Lord of Fire Quotes

“You are tired of being alone. You told me.”

“You don’t know,” he said in a low, almost hostile voice. He shook his head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing with you. You’re not like anyone else who’s in my life—” He stopped abruptly. “Did you ever drink too much wine, Alice ?” He held up the glass in his hand and waggled it idly, making the ruby contents swirl.

“I’m not one to overindulge.”

“No, you wouldn’t be. Allow me to explain, then, that the more you drink, the more thirsty you become. Not all the wine in the world can assuage the thirst for water. Water. Wine makes you merry, but a man needs water to keep him alive. Pure, clean, sweet water. I am parched, Alice, scorched like a wasteland, burning
like a damned soul in hell. I thirst.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“We’re all a little mad, my friend. Keeps life interesting.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“When you find the one, my lad, grab her up in your arms and never let her go. You may never get another chance.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“There are some people that we know all our lives and yet never really feel we know them at all. But there are other people—” Unable to resist the temptation, he ran a feather-light caress down the curve of her cheek with one leather-sheathed knuckle. The cobalt depths of her eyes flickered with response, but she said nothing, heeding his every word. “—people we meet in a day, and instantly, it feels as though we’ve known them all our lives.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“I see. So you playacted the role of a rake who was only pretending to be in earnest, knowing you would come across as though you had the lowest of motives, when in fact, you were sincere?”
“Precisely.”
She gave a short, wry laugh and shook her head at him. “Convoluted sir! You are a maze.”
He shot her a sulky glance. “I thought you were going to say I was amazing.”
“That, too,” she admitted with a rueful smile, capturing his square chin between her fingertips.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“You wrong yourself and me by assuming my interest in you is purely physical,” he went on. “I told you I am eager to further our acquaintance. I want to know what you think about things. What you want out of life. What you dream.

-Lucien to Alice”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Alice?”
She spun toward the door, her skirts whirling softly. “Yes?” she forced out.
“Do you know what I am holding in my hand?”
“No.”
“Care to guess?”
“A pitchfork?” she asked in a stilted attempt at levity, hoping to invoke his earlier, playful mood.
“No, my dear,” he answered drily. “A key to your room.”
“What?”she breathed, aghast.
“I should hate to have to use it.”
“You have a key to this room?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She took a step toward the door, panic rising up in her throat. “You’re bluffing!”
“Do you wish me to prove it?”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Closing the distance between them, he had savored the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile.
As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes.
His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen.
His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place.
Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things.
'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“They had crossed the terrace where weeds, ivy, and goldenrod had run amuck in the flowerbeds that lined the weather-beaten stone balustrade. Mounds of blue hydrangeas nearly as tall as Lucien crowded the three mossy steps that led down into the formal garden. He went down them, and Alice followed him toward the circular fountain. As they approached, two doves that had perched on the stately stone fountain urn fluttered away, cooing. Alice stopped beside the fountain pool and gazed down with a faraway expression at the lily pads, driven with dreamlike slowness over the surface of the shallow water like tiny sailing vessels. She studied the scene as though memorizing it, while Lucien gazed at her, watching the wind toy with her clothes and the tendrils of her hair that it had worked free from her neat coif.
Her waving red-gold hair, blue eyes, and ivory skin, and the chaste, faraway serenity of her face, put him in mind of Botticelli's Venus, rising from the sea upon her scallop shell.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Lucien?”
“Yes, Alice?”
Her heart was pounding, but she willed herself to muster the courage to reach out to him— unpredictable, dangerous as he was. “I think it’s real.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He just stared at her, feeling his very soul swell with love as she padded toward him, barefooted. He loved her eyes; he loved her smile; he loved her pale, slender arms. He loved her dainty ankles, skimmed by the hem of her chemise. He loved her gliding walk and the way her long, thick hair swung around her waist as she hurried toward him. God help him, he was her slave.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He gave me a message to you. Leave London. Go home to Glenwood Park at once. There is great danger for you here, as you surely know."
"You may give him a message in return for me. He is not my husband. He has no authority over me. I shall do what I please."
"She's got some fight in her yet!" O'Shea said with a grin.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“This city was going to burn,' he thought with a narrow smile. Going out the door with Lady Glenwood, however, he did not like the defiant way her young sister-in-law held his gaze as she picked up the child and braced him against her hip.
Though Miss Montague looked as delicate and demure as any young English gentlewoman, he read a strength of character in her wary blue eyes that gave him pause. Bardou turned away, shrugging off the odd sensation that the girl could somehow see through his charade as a Prussian nobleman. 'Absurd.' Eager to escape her cool, blue stare, he escorted Lady Glenwood out to the Stafford's waiting carriage, which he had borrowed.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Letting his gaze travel possessively over her, he drank in the loveliness of her face as she sat in a ray of sunlight. 'To be sure, she had a temper to match those red streaks in her golden hair,' he thought fondly. Her pale blond eyebrows were knitted in thought as she worked. She had luxurious lashes and cobalt eyes with the power to devastate him. She had a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks and fine, aristocratic features.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“As he stared at her in hushed wonder, it was as though the world stopped. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a virginal water nymph, her tender skin flushed and glistening, the long tendrils of her strawberry-blond hair twining around her arms and slender waist, her thin muslin chemise wafting around her elegant hips like the white, delicate flowers of the lily pads she had studied so carefully in the garden. He could barely breathe for sheer worship.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“You're no grenadier. Grenadiers are big, stalwart souls, the first into battle, or so I've been told."
He raised his eyebrow at her, unsure if he was being insulted.
"No," she concluded, "you must have been captain of the light infantry company. The quick-witted ones, the sharpshooters."
"How ever did you guess?"
"I know these things," she said with a sage look, then turned and walked on, entirely pleased with herself.
Lucien gazed after her with a smile on his face. God help him, he was utterly charmed.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“With a gasp, she yanked her hand out of his light hold as though she had been burned. "You are bold, sir!"
"And you are blushing." He slipped her a narrow, charming little smile and went to answer the door.
Anger and confusion thudded in her temples as she tucked her still-tingling hand in her lap. She scowled, furious at her own bewildering state of arousal. She had never felt such things before. Wet and aching between her legs, she squeezed her knees together firmly under her skirts, trying to remind her body that her head and her morals were in charge. Lucien Knight was not. Lust was hardly a sentiment to which she aspired. She slid a furtive glance his way, wondering why he had not yet opened the door. He just stood there, one hand on the doorknob, his head down. Then she realized he was struggling to bring his magnificent body under control.
As though he felt her gaze on his powerful, V-shaped back and lean, muscled derriere, he slowly looked over his shoulder and met her stare in raw longing. Neither of them spoke for a moment, swept up in a totally unexpected, unsought, unwanted attraction of dizzying power.
"Shall I come to you tonight?" he asked very quietly,”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Closing the distance between them, he had saved the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile.
As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes.
His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen.
His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place.
Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things.
'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Describe the shape of his face. Round, square?"
"Rectangular, I suppose, with a cleft chin."
"We're not at the chin yet."
"Well, pardon me," he retorted, stung by her snippy tone.
She tilted her head and drew a deep breath.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He just stared at her, feeling his very soul swell with love as she padded toward him, barefooted. He loved her eyes; he loved her smile; he loved her pale, slender arms. He loved her dainty ankles, skimmed by the hem of her chemise. He loved her gliding walk and the way her long, thick hair swung around her waist as she hurried toward him. God, help him, he was her slave.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“God, she looked adorable. She was clad in a loose-fitting morning gown covered by a pretty, frilled house apron, her luxurious hair flowing long and unbound over her shoulders in a most fetching state of dishabille. This was his beloved as he remembered her best, not the terrifyingly beautiful goddess in white from the ballroom the night before.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Do you know where she lives?"
"Could get there blindfolded."
"Did he just blush?" Talbert asked Marc as Lucien strode over to his black stallion and swung up into the saddle.
"I heard that," he retorted.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Do you know where she lives?"
"Could get there blindfolded."
"Did he just blush?" Tolbert asked Marc as Lucien strode over to his black stallion and swung up into the saddle.
"I heard that," he retorted.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Hate me if you wish, but don't be a fool. It is too dangerous for you to be here."
"Why should I believe you? You're an expert at lies. Maybe you just don't want me getting in the way when you choose your next victim to seduce and abandon.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Lucien saw all heads turn curiously toward the entrance; then his jaw dropped as a graceful beauty in white walked in, her chin high, a strand of pearls draped artfully over her strawberry-blond hair.
'Alice!'
He stared, flabbergasted, transfixed.
'What the hell is she doing here?' He couldn't believe his eyes. Joy and panic crashed in on him from opposite directions. Oh, God, how he had missed her. 'What the hell is she doing in London?'
Caro sidled into the ballroom beside her. The baroness was dressed in a tight black velvet dress, but Alice commanded the room, poised, slender, and cool. With her airy evening gown of white silk wafting sensually against her skin, she was an aloof marble goddess who had just stepped down to life from atop her pedestal. She seemed an entirely different creature than the serious, shy young thing who had ventured into his library last week and had been so easily charmed by a bit of Donne poetry. Now she was a force to be reckoned with.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“I heard that you struck Harry," she said through gritted teeth.
"Oh? That bulldog-faced, old woman has been talking to you, I see. Well, do not concern yourself with my son- he is 'my' son, Alice. It is time he learned discipline."
"And you who have never learned it yourself are the one to teach him?" she asked bitterly.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Get some rest," he advised. "You're going to have to get used to staying up late." He sent her a scoundrelly wink and slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“The Alice Montague I love is not the kind of woman who uses her body to get what she wants."
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"What?" he asked insolently.
"Y-you just said you love me.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He suddenly leaned forward in his chair and cut off her words with a kiss, tipping her chin upward gently with his fingertips.
As their lips met, a little breathless sigh escaped her. Her eyes fluttered closed. Sliding his hand around her nape, he coaxed her lips apart. Her heart raced. She needed little urging, accepting his kiss eagerly, capturing his clean-shaved face between her fingertips. He tasted of port. She savored it, taking his tongue even more deeply into her mouth in sensuous welcome. Her hands trembled as she stroked the strong line of his jaw and ran her fingers through his silken black hair. With a low moan of desire, he slid his arms around her, shaping the natural contour of her waist below the draped velvet of her gown's high-waisted style, running his hands downward over her hips. She fought to keep a rein on the passion he ignited in her blood.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“I should never have made you stay here," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I could not help myself."
Alice took a step toward him. "I know. You are tired of being alone. You told me."
"You don't know," he said in a low, almost hostile voice. He shook his head. "I don't even know what I'm doing with you. You're not like anyone else who's in my life-" He stopped abruptly. "Did you ever drink too much wine, Alice?" He held up the glass in his hand and waggled it idly, making the ruby contents swirl.
"I'm not one to overindulge."
"No, you wouldn't be," he said wryly. "Allow me to explain, then, that the more you drink, the more thirsty you become. Not all the wine in the world can assuage the thirst for water. Water. Wine makes you merry, but a man needs water to keep him alive. Pure, clean, sweet water." He sighed, silent for a moment. He stared almost bitterly into the fire. "I am parched, Alice, scorched like a wasteland, burning like a damned soul in hell. I thirst."
"I know," she whispered.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire