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Kate realized she had a grave problem. She was infatuated. Or mildly insane. Possibly both.

Tessa Dare

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Tessa Dare
Kate
Grave
Graves
Possibly
Insane
Realized
Problem
Infatuated
Mildly

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Men never hesitated to declare their presence. They were permitted to live aloud, in reverberating thuds and clunks, while ladies were always schooled to abide in hushed whispers.
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Think of it like running down a slope. If you attempt to slow down and choose your steps, you’re bound to trip up and stumble.
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He had to feel those lips on him again. Had. To. This wasn’t a mild expression of preference. This was an imperative. His body was insistent. To continue his existence on this earth, he now needed the following: food, water, shelter, clothing, and Minerva Highwood’s lips.
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You are a sweet man. -God, there it is. He flopped back on the bed, as if shot through the heart. Repeat that to anyone, and I will have you brought up on charges of slander. I wouldn't dream of telling a soul.
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That’s it,” she said, balling her hands in fists. “I’m not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.
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Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved?
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So odd. Most women of his acquaintance relied on physical beauty and charm to mask their less-pleasant traits. This girl did the opposite, hiding everything interesting about herself behind a prim, plain facade. What other surprises was she concealing?
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What is the world coming to, with these modern women? A man can't tell them what to do.
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I’m so sorry to disappoint you,” she said, breathing hard. “But it would take far more than that to scare me.” A quick flex of his arms, and their bodies collided. And he whispered, just as his mouth fell on hers, “God, I was hoping you’d say that.
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One more minute of this, and she’d be a certifiable simpleton.
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What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last? Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely.
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Forgive me, Your Grace. Are you suggesting a woman is some sort of … piece of fruit to you? One squeeze, and you know if she’s ripe?
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I don’t know. What do people see when they gaze at the sky? Inspiration? Beauty?” She heard him sigh. “Truth be told, this view always intimidated me. The sky’s so vast. I can’t help but feel it has expectations of me. Ones I’m already failing.” He was silent for a long moment. “It reminds me of your eyes.
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You’re like a gift,” he said, his voice rough. “All wrapped up for someone else. A man can’t look at you, but think of loosing those bows, one by one.
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I'm male. You rubbed your...femaleness all over me. I didn't think. I reacted.
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After spending all of her girlhood fervently wishing she could run away from home— she’d actually done it.
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How is it you’ve never married?” A soft splash. “It’s an easy enough thing. Every morning I wake up, go about my day, and return to bed at night without having recited marriage vows. After several years, I have the trick of it down.
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Amazing, then, how with that one remark, he made a mortifying situation thirteen times worse.
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I’m so sorry we’ll never meet,” she whispered, laying her posy atop the late Lord and Lady Payne’s grave. “But thank you. For him. I promise, I’ll love him as fiercely as I can. Kindly send down some blessings when you can spare them. We’ll probably need them, from time to time.
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Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.
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