“The physician said some women don't take to childbirth. Something about too much excitement laid upon the female sensibility. She wasn't herself afterward. The female mind is delicate as it is, you know. She changed during her confinement. She was less biddable, more excitable. More given to hysterics."Harcroft shrugged. The gesture conveyed helplessness, and Kate's lip curled. Helpless, Harcroft was not. Kate suppressed the urge to lift the nearby oil lamp with her delicate, female hands. She felt excited and unbiddable right now;why, she might slip and use her own delicate, female sensibility to bash all that heavy brass into his head.”

“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.”

“After Blakely delivered that infamous and muchrepeated set down, he transferred his gaze to the newMarchioness of Blakely.She shook her head, once. Firmly. “Gareth,” she said dryly. “It is your sister’s wedding day. Behave.”Silence. He’d lifted his chin, in typical Blakely arrogance.The crowd waited for the blast.And then Lord Blakely shrugged and grinned helplessly.Grinned. Helpless. A Blakely.“Oh,” said his sister, from where she stood near him. “Isthat how it’s done? I’ll have to practice that.”Like that, everything society knew about nine generations of Blakelys went up in smoke.Since that day, there had been no question. Lady Blakely had been granted otherworldly powers at birth.Every smile she coaxed from him, every laugh that she surprised from his lips, stood as testament to her arcane abilities.And those that questioned her worth still had only to see the look in his eyes when he watched her to find all theproof they required.”

“Kate had dressed for battle, donning her finest pink muslin morning dress. With lace at her wrists and mother-of-pearl buttons at her throat, instead of that itchy servant's cloak, she felt capable of matching wits with anyone.”

“She wanted never again to have to fill another man's bed, telling falsehoods with her body until her mind could no longer track her own desires. She wanted to rid herself of the murk and the mire that had filled her. This life had bound her as effectively as if she were a falcon tied by a leather shackle, and she wanted to be free.”

“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.”

“For years, every conversation she had with a man had been colored by calculation. Would she put him off is she spoke her mind? What did he want her to say? When a man took a mistress, he purchased not just the rights to her body, but the content of her thoughts. Sir Mark wanted her as she was, not as he wished her to be. The thought made her head hurt.”