“You bastard.”“My parents were married.”

“Will you marry me, my darling ?Do I have options, you bastard ?”

“My parents have been married forty-two years. I wonder how many of those were happy.”

“Gregory smiled a little, holding up an empty syringe. “I’m afraid you don’t have all that much choice in the matter. I added a little something to your IV line. We’ll see you in a few hours.”“What—?” My eyes widened. “You bastard.”“My parents were married.”“You could have… could have asked me…” My voice was already slowing down. I didn’t know whether it was psychosomatic or just very well timed, but either way, I was pissed.”

“Redhead marrying, amnesia getting, bastard!”

“I am illegitimate," she said distinctly, as if he were a foreigner trying to learn English. "You are a viscount. You can't marry a bastard.""What about the Duke of Clarence? He had ten bastard children by that actress...what was her name...""Mrs. Jordan.""Yes, that one, Their children were all illegitimate, but some of them married peers.""You're not the Duke of Clarence.""That's right. I'm not a blueblood any more than you are. I inherited the title purely by happenstance""That doesn't matter. If your married me, it would be scandalous and inappropriate, and doors would be closed to you.""Good God, woman, I let two of my sisters marry Gypsies. Those doors have already been closed, bolted, and nailed shut.”