Lady Ruthless Quotes

“He met his brother-in-law’s gaze unflinchingly. “If I ever harm your sister in any fashion, I will end myself first. I have no intention of hurting Callie. Ever. She is my wife, and I will do everything in my power to keep her happy and well.” The duke’s eyes narrowed into icy slits of disbelief. “I do not trust you, Sinclair. Not one whit.” Sin almost chuckled. Instead, he raised a brow. “I never asked you to trust me.” “Why did you marry my sister?” Westmorland asked. “Because she owed me,” he answered honestly. “She ruined me, quite intentionally. I had no recourse. I am being utterly honest with you, Westmorland. If you think I have anything to hide, you are wrong.” “Your first wife,” the duke said slowly, “what happened to her?” “Bloody hell,” he muttered, disgusted. “If I had wanted to murder Celeste, I would have done so years before she took her life by her own hand. She was mad, Westmorland. I know you and Callie want to believe your sainted brother could not have been duped by her, but I am living proof, standing before you, to tell you that woman was a poison. To herself, to everyone she knew. But I would never have harmed her.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“She must not allow herself to forget the manner in which their marriage had begun. He had abducted her from London, bound her wrists, and even gagged her. And then, he had blackmailed her. “Callie?” Isabella’s worried voice cut through her madly spinning thoughts. “Are you well? You look dreadfully pale all of a sudden.” No, she was not well. She felt…dizzy. Sick. Overheated. Her skin was hot. The room seemed to spin. Her eyes could not find a safe place to fall. It was as if she stood still whilst everything and everyone else was whirling around. The edges of her vision went dark. Benny and Isabella seemed suddenly too far away. Their voices were hushed and strange. And then Callie was falling, falling, falling. Backward, into the abyss. Darkness claimed her. Sin paced the hall outside his wife’s apartments, trying to tamp down his rage and his worry. Callie had swooned. His strong, fierce, fiery wife had bloody well fainted. It still seemed impossible to believe. He had abducted her, bound her, dragged her through the countryside, done his best to frighten her, and she had remained stalwart.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Sin,” she prodded, cupping his jaw as she searched his gaze. “What did she do to you?” He wanted to tear himself away from her touch, and yet, simultaneously, he never wanted to move. He wanted her to caress his jaw and gaze upon him with such a tender need to understand him forever. No one had ever looked at him thus. And this, from a woman who had believed him a murderer. “Tell me,” she whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “We were young when we married,” he remembered. “In love, or so I thought. But after I inherited the earldom, she changed. She became consumed by the social whirl. After our daughter was stillborn, it grew worse. She hated me, blamed me. Celeste refused to allow me to touch her, to comfort her. She pushed me away, and she threw herself back into society with a vengeance. Before I knew it, she was gambling away everything she could, disappearing for days. Once, I caught her with two of the footmen.” Callie’s soft gasp cut through him, settling deep, lodging somewhere perilously near to his heart. Her eyes were luminous. “Oh, my darling. I am so sorry.” My darling.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Answer me,” she demanded. “Do you not trust me?” “It is complicated,” he bit out. “I do, and I also do not. I cannot explain it.” “What have I done to make you doubt me?” she asked, her voice softening. Her honey-and-chocolate eyes glimmered with the traces of tears. He was a bastard for making her cry. Once, he would have enjoyed her tears. He would have adored bringing her low, making her weak. But that had been before he knew her. Before he had slept with her in his bed each night. Before he had been inside her.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“I am not displeased,” he gritted, finding the words difficult to say. “I am merely hesitant. My last marriage did not precisely imbue me with a great deal of trust in others, particularly the fairer sex. You were gone for quite some time.” “I was visiting my friend, Lady Jo Danvers.” She laid a soothing hand upon his forearm. “We had tea. We chatted for a few hours. The teapot leaked, and the tea grew cold, and we had to ring for another pot. Now I am home. I hardly think my short absence cause for concern.” Her touch seared him through his shirtsleeves. He was being an arse, and he knew it. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, trying to calm the jumbled mess of his thoughts. “Celeste would disappear for days.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Callie. Forgive me. I know you are not her, but the circumstances of our marriage hardly lend themselves to trust. Not long ago, you were doing everything in your power to ruin me.” She flinched as if he had struck her, withdrawing her hand from his arm. “Do you think I was calling upon other men? Do you… Do you think I am enamored with Mr. Dunlop? Is that what you are telling me?”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“I want to look at you and to know you are mine. You are so bloody beautiful, do you know that?” His words held a note of reluctance, as if he hated allowing her to know she affected him. He thought her beautiful? “The Duchess of Longleigh is beautiful,” she said. “I am not.” “No.” He shook his head slowly, moving toward her with steady, deliberate steps. “She is a faded comparison. The two of you are akin to fire and water. One could quench a thirst, and the other could burn a man alive.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Of all the secrets she had suspected him of keeping, she had never supposed that one would be a beautiful, white-haired woman who had lost her mind. Or that his former wife had been pregnant with his child, a child who had obviously not survived. The haunted expression on her husband’s face had revealed far more to her than his mother’s confused jumble of memories ever could. Her heart ached for him. The love he felt for his mother had been apparent. And as the elder woman had wandered in and out of the past and present, mistaking him for another and then seeming to remember him for a moment, Callie’s inner anguish for him had grown. As had her compassion. Although her relationship with her own parents had never been close prior to their deaths, she could not imagine how difficult it must be for him to know his mother no longer recognized him. And yet, he had navigated the situation with effortless aplomb, answering to Ferdy, smiling for his mother when she had demanded it. His mother had been in good spirits when they had left her in the care of her nursemaid. And as for Callie…well, something had shifted for her tonight. The more time she spent in his presence, the more apparent it became that there was much more to the Earl of Sinclair than she had previously supposed.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Tell me now,” he murmured against her throat, “how does it feel? Does it feel like I will hurt you? Does it feel like I am a monster?” No. It felt… She searched for a word that could aptly describe the sensations building inside her. Wicked. Good. Delicious. Sinful. Somehow, the only word it ought to be—wrong—occurred to her last. His fingers stilled, remaining on her, but ceasing their magical feats. “I cannot hear you, princess. How does it feel when I touch you here, when I pet your cunny? Do you like it?” She wanted to tell him she did not like it, but she could not form the words. He resumed playing with her, rubbing harder and faster, and the raw pleasure inside her continued to build. Her breaths were ragged. She felt as if she were seeking something, but she did not know what it was. He sucked on her skin. “Say the words or I shall stop again. Tell me you like it, and I will make you come.” Callie knew what those vulgar words he had just uttered meant. Or, at least, she thought she did.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“In an instant, his mouth was upon the tender cords of her throat, feasting. Kissing, sucking, nibbling. “Shall I stop?” he asked, his voice husky and laden with the same desire she felt coursing through her veins. Never, said that traitorous voice within. “If you wish,” she forced out, her pride taking the reins. “Do you truly want me to stop?” He sucked on her flesh. She stifled a moan. His hands had stilled on her breasts. Her nipples ached with the need to be touched. Every part of her was alive in a way it had never before been. His presence at her back, his mouth on her throat, his touch upon her body—it was nothing short of glorious. Nothing could have prepared her for this carnal onslaught. He removed his hands then, his lips, too. “Answer me,” he demanded at her back. His tone brooked no argument. He was giving no quarter. “No,” she whispered. “No what, princess? You will have to be more specific. I want to be certain I understand you.” “No, I do not want you to stop,” she gritted. The admission was torn from her. Her reward arrived in the form of his long fingers expertly opening her robe, leaving it gaping, and his hands, returning to cup her breasts. Bare skin upon bare skin this time.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“I was thinking of Simon,” she told him defiantly. “There. Are you satisfied? I was thinking of the wedding day I should have had. Of the husband I would have loved.” The earl’s jaw tensed, but he did not go or fly into a rage as she had hoped he would. Instead, he remained where he was. “Love and marriage have nothing to do with each other, princess. Trust me. I have more than adequate experience in the matter. You shall be better off despising me from the start than had you married your beau. He would have only disappointed you or betrayed you, had he lived.” What a desolate view of marriage he had. “He loved me, and I loved him.” Sinclair’s lip curled. “Love is a poison.” “Like the poison your wife swallowed to escape you?” she snapped. The instant the question fled her lips, she regretted it. She was not a cruel woman; at least, she had not believed she was until this very moment. She had wanted to hurt him.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“No.” She could scarcely believe him. “No?” He was close enough that she could smell the sweet scent of port on his breath. At this proximity, he stole all the breath from her lungs. “Just as I said. No.” She forced herself to inhale. To speak. “Do you intend to play lady’s maid for me?” she demanded, the idea causing her equal amounts of outrage and titillation. The consummation of their union loomed. She had never been entirely nude in the presence of a man before. Surely her fear of what was to come was the reason why her heart beat so madly now. Why her mouth had gone dry. “I intend for you to tell me why you were crying when I entered,” he said easily. “And then yes, I intend to assist you myself.” She had not anticipated such a response. So personal, so intimate, both of those answers. “It is none of your affair,” she snapped. “And I do not require your assistance. My lady’s maid is more than capable of aiding me.” “Everything about you is my affair,” he told her calmly, his stare never wavering. “You are my wife.” She could not look away from him, no matter how much she wanted to. He commanded all her attention. “You married me for my dowry. Why should you care?” “Tell me.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Callie raised a brow, clinging to all the calm she possessed. “Did you fear I had attempted to flee through the window again?” “The notion did cross my mind, I confess.” He startled her even more then by reaching out and catching one of her forgotten teardrops upon his thumb. “Why are you weeping, Lady Sinclair?” “Do not call me that,” she bit out. The name felt wrong. As if it belonged to someone else. She did not want it. He brought the pad of his thumb to his mouth and sucked. “It is your name now. You must reconcile yourself to the choices you made, princess. You, alone, are the reason you are my wife.” Somehow, the sight of his sinful mouth sucking up her sorrow made her core tingle. There was something so very sensual about the Earl of Sinclair. His every move, every stare, word, and touch seemed alive with carnal intent.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Her defiance. Her mouth. Fuck, the weight of her in his lap. Those dark, flashing eyes, that cloud of mahogany hair. Everything about her was driving him to the brink. Sin had never wanted a woman more than he wanted Lady Calliope Manning. Strike that—Calliope, Countess of Sinclair.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Wife. Yes, she was that. To him. To a man she still did not dare trust. A man who had once been her nemesis. A man she did not know, beyond the span of a week and a few, turbulent kisses. To say nothing of a forced carriage ride and an overnight abduction… She stifled a shudder. She would be damned before she would show him a single weakness. “Damn you, speak to me,” he growled. She met his gaze at last, startled by the intensity she saw reflected in his countenance. His jaw was rigid, his dark eyes sparkling. “What would you have me say, my lord? You have gotten what you wanted. You will have my fortune, such as it is. I must bear your touch until I present you with an heir. There seems hardly anything worth speaking about.” His expression shifted. “You must bear my touch?” Suggesting she was unaffected by him was a lie, and she knew it. But she did it to spite him. “Yes. Just as I said.” “Come here,” he told her in a voice of silken menace. Molten heat pooled between her thighs. She pressed them together, doing her utmost to banish the unworthy sensation. She could not afford to want the Earl of Sinclair. Not when she could not be sure she could trust him. “No,” she denied, fixing him with a challenging stare. She was not his to order about.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“A kiss he wanted to take. A kiss he had to take. Right bloody now. He dipped his head and claimed her lips for his own. Her mouth was soft and supple, giving and hot, so hot. Hotter than the fire in his blood, raging with the need to possess her. She did not resist. Instead, she sighed into his mouth, and her hands settled on his shoulders. Not pushing him away. Her fingers dug into him, spurring him on. Everything about her was fierce. Each time they kissed, it was feral. Elemental. They were two wild creatures, madly clashing. He thought of the first time he had taken her lips, of how she had bitten his tongue until she had drawn blood. Oddly, the memory only heightened his driving need. His cock pressed against the fall of his trousers with painful insistence, and his ballocks ached. His body cried out with the need to raise that gown and plunge inside her. But he would not do it. Not yet.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“The library door opened when he was within three strides of reaching it. Lady Calliope hovered on the threshold, ridiculously fetching in a day gown of plum and mauve with pale-pink roses trimming the bodice and a flounce of blonde lace on her skirts. She looked like a bloody queen, regal and perfect, her dark hair piled high on her crown and curling tendrils framing her face. As with every time he laid eyes upon her, Sin felt as if a fist landed firmly in his gut. And then his prick instantly twitched to life. More reasons to resent her. Damn her beautiful hide. Why did he have to want her the way he did?”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“His note to her had been brief and circumspect, lest Longleigh intercept it. The duke was a desperately jealous man. Tilly had suffered enough in her marriage; Sin had no wish to be the cause of further pain. “Lady Calliope has agreed to become my betrothed,” he explained, treading carefully. “However, she is in need of some reassurance from you.” Tilly stiffened. “Reassurance? I am not certain how I may provide such comfort.” Regret sliced through him at involving her. He and Tilly were old, trusted friends. Their bond had begun well before their relationship had become physical. Before her marriage to Longleigh as well. He knew, better than most, how private she was, and how she guarded her secrets. Her life with Longleigh depended upon it. “Forgive me,” he entreated softly, hating this. Hating the depths to which he had been forced to sink. “I would not come to you were it not imperative.” He was well aware how out of the ordinary this call was. How beyond the depths of propriety. Affaires were conducted in privacy, behind closed doors. The notion of introducing his future wife to his former mistress was beyond the pale, even by Sin’s standards.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Where have you come by all this information, my lady?” he asked. By God, he would suffer anything before he chained himself to another Celeste. Strangely, however, something inside him told him the petite, dark-haired woman before him could not be further from Celeste than the moon from the sun. “Will you have me pay calls to all of them?” Her composure was impeccable. She showed nary a hint of fear. “Or will you tell me which of the many ladies in your acquaintance I must meet?” Sin did not know what came over him then. One moment, he was at a complete impasse with Lady Calliope, and the next, he was slamming his mouth down on hers. He told himself it was to shut her up. To stop her sharp tongue from its endless wagging. To remind her which of them was in control. But the saddest bit of it was, the moment her lips moved beneath his, he was stunningly, surreally aware of where all the control lay. In her power. In her bewitching lips. He was not kissing her to command her. Rather, he was kissing her because he wanted to kiss her. This would not do.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“That was bloody well it. Sin rose and prowled around his desk, not stopping until he was between Lady Calliope, still seated opposite him, and the burled walnut. He braced his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned forward, until they were nearly nose to nose. “This evening, you are still at my mercy,” he warned her. “Right here, right now, you are very much at my mercy, princess. I could do anything I wanted to you here. I could scoop you up in my arms, haul you over my shoulder, and carry you off to my chamber. I could lay claim to you tonight, planting my seed in your womb. There is no one here to save you.” She swallowed. “The butler—” “Is hard of hearing,” he interrupted. “And nearly blind as well.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“She was sleeping on the floor. The hard, dusty, cold floor. Though it was nearly summer, nights in Helston Hall were damp and draughty. They had been even before it had fallen into such an appalling state of disrepair. On a growl, he threw back the bedclothes and rose. He stalked around the bed and found her on the floor, curled in a ball rather reminiscent of a cat. Sin scooped her into his arms with ease. “What are you doing?” her voice was sleepy, and it lacked the vehemence of her previous protestations. Had she fallen asleep after all? She was warm and soft in his arms. All woman. Damn, but the lack of her feminine trappings meant his arms were filled with lush, sweet-scented curves. He fought back a swift rush of desire. “I am seeing you settled for the night,” he snapped, irritated with himself for the hoarseness in his voice. “You are too stubborn for your own good.” “Mmm.” With a throaty sigh, she nuzzled his throat. Bloody hell, the woman was definitely half-asleep. And he was half-erect. He swallowed and lowered her to the bed, settling the bedclothes over her. Cursing himself, he skirted the bed once more. She made a sleepy sound that should not have made his cock twitch. You hate her, he reminded himself. She is a deceitful witch.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“I am already betrothed,” she bluffed then. It was a futile ploy on her behalf. He knew everything there was to know about her. “Lord Simon Montbatten,” he said calmly. “Difficult indeed to marry a dead man, is it not?” Lord Simon had been of frail constitution. Two years ago, he had gone to Italy to aid his ailing lungs and take the waters. And he had never returned. From all accounts, Lady Calliope had been devastated by his death. Theirs had been a love match. Lord Simon had been the heir to Viscount Suttworth, an old title that hailed to the times of the Conqueror, much like the Dukes of Westmorland. The perfect dynastic union. Lady Calliope stiffened, inhaling sharply. “How dare you?” He stroked her pulse, reluctant to stop touching her. “How dare I speak truth?” She resumed her struggles. “How dare you speak of him so callously? He was a wonderful man, a true gentleman. Your better in every way.” “I have no doubt he was, but he will not save you, princess.” He dared to nip her ear, just to show her which of them held all the power in this odd dynamic. “Dead men cannot play Sir Galahad. No one can save you now.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Are you afraid, princess?” He posed the question directly into her ear, and he had to admit, perverse bastard that he was, frightening her brought him pleasure. More pleasure than he would have imagined. Or perhaps it was not her fear but the feeling of her body pressed once more against his that had his cock at half-mast.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Her lips moved against his. She was breaking, giving in. Kissing him back. He lost himself. Lost reason. Had to taste her. He slid his tongue into her mouth. She made a mewling sound, her tongue moving against his. And then, the spawn of Satan bit him. His tongue, specifically. Hard enough for him to rear his head back, severing the connection. With enough force to draw blood. For the second time that day, the copper flavor of his own blood was in his mouth. “Vicious princess,” he ground out, staring down at her. “I will never marry you,” she returned, all fire. He smiled. He was enjoying this far more than he had anticipated. Enough of these games, however. He had no intention of consummating their union until she was officially his countess. And before that could happen, he would have to lay out the plain facts for her.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“She had no idea her breathlessness and open berry-red lips called to him. Even her anger excited him. Her hatred made him want her. He had not been prepared for the depths of his own depravity. But there was a reason he was known as Sin. Part of him reveled in the depraved. And this physical battle between them? It was the stuff depravity was made of. “Oh, marry me, you will,” he promised her. And then he gave in to temptation, to wickedness. He pressed his mouth over hers. He would not call it a kiss, because it was not that; it was less and yet so much more. It was a claiming. It was also possession. He would never raise his hand to a woman, regardless of what she had done to him, but he wanted to dominate Lady Calliope Manning. He wanted her weak. On her knees. He would settle for her mouth. He kissed her viciously, with bruising force. And it startled him, how much he liked it. How suddenly ravenous he was for her, this woman he loathed, this capricious chit who had brought about his ruin with her wild imagination and poison pen. There was something between them. Something more than hatred. More than lust. He kissed her, and he forgot why they were here, what she had done, how he had taken her from London, her subsequent attack with the worthless piece of pottery. For a moment, he forgot all the reasons. Forgot everything but the woman beneath him.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Friends do not allow friends to marry murderers.”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless

“Of course that was not how she imagined their union would be. Nothing about the Earl of Sinclair suggested he was a man who would do her bidding. She maintained her silence as he worked, trying to ignore the unsettled way his commanding presence felt at her back”
― Scarlett Scott, Lady Ruthless