“He wanted to laugh at the poetic justice of it all. After a couple of years of chasing after women and then a decade of having them chase after him, he'd finally been brought down by a slip of a girl, fresh out of Cornwall, whom he was honor-bound to protect.”

“No, Belle needed him. He had to save her from a disastrous marriage. And then, he supposed, he'd simply marry her himself.John wasn't unaware that he was about to pull one of the greatest about-faces in history. He could only hope that Belle would understand that he had realized she'd had been right all along. People made mistakes, didn't they? After all, he wasn't some infallible storybook hero.”

“He'd thought he would stop looking for her. He was a practical man, and he'd assumed that eventually he would simply give up. And in some ways, he had. After a few months he found himself back in the habit of turning down more invitations than he accepted. A few months after that, he realized that he was once again able to meet women and not automatically compare them to her.But he couldn't stop himself from watching for her. He might not feel the same urgency, but whenever he attended a ball or took a seat at a musicale, he found his eyes sweeping across the crowd, his ears straining for the lilt of her laughter.She was out there somewhere. He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't likely to find her, and he hadn't searched actively for over a year, but...He smiled wistfully. He just couldn't stop from looking. It had become, in a very strange way, a part of who he was. His name was Benedict Bridgerton, he had seven brothers and sisters, was rather skilled with both a sword and a sketching crayon, and he always kept his eyes open for the one woman who had touched his soul.”

“He was proud and stubborn, and all the ton looked up to him. Men curried his favor, women flirted like mad. And all the while he'd been terrified every time he'd opened his mouth.”

“Mother,” Hyacinth said, pausing for slightly longer than normal to steal a bit of time to organize her thoughts, “I am not going to chase after Mr. St. Clair. He’s not at all the right sort of man for me.”“I’m not certain you’d know the right sort of man for you if he arrived on our doorstep riding an elephant.”“I would think the elephant would be a fairly good indication that I ought to look elsewhere.”

“And could it even really be called a kiss? It had been very, veryshort. And did it mean anything if the kisser (him) had been feelingterribly grateful to the kissee (her) and possibly even indebted, inthe most elemental of ways?She’d saved his life, after all. A kiss was not entirely out oforder.Plus, he had said, “Forgive me.” Did it count as a kiss if thekisser had asked for forgiveness?Honoria thought not.”

“Are you all right?” he asked Olivia. His heart was still racing with terror that she’d been hurt. “I heard a woman scream.”“Ah, that would have been me,” Sebastian said.Harry looked down on his cousin, face frozen in disbelief. “You made that noise?”“It hurt,” Sebastian bit off.Harry fought not to laugh. “You scream like a leettle girl.”