It Wasn‟t Even Desire. It Was Far

It Wasn‟t Even Desire. It Was Far More Than That. It Was Love. Love. With A Capital L And Swirly Script And Hearts And Flowers And Whatever Else The Angels— And Yes, All Those Annoying Little Cupids—wished To Use For Embellishment.

Heartache, Daphne Eventually Learned, Never Really Went Away; It Just Dulled. The Sharp, Stabbing Pain That One Felt With Each Breath Eventually Gave Way To A Blunter, Lower Ache—the Kind That One Could Almost—but Never Quite—ignore.

Gareth Turned To Gregory. “your Sister Will Be Safe With Me,” He Said. “i Give You My Vow.” “oh, I Have No Worries On That Score,” Gregory Said With A Bland Smile. “the Real Question Is—will You Be Safe With Her?” It Was A Good Thing, Gareth Later Reflected, That Hyacinth Had Already Quit The Room To Fetch Her Coat And Her Maid. She Probably Would Have Killed Her Brother On The Spot.

Of Course None Of Those Men Was Suitable. Half Were After Your Fortune, And As For The Other Half—well, You Would Have Reduced Them To Tears Within A Month.” “such Tenderness For Your Youngest Child,” Hyacinth Muttered. “it Quite Undoes Me.

I Thought You Wanted Food," She Gasped. "i Do," He Murmured, Tugging On The Bodice Of Her Dress. "but I Want You More.