“And so I beat him and beat him until he kissed me. And then I kept on beating him until he did it properly.”

“Jessica frowned at her. “It was very difficult to keep a straight face—but that wasn’t the hardest part. The hardest part was—” She let out a sigh. “Oh, Genevieve. He was so adorable. I wanted to kiss him. Right on his big, beautiful nose. And then everywhere else. It was so frustrating. I had made up my mind not to lose my temper, but I did. And so I beat him and beat him until he kissed me. And then I kept on beating him until he did it properly. And I had better tell you, mortifying as it is to admit, that if we had not been struck by lightning—or very nearly—I should be utterly ruined. Against a lamppost. On the Rue de Provence. And the horrible part is”—she groaned—“I wish I had been.”

“Oh, it's ridiculous. I ought to laugh. But I can't. You won't believe it.""Of course we will," Sophye said."He offered you a carte blanche," Leonie said."No, he asked me to marry him."There was a short stunned silence.Then, "I reckon he's in a marrying mood," Sophy said.”

“The whole thing’s absurd,” he said. “Your sister married a duke. I told Clevedon . . .” he trailed off.“What did you tell him?”“Never mind that now,” he said.“I certainly will mind it now,” she said.“Do you want to find Clara or do you want to quarrel?” he said.“Preferably both,” she said.”

“It's about time you saw how fortunate you are. You have ... the most virile man in the world." He grinned, and in his eyes, black as sin, she saw the devil inside him laughing. But he was her devil, and she loved him madly."The most conceited, you mean," she said. He bent his head until his great Usignuolo nose loomed as inch from hers, "The most virile, " he repeated firmly. "You are pathetically slow if you haven't learned that by now. Fortunately for you, I am the most patient of tutors. I shall prove it to you.""You patience?" she asked."My virility. Both. Repeatedly." His black eyes glinted. "I will teach you a lesson you'll never forget. "She tangled her fingers in his hair and brought his mouth to hers. "My wicked darling," she whispered. "I should like to see you try.”

“Dain wasn't certain what exactly was wrong with her, but he had no doubt that something was. He was Lord Beelzebub, wasn't he? She was supposed to faint, or recoil in horrified revulsion at the very least. Yet she had gazed at him as bold as brass, and it had seemed for a moment as though the creature were actually flirting with him.”

“Just listen,” she said. “You can’t kill him in cold blood.” “Whyever not?” Ye gods grant me patience. “Because he’ll be dead,” she said as patiently as she could, “and Lady Clara’s reputation will be stained forever. Do not, I pray you, do anything, Lord Longmore. Leave this to us.” “Us.” “My sisters and me.” “What do you propose? Dressing him to death? Tying him up and making him listen to fashion descriptions?”