balance, one might say.
He didn't want her to let go. But he wouldn't dare bring up his arms to hold her either. Without a doubt he knew if he indulged himself, all he felt, all he thought, would be exposed in the warmth of his embrace. And then there would be no turning back. He would be bared, revealed, humiliated.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“It was about time he opened his eyes to see just to whom he was speaking.
After several quick blinks, he managed to do just that, gazing up into a small, heart-shaped face. A pretty face. Not one of a curvy seductress or a cool-hearted courtesan, but a feminine, delicately featured face. He knew this face. He adored this face.
"Miss Charlotte Greene," he stated finally, taking a risk and raising his head to get a better look.
Sitting at his side, the white skirt of her thick night rail tucked around her legs, she smiled down at him with concerned eyes of deep blue. Gorgeous sapphire eyes often hidden behind the rims of small, round spectacles.
Truthfully, she happened to be the complete opposite of what he was usually attracted to. She was a bit too thin, too short, and too quiet for his tastes, which had always leaned toward the voluptuous, the tall, and the spirited. Normally, she wasn't one to stand out. And he rather suspected she preferred it that way.
However, while most young bucks readily discounted her merits and furtively joked about her quirky behavior behind her back, Rothbury had always sensed a subtle undercurrent of passion in her dark blue gaze. Unlike the "diamonds" of the ton and demimonde, who slinked across assembly rooms completely aware of their beauty and the power that accompanied it, Miss Greene moved like a woman who hadn't yet realized how utterly fetching she truly was. She clung to the walls, sometimes barely raising her eyes from the floor, rarely spoke but to her closest friends, and shied away from situations that demanded she converse with the opposite sex.
Strange it was for him to notice those facets in such an unassuming woman. Strange it was he should have noticed her at all. But he always did. The second she walked into a room.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Let’s forget all that, shall we? Instead, I’d like to prove my point. Let’s pretend for a moment that I find you attractive. Let’s pretend that your very virtue is sorely threatened at this very moment.” “Unlikely,” she scoffed. His warm gaze dropped down to the hand that rested against his warm, bare skin. Then he looked up at her, his eyes showing an emotion she did not recognize. “I want you,” he said, then swallowed hard. “And every time you are near me, your scent, your voice, seeps into my soul.” “Oh my,” she muttered with a giggle. “You’re good at this. You almost sound as if you believe it yourself.” “I do.” Sighing, she supposed the only thing worse than being pursued by a sinfully attractive, manipulative rake, was having one for a friend. “Stop this, Rothbury. It’s not funny.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Has she accepted any of your calls?” she asked, speaking of Rosalind, the woman he was “trying” to court, only her brother deemed him and his reputation unfit to lick her half boots. Charlotte thought he had been leaving his calling cards with her footman for the past week. Unbeknownst to her, he hadn’t left a single one. “No,” he said, watching Charlotte closely. What would she do, what would she say, he wondered, if she knew the only reason he still pretended to want Rosalind was to be close to Charlotte? She considered him her little project, and it unearthed a buried self-confidence, something he doubted she would have ever thought she possessed. Something that attracted him to her like a beacon. As if he needed more encouragement. She thought she was helping him, when in fact, she was wasting her time. Oh, he knew that pretending he was still infatuated with Rosalind just to be close to Charlotte was a tad underhanded, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, being underhanded was his specialty. “Don’t worry,” she muttered. “I have another idea.” “I’m not worried,” he said with a shrug. But she should be.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“And he desired her, but secretly vowed to never cross the proverbial line. Granted, there were three extremely helpful notions that helped keep him walking that particular tightrope. One: she thought the prospect of marrying him was utterly ridiculous. Two: he suspected she was still enamored of his friend Tristan. And three: she had “adopted” him as her newest project, her friend. Lord, he hated that word. “Friend.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“While she batted her lashes at Tristan for six years, never sparing Rothbury a single glance, he chased other women so that hopefully, one day, one of them could chase away his regard for her. Make him forget her, forget that she was in love with his best friend. He had hoped her affection for Tristan was only a schoolgirl’s fancy, but even if it wasn’t, it was love of a sort, she was offering it, and he wanted it all for his own.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“The other one, the one who crept into his heart with her subtlety, the one whose unprejudiced smile dared him to think there was good in him—now, she could truly hurt him. So he stayed away. Feigned indifference. He was a coward.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Indeed, the earldom of Rothbury was synonymous with debauchery, gambling, too much wine, and too many women for generations. The men in his family certainly never took it upon themselves to rescue bespectacled wallflowers from the indignity of being the only young woman without a dance partner. Rothbury turned to leave the room, ignoring the curious looks of a few guests who obviously wondered why in hell he would bother paying any attention at all to the reigning wallflower of London. He, the reigning scoundrel. No doubt they all thought she was to be his new conquest. He did not blame them. Because in truth, that’s what he did, that’s what he was. Seduce and dominate. Charm and manipulate. A user of women. How they would scoff, Rothbury mused bitterly, if they knew that he was secretly in love with the silly little chit, spectacles and all.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl