“And for the rest of the night, he couldn’t quite forget the smell of her perfume. Or maybe it was the soft sound of her chuckle. Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was just her.”

“This has been a perfect day," Anne said quietly. "Almost," Daniel whispered, and then she was in his arms again. He kissed her, but it was different this time. Less urgent. Less fiery. The touch of their lips was achingly soft, and maybe it didn't make her feel crazed, like she wanted to press herself against him and take him within her. Maybe instead he made her feel weightless, as if she could take his hand and float away, just as long as he never stopped kissing her. Her entire body tingled, and she stood on her tiptoes, almost waiting for the moment she left the ground. And then he broke the kiss, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. "There," he said, cradling her face in his hands. "Now it's a perfect day.”

“If someone loved you -someone decent and kind that is- you had a responsibility not to trample all over her heart. And while he had no intention of hurting Emma, he knew that he could injure her just by not loving her back. Of course, maybe, he did love her back.But then again, maybe she didn't love him in the first place. She hadn't actually said as much. He couldn't very well love someone back if she didn't love him first.He could, however, love her first.And that meant that he was going to have to convince her to love him back.But the question was moot anyway because he hadn't yet decided to love her.Or had he?”

“He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it, of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned......But how could he manage to burn her dress? She’d have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself...”

“Francesca actually felt her chin drop. “Mother,” she said, shaking her head, “you really should have stopped at seven.”“Children, you mean?” Violet asked, sipping at her tea. “Sometimes I do wonder.”“Mother!” Hyacinth exclaimed.Violet just smiled at her. “Salt?”“It took her eight tries to get it right,” Hyacinth announced, thrusting the salt cellar at her mother with a decided lack of grace.“And does that mean that you, too, hope to have eight children?” Violet inquired sweetly.“God no,” Hyacinth said. With great feeling. And neither she nor Francesca could quite resist a chuckle after that.”

“She slid a slim volume of poetry off the shelf and returned to her chair, swishing her rather unnattractive skirts before she sat down.Benedict frowned. He'd never really noticed before how ugly her dress was. Not as bad as the one Mrs. Cabtree had lent her, but certainly not anything designed to bring out the best in a woman. He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it,of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned..."Mr. Bridgerton?"But how could he manage to burn her dress? She'd have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself..."Are you even listening to me?" Sophie demanded."Hmmm?""You're not listening to me.""Sorry," he admitted. "My apologies. My mind got away from me. Please continue."She began anew, and in his attempt to show how much attention he was paying her, he focused his eyes on her lips, which proved to be a big mistake.Because suddenly those lips were all he could see, and he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her, and he knew- absolutely knew-that if one of them didn't leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he'd owe her a thousand apologies.Not that he didn't plan to seduce her. Just that he'd rather do it with a bit more finesse."Oh, dear," he blurted out.Sophie gave him an odd look. He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot. He didn't think he'd uttered the phrase, "Oh,dear," in years. If ever.Hell,he sounded like his mother."Is something wrong?" Sophie asked."I just remembered something," he said, rather stupidly, in his opinion.She raised her brows in question."Something that I'd forgotten," Benedict said."The things one remembers," she said, looking exceedingly amused, "are most often things one had forgotten.”

“He’d mesmerized her, held her soul captive. And she couldn’t move.“Unless you want more than a dream,” he said.She did.“Will you stay?” he whispered. “Or will you go?”She stayed. Heaven help her, she stayed.And Michael showed her just how romantic a library could be.”