“I'm not the marrying kind -"St. Vincent snorted. "No man is. Marriage is a female invention.”

“Well . . ." St. Vincent walked slowly with her to the crowd of dancers. "I'm a wicked man who can, on occasion, be just a bit nice. And I've been searching for a nice girl who can, on occasion, be just a bit wicked.”

“Good God. I don’t believe St. Vincent and the word ‘celibacy’ have ever been mentioned in the same sentence before.”

“It’s impossible,” he snapped. “Why?” “Because I’m Sebastian, Lord St. Vincent. I can’t be celibate. Everyone knows that.”

“Ghost?” St. Vincent shot him an incredulous glance. “Christ. You’re not serious, are you?” "I’m a Gypsy,” Cam replied matter-of-factly. “Of course I believe in ghosts.”“Only half Gypsy. Which led me to assume that the rest of you was at least marginally sane and rational.”“The other half is Irish,” Cam said a touch apologetically.“Christ,” St. Vincent said again, shaking his head as he strode away.”

“Although most advice should be distrusted, particularly when it comes from myself . . . keep an open mind, Miss Hathaway. One should never look a rich husband in the mouth." - St. Vincent”

“A slow smile had curved St. Vincent's lips. 'Wives are a different case altogether. They require a great deal of effort but the rewards are substantial. I highly recommend wives. Especially one's own.”