“Did you wonder?” he whispered. “Did you leave me and wonder what I hadn’t told you?” He leaned in, just so she’d feel his lips move whisper-light against her ear. “Did you want to know what I did when I was wicked? Do you want me to tell you?” he murmured. He felt her jerk slightly in surprise, and he chuckled. “Not about them, Francesca. You. Only you.”-Michael Stirling”

“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.”

“I--" She swallowed, perhaps summoning her courage, then continued, "I would not lie to you and say that I did not want this.""Me," he cut in peevishly. "You wanted me."She closed her eyes. “Yes,” she finally said, “I wanted you.”Part of him wanted to interrupt again, to remind her that she still wanted him, that it wasn’t and would never be in the past.“But I can’t have you,” she said quietly, “and because of that, you can’t have me.”And then, to his complete astonishment, he asked, “What if I married you?”

“Well,” she finally said, “he’s coming back shortly, so you are absolved of your responsibilities.” “No.” The word came from him like an oath, emerging from the very core of his being. She looked at him in impatient confusion. “What do you mean?” He stepped forward. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He knew only that he couldn’t stop. “I mean no. I don’t want to be absolved.” Her lips parted. He took another step. His heart was pounding, and something within him had gone hot, and greedy, and if there was anything in the world besides her, besides him—he did not know it. “I want you,” he said, the words blunt, and almost harsh, but absolutely, indelibly true. “I want you,” he said again, and he reached out and took her hand. “I want you.” “Marcus, I—” “I want to kiss you,” he said, and he touched one finger to her lips. “I want to hold you.” And then, because he couldn’t have kept it inside for one second longer, he said, “I burn for you.” He took her face in his hands and he kissed her. He kissed her with everything that had been building within him, every last aching, hungry burst of desire. Since the moment he had realized he loved her, this passion had been growing within him. It had probably been there all along, just waiting for him to realize it. He loved her.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” he said, “the devil himself couldn’t scare you.”She forced her eyes to meet his. “That’s not a compliment, is it?”He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself,” he murmured.To all who observed, he was the soul of propriety, but Hyacinth caught the daring gleam in his eye, and she felt the breath leave her body as tingles of electricity rushed across her skin. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say, not a single word. There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply.And then he straightened as if nothing had happened and said, “Do let me know what you decide.”She just stared at him.“About the compliment,” he added. “I am sure you will wish to let me know how I feel about you.”Her mouth fell open.He smiled. Broadly. “Speechless, even. I’m to be commended.”“You—”“No. No,” he said, lifting one hand in the air and pointing toward her as if what he really wanted to do was place his finger on her lips and shush her. “Don’t ruin it. The moment is too rare.”

“Oh, God, Francesca,Now there’s a good one.Why?Why? Why?” He gave each one a different tenor, as if he were testing out the word, asking it todifferent people.“Why?” he asked again, this time with increased volumeas he turned around to face her.“Why? It’sbecause I love you, damn me to hell. Because I’ve always loved you. Because I loved you when youwere with John, and I loved you when I was in India, and God only knows I don’t deserve you, but Ilove you, anyway.”Francesca sagged against the door.“How’s that for a witty little joke?” he mocked. “I loveyou. I loveyou, my cousin’s wife. I loveyou, theone woman I can never have. I loveyou, Francesca Bridger-ton Stirling.”

“He gave her a sly, sideways look. "Did youbring it?""My list? Heavens, no. What can you be thinking?"His smile widened. "I brought mine."Daphne gasped. "You didn't!""I did. Just to torture Mother. I'm going peruse it right in front of her, pull out my quizzing glass—""You don't have a quizzing glass."He grinned—the slow, devastatingly wicked smile that all Bridgerton males seemed to possess. "I bought one just for this occasion.""Anthony, you absolutely cannot. She will kill you. And then, somehow, she'll find a way to blame me.""I'm counting on it.”