“Roses," Georgiana repeated, her thoughtful gaze touching his. "It's about time one of the Carroway mendecided to cultivate something other than their poor reputations.”

“Don’t cry,nyonda,” he murmured.Phillipa took a deep breath. “What does that mean, anyway? Nyonda?”His green gaze held hers. “It’s Swahili. It means ‘beloved.’” A small smile touched his mouth, and he brushed her cheek again. “You do know I love you, Phillipa. To an alarming degree.”

“Does that mean there’ll be no engagement ball?”“There will be,” he said, “once I convince Josefina to say yes.”“She turned you down?” Zachary asked skeptically.“She kicked me, actually. My timing did leave something to be desired.”“Josefina kicked you,” Eleanor repeated. At his nod, she pursed her lips.“Perhaps I do like her after all.”

“One can only hope." He took a step toward her, so only a few scant inches separated them. A white cascade of glittering light lit the night above his head and made his eyes sparkle. "Do you mean there is no charity in your heart for a poor, misguided soul such as myself?"You've guided yourself astray," she informed him, backing up, "and my poor brother, as well." Her thoughts and her wits seemed to have scattered, and she fought to keep an affronted expression on her face."Then he is safe," the marquis murmured, "for my path leads straight back to 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”

“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.”

“...He had no breath, no being, but in hers, she was his voice; he did not speak to her. But trembled on her words; She was his sight, For his eye followed hers, and saw hers, Which colored all his objects-he had crease to live within himself; She was his life, The ocean to the river of his thoughts...”