“Before I found Minerva, I'd passed nights with more than my share of women."Thorne groaned. Don't. Just don't."I've passed time with duchesses and farm girls, and it doesn't matter whether their skirts are silk or homespun. Once you get them bare--" Thorne drew up short. "If you start in on rivers of silk and alabaster orbs, I will have to hit you.”

“So close. He'd get there. Not today, but soon. He had a task to accomplish here, and the sooner he completed it, the sooner he could rejoin his regiment. He wasn't stopping for anything.Except sheep. Blast it. It would seem they were stopping for sheep.A rough voice said, "I'll take care of them."Thorne joined their group. Bram flicked his gaze to the side and spied his hulking mountain of a corporal shouldering a flintlock rifle."We can't simply shoot them, Thorne."Obedient as ever, Thorne lowered his gun. "Then I've a cutlass. Just sharpened the blade last night.""We can't butcher them, either."Thorne shrugged. "I'm hungry."Yes, that was Thorne--straightforward, practical. Ruthless.”

“Your breasts are alabaster orbs.' "What?" Rufus objected. "That's stupid. I'm not saying that." "Do you have some better suggestion?" "Why can't you just say she's got a fair set of titties?”

“Thorne looked to the woolly beast at his [Bram's] knee and and cocked a brow. "You seem to have acquired a lamb, my lord.""The lamb goes home tomorrow.""And if he doesn't?""He's dinner.”

“Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“Sweet heaven.” She swallowed back a lump in her throat. “You must do this all the time. Night after night, you tell women your tale of woe . . .” “Not really. The tale of woe precedes me.” “ . . . and then they just open their arms and lift their skirts for you. ‘Come, you poor, sweet man, let me hold you’ and so forth. Don’t they?” He hedged. “Sometimes.”

“I wasn't aware that hope require a reason, any more than love. In case you have forgotten - I have no talent for hoping. I don't hope. I know. I believe. I expect.”