“Daisy had known the novel was silly even as she had read it, but that had not detracted one bit from her enjoyment.”

“One of the servants had reported that Daisy had been sneaking around the house at night, deliberately tripping all the traps to keep the mice from being killed.“Is this true, daughter?” Thomas Bowman had rumbled, his gaze filled with ire as he stared at Daisy.“It could be,” she had allowed. “But there is another explanation.”“And what is that?” Bowman had asked sourly.Her tone turned congratulatory. “I think we are hosting the most intelligent mice in New York!”

“Anyone who had ever read a novel knew that governesses were supposed to be meek and downtrodden.”

“They had known each other intimately, as husband and wife, countless times, He had held her with tenderness and passion, but never with such rampant wildness.”

“He was so far from the gallant knights in her romantic fantasies ... He was tarnished, scarred, imperfect.Deliberately he had destroyed any illusions she might have had about him, exposing his mysterious past for the ugly horror that it was. His purpose had been to drive her away. But instead she felt closer to him, as if the truth had bonded them in a new intimacy.”

“Heath had been there to help her, letting her draw from his strength. Did she have enough strength to sustain him in the same way?”

“Simon,” she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. “Simon…”“Yes?” A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible.“Please… take me to my room.”Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. “Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked.”