Quotes from Anna Campbell

She whipped her head around in his direction. Light dazzled her. All she could make out was a tall figure with broad shoulders. But she heard the voice clearly. A deep voice smooth and rich as the cream she scooped from the new milk on her farm in Yorkshire. That beautiful cultured baritone frightened her more than all Monks and Filey's ribald situations.

I see why you tolerate Mrs. Bevan's eccentric manners. What a pity she's forgotten cutlery." Merrick sipped his golden wine. The pleasure on his face reminded her of his expression after kissing her. Devil take him, everything reminded her of his kisses. "What a pity," he said with spurious regret. "Eating with one's fingers is so... primitive." She blushed. He turned the most innocent words into an invitation to wickedness.

Fenella's lips tightened at his quick dismissal of her usefulness and endurance. For five years, people had coddled her—if truth were told, people had always coddled her—and she'd had enough. It had been unpleasant, but refreshingly bracing when Mr. Townsend had shouted at her. Nobody ever shouted at her. Since her widowhood, they were inclined to murmur in her presence as if they were in church.

Her lack of welcome couldn't dampen his happiness at seeing her. He'd never been in love before. He'd never imagined love could strike a man harder than a rock falling on his head. Harder, and with the same lack of warning. But watching the slim, golden-haired woman lit by stark gray light through the high windows, he admitted the inescapable truth. He was head over heels with Charlotte Warren. He

We have to convince Monks and Filey we're lovers. I mean only to sleep here. You have my word you're safe from my advances." Surprisingly, that full mouth quirked into a wry smile. "So we lie like Tristan and Yseult with a sword between us?" Hard as it was, hard as he was , he couldn't help smiling at the absurd image. "I find myself currently embarrassed of a sword." He didn't say that, in the legend, the sword had proven no barrier to passion. He was in enough trouble.

All he noticed was Grace. Her exquisite skin, her slender curves wrapped in silk the color of sky, her lush mouth. He ripped himself from his distraction and crossed to the sideboard to pour her wine. But invisible wires connected him to her. Wires that tightened infinitesimally with every breath so the effort of keeping his hands off her became more onerous by the second.

Good God, simply tell the girl how you feel," Silverton advised, clearly exasperated. "You cannot spend your life brooding about her behind marble pillars and potted plants. It's undignified." Nigel

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as if the air itself offered sustenance. The rise and fall of her chest only made him more aware of the beautiful shape of her breasts. They weren't large but on a woman of her extreme slenderness, they seemed miraculously voluptuous. His fingers curled at his sides as if he already tested the weight and shape of her.

She blinked and with surprising reluctance, stepped apart from him. Another horrid blush stained her cheeks, and she only just stopped herself from raising a hand to touch where he'd kissed her. Her skin burned where his lips had touched.

Tell me more about your home. I can hear in your voice how you love it." He smiled. "You'd love it, too, mo chridhe." "What do you call me?" He wasn't quite ready to tell her, so he pretended not to hear the question.

The mattress shifted as he turned to look at her. Perhaps the darkness would hide her weeping. A futile hope. She'd long ago noted the acuteness of his senses. "Oh, my dear." Unerringly, he reached out and captured a tear in his fingers. Another tear, another. She closed her eyes and struggled for composure. "Crying won't help," she said huskily. "Sometimes it's all we can do." His voice caressed her like black silk.

Giles, if you were teasing about teaching me how to kiss, I'll never forgive you." "Perish the thought." Attractive self-mockery twisted those full lips. "How the devil can I resist turning you into another man's dream lover?

Unholy delight lit Giles's dark face to flashing brilliance. She realized that while he mightn't be handsome, he was breathtakingly attractive and brimming with potent masculinity more powerful than mere good looks.

The most terrifying part of this terrifying encounter was that just now, the man she wanted to attract was standing in front of her. And that was completely insupportable.

Like a mare scenting a stallion, she shifted nervously.

From the first, Giles had enjoyed staying with the Talbots. They welcomed him with a generosity that he'd always known was exceptional. But envy tinged his gratitude. Because however kind this noisy, loving, exuberant clan was, however willingly they included him in their festivities, he remained an outsider. An outsider yearning after the lovely daughter of the house like grim Hades yearned after bright Persephone. Darkness hungering for irresistible light.

Heat turned his own cheeks red. And didn't that make him a soppy sod? In London, he did a fair job of playing the man of the world. Here with Serena, he felt like the awkward schoolboy who had arrived at Torver eighteen years ago.

I thought you were in love with another man." The words felt like a blow to a bruise, but they had to be said. Instead of taking offense, she stopped at the end of the table and regarded him with an enigmatic expression. Which was odd. He'd spent years observing Serena. He thought he knew her as well as he knew himself. Tonight proved him wrong.

She trembled under his hand. "You don't need to manhandle me." "I mightn't need to, but I'd certainly like to," he purred and was rewarded with another beguiling blush. Jonas couldn't recall the last time he'd consorted with a woman innocent enough to blush.

Because nothing but annihilation would stop him wanting Serena. Even then, he'd probably come back and haunt her.

He'd misjudged the powerful effect of his beloved's nearness. Keeping his hands to himself had been simple when Serena treated him as a vague acquaintance. When he held her in his arms, control became impossible. He'd stepped away, the only thing he could do to preserve honor. His and hers.

Her glance fell on the door to the library. Not even Paul's greatest admirer would call him a bookish man. This was her best bet for avoiding him. She whisked into the room and whirled to close the door, when she glanced up to see Giles a few steps behind her. With a shuddering gasp, she faltered back as he strode forward and shut them inside. Alone. Neither spoke a word as he seized her with ruthless hands and swept her into his arms.

Och, I'm quite the useful laddie. I can save a sinking calf from the mire, or cook a braw piece of toast, or fix a broken heart." She

He forced himself to sound careless, no matter that her proximity stirred his senses so powerfully. The sun flooding through the window lit rich colors in her opulent hair. Flax. Gold. Auburn.