“Gentlemanly behavior isn't just opening doors: to make an impression, you have to be concerned over a lady's needs at least as much as your own.”

“Shaw grinned again, wishing mightily that he and she were alone by the fire. “I never claimed to be much of a gentleman. But whether you tote about a parasol or not, you are every inch a lady. Quite possibly the finest I’ve ever met.”“Goodness. If you continue saying such things, I’ll begin to think you’re smitten with me.” “I’d describe it more as being clubbed into submission,” he murmured, aware both that her palm had come to rest just over his heart, and that his men and the Mayfair mob across the fire pit could see it. “But yes, I am rather smitten with you.”

“How many of us have gazed at a man and thought, ‘yes, him,’ only to have him pay his attentions to someone else? And how many of us have sighed and waited for some other gentleman to come forward? All I wish to ask is, why? Why not strike up a conversation? Why not determine for ourselves whether ‘he’ is the one? Why leave it to fate?”A LADY’S GUIDE TO PROPER BEHAVIOR, 2ND EDITION”

“Never interrupt a lady when she is speaking to you, as if what you have to say is more important.”

“Don't assume, when a lady wants to take up a task or a cause, that is just a hobby.”

“I’m going to say a word, just for your general opinion and consideration,” he said, his light blue gaze touching hers.“I’m listening.”“Marriage.”Zephyr blinked. Had he actually just suggested a proposal? A marriage? With her? A thousand thoughts all flitted through her mind, none of them making any sense, but several of them centering on whether she was reading too much or too little into one blasted word. “I think”—she stumbled, backing away from him and toward the village—“that if you mean to ask a question, you should ask it. And you shouldn’t make it so stupidly ambiguous just on the chance that a negative response might embarrass you or wound your feelings.”“Is that so?” He stalked after her.“It is so. And another thing. Before you ask such a question, consider giving me—or whoever you intend on asking—a reason to say yes.”

“For a long moment the butler sat in silence, his jaw hanging open. “I . . . my lord, I simply don't feel qualified to advise you about such matters.”“Don't tell me that,” Saint protested. “Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not.”To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. “My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a change in your demeanor of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course.”Saint frowned. “Coward.”“There is that, as well.”