Trust you? Rue--trust you? You counterfeited your own death rather than wed me. You told me you'd rather die than stay in Darkfrith. I can't--I don't know how to fix that. I don't know how to mend it. Tell me. He took a step toward her. Tell me, and I'll do it.

All that effort,” he mused, “merely to avoid me. How gratifying.

My dowry is thirty-five. A year.” His brows climbed. “You’re joking.” “I would never joke about money with a notorious thief. Just imagine, in a mere two years you’re at a profit.” “How I adore a woman who does mathematics in her head.” “I can forge signatures as well.” “Splendid. Exactly the bride I’ve been hoping for.

She was spirit and presence, as rare and brilliant as snowflakes in sunlight, and he could not bring himself to harm her.

I want to love, and be loved.

I didn't ask you to catch me! You're so delightful when you're irrational. Of course I'm going to catch you. He slid a hand behind her nape and kissed her again. It's what I do.