“everyone who sees us -- especially Stanhope, who has been friends with us both for years -- knows we're just out for a ride. Not out for a ride."He looked at her, shaking his head in confusion. "Women truly are strange and unknowable creatures”

“He missed you just as I did. He worried about you just as I worried. He looked for you. Tried to find you. Just as I did. But you were gone.” She took a step toward him. “You think he left you? It was you who left, Michael. You left us.” Her voice was shaking now, all the anger and sadness and fear she had felt in those months, those years after Michael had disappeared. “You left me.” She put her hands to his chest, pushing him with all her might, with all her anger. “And I missed you so much. I missed you so much. I still do, damn you.”

“So, are you... intrigued ... by Stanhope?""Intrigued by him?""Indeed. Do you find him ..." he paused."Intriguing?" she teased.He sent her an exasperated look.”

“You cheated!”He looked at her, wide-eyed with feigned outrage. “I beg your pardon. If you were a man, I would call you out for that accusation.”“And I assure you, my lord, that I would ride forth victoriously on behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness.”“Are you quoting the Bible to me?”“Indeed,” she said primly, the portrait of piousness.“While gambling.”“What better location to attempt to reform one such as you?”

“Ralston didn't care. He turned on his brother as the surgeon knelt next to him and inspected the wound. "She could have been killed!" And what about you?" This time, it was Callie who spoke, her own pent-up energy releasing in anger, and the men turned as one to look at her, surprised that she and found her voice. "What about you and your idiotic pland to somehow restore my honor by playing guns out in the middle of nowhere with OXFORD?" She said the baron's name in disdain. "Like children? Of all the ridiculous, unnecessary, thoughtless, MALE things to do...who even FIGHTS duels anymore?!”

“You think my feelings toward you apathetic? You think you bore me?”“Don’t I?”He shook his head slowly, continuing toward her, stalking her in the small space.“No.God knows you are infuriating . . And impulsive . . .” Her back came up against the wall, and she gave a little squeak, even as he advanced. “And altogether maddening . . .” He placed one hand to her jaw, carefully lifting her face to his, feeling the leap of her pulse under his fingertips. “And thoroughly intoxicating . . .” The last came out on a low growl, and her lips parted, soft and pink and perfect.He leaned close, his lips a fraction from hers.“No . . . you are not boring.”

“If I were anyone else…your opera singer…the woman across the hall…would you have apologized?”He looked confused. “No…but you are neither of those women. You deserve better.”“Better,” she repeated, frustrated. “That’s just my point! You and the rest of society believe that it’s better for me to be set upon a pedestal of primness and propriety—which might have been fine if a decade on that pedestal hadn’t simply landed me on the shelf. Perhaps unmarried young women like our sisters should be there. But what of me?” Her voice dropped as she looked down at the cards in her hands. “I’m never going to get a chance to experience life from up there. All that is up there is dust and unwanted apologies. The same cage as hers”—she indicated the woman outside—“merely a different gilt.”