“Tarquin Vale. The Earl of Ashcroft.Plotocrat. Collector. Devotee of reformist politics.Rake. Debauchee. Hellspawn.Unwitting key to a future greater than she'd dreamed was possible.”

“Then she'd stared at him with those radiant blue eyes and asked him to let her go.And bugger, bugger, bigger, he'd suddenly imagined he was sodding Sir Galahad.”

“With brief amusement, she recalled how she'd assumed a rogue of his decadent reputation would be pale and weak from too many late nights, too much brandy, and too many women. If that regime resulted in this superb specimen, every doctor in the country should recommend it.”

“You love me,” he said slowly, wonderingly. Then with greater certainty, “By God, you love me.” His astonished laugh ended on a choked note as he snatched her hand. “So much,” she said huskily. Her fingers curled hard around his. “So very, very much.”

“Her jaw ached with tension. "Surely you don't respond to all women who...invite you this way?""Only strangers who remain anonymous and shrouded from my sight." The snap was still there, astonishing her. Anger was the last reaction she'd expected. "Do you intend to wear your veils when you fuck me, madam?”

“The tension drained from her face and she softened in his hold until she was again the fluid, responsive woman who had kissed him within an inch of his life. This time he knew better than to restrain her when she slipped from the bed. He bit back an appeal for her to stay with him. If his life depended on it, he couldn’t say whether he wanted her to stay an hour, a day, or forever.”

“Open your mouth, tesoro.” He angled her face higher. “Open your mouth for me.”At his raw demand, her eyes flared wide. For a drunken moment, he drowned in glorious brown, rich, autumnal, sensual.”