“He felt as if he'd woken up, weak and confused, only to be told that he'd spent the last three weeks in bed with a fever--and that during his illness, Queen Victoria had abdicated the throne and run off with a lion-tamer from Birmingham. The world seemed an entirely different place.”

“Ned knew what it was like to feel useless. He had been the expendable grandchild, the non-heir. He'd been the fool, the idiot, the one who could be counted on to muck up anything worth doing. His grandfather had expected nothing of Ned, and Ned, young idiot that he had been, had delivered spectacularly.”

“He'd wanted someone to see him. To see past his reputation...He wanted to be seen not as flawless, but as himself, faults and all.”

“I only said I would stop talking to you, he'd written. I never promised to stop loving you.”

“It was a good thing she was wearing her mother's pearls. With those clasping her neck, she felt as if she could conquer anything. Harcroft would mock her, no doubt, if he knew her thoughts. He'd dismiss her attire as frills and furbelows-a women's only armor. Idiocy on his part.There were a great many problems that could be solved with a visit to the mantua-maker. and fine gowns or no, this meeting promised to be a war, however politely and subtly it was joined.”

““You don’t expect love.” She shook her head in confusion. “This is the second time you’ve said that. Is this going to be like one of those dreadful novels where you warn me not to fall in love with you, and if I do, then you’ll turn into Bluebeard and try to lop my head off? You’re handsome. You have all your teeth.” She looked into his eyes and lightly touched her hand to his cheek. He grew very still. “I can offer you no promises. If you’re any good in bed, I might fall in love with you. If that is going to be anathema…” “No,” he said swiftly. He looked away from her, and when he spoke again, there was a slight rasp to his words. “No. That would be perfectly…unobjectionable.””

“And then he lifted his eyes from the chair to his bed. If this was his imagination, his imagination was glorious. Margaret lay on his coverlet, stretched out full length. She still wore a corset and petticoats, but they’d been hiked up so that he could see where her garters tied at the knees. She crooked one finger at him and smiled.“Margaret. What are you doing here?”“I,” she said, “have been procuring my future.”His mind went blank. He didn’t know how to take it. She’d decided to have him, after all. She’d realized she didn’t need him, not one bit. His head pounded. His heart swelled in a mix of hope and despair.“I want you.”Hope. Hope. It was all hope. He took a careful step towards her.“Wait. There’s a condition.”“You know,” Ash said, his throat closing, “that if you are half-naked on my bed, all conditions will be met. Instantly.”“Ah, but this is one of the conditions I did not deliver to Lord Lacy-Follett earlier today.”If he’d been overwhelmed by her appearance before, he was stunned now. “You talked to Lacy-Follett? You cannot be serious.”“Oh, but I am. I had to renegotiate, after I’d heard what you had done. I had been so blinded by my loyalty to my brothers that I could not see that I owed loyalty to you, as well. I was wrong. I love you, Ash.”He swallowed.She smiled up at him. “I love that you make me feel as if I’m the only woman in the world. I love that you’ll always be there for me.” She sat up on the bed, and her petticoats fell, so that only her toes peeked out at him from underneath those layers of fabric. “I want to paint my own canvas, Ash. And I want you on it with me.”Delicately, she stretched out one leg. Her foot flexed, and then her toes found the floor. He was helpless. Just seeing her push to her feet got him hard. And seeing her in his room—on his bed—made every part of him reverberate with the rightness of it.”