Love Works In Mysterious Ways.

Michael Nodded Tersely, Eyeing A Table Across The Room. It Was Empty. So Empty. So Joyfully, Blessedly Empty. He Could Picture Himself A Very Happy Man At That Table. "not Feeling Very Conversational This Evening, Are We?" Colin Asked, Breaking Into His (admittedly Tame) Fantasies.

And I Hope You Will Not Think Me Foolish When I Also Extend My Thanks. Thank You, Michael, For Letting My Son Love Her First. —from Janet Stirling, Dowager Countess Of Kilmartin, To Michael Stirling, Earl Of Kilmartin

She Glared At Him. "i'm Not Asking You To Apologize." "well, That's A Relief.i Doubt I Could Find The Words.

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

She Smelled Like England, Of Soft Rain And Sun-kissed Meadows. And She Felt Like The Best Kind Of Heaven. He Wanted To Wrap Himself Around, Bury Himself Within Her, And Stay There For All Of His Days. He Hadn’t Had A Drop To Drink In Three Years, But He Was Intoxicated Now, Bubbling With A Lightness He’d Never Thought To Feel Again.