Bridget And Val Quotes

“Val turned, still naked, still impossibly beautiful. Only the gore spattered on his belly, chest, and arm, marred his perfection.
He walked toward her and she couldn't help it. She backed away from him.
He smiled.
Sweetly. Like a boy. The dagger still in his left hand. And caught her arm with his right hand.
"This is who I am, Séraphine. Naked, with blade and blood. I am vengeance. I am hate. I am sin personified. Never mistake me for the hero of this tale, for I am not and shall never be. I am the villain."
And he laid his lips over hers and pushed his hot tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she couldn't breathe and it was only later that she found the bloodstains on her dress.

Her lips had been sweet, like ripe figs, her mouth a cavern of delight. But her eyes- those dark inquisitor's eyes- had held only horror and disgust.
Val sipped his China tea the next morning and gazed out the window. The sun shone on his garden, giving the illusion of warmth, though his empty chest was ice-cold.
He could have explained to her that a razor-sharp blade was kinder than a hangman's noose. That death delivered in seconds with a few thrusts was preferable to a laughing, jabbering mob, gleeful at the jerking, agonizing execution.
But those saint's eyes would've seen the hypocrisy.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Oh," said her husband, sounding deeply pleased at something he'd read in his letter.
"What?" Bridget sat up, inadvertently spilling several drops of honey on her breast.
Sadly, she succumbed to her husband's fondness for nudity soon after their marriage.
Valentine glanced up, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the honey slowly dripping down her breast.
"Val..." Bridget moved to scoop the honey up with her finger.
His hand darted out, catching hers.
"Oh, don't," he breathed, leaning over her, forcing her flat on her back.
He bent, closing his azure eyes, and licked her breast almost reverently.
She shuddered.
"It's the middle of the day," she whispered.
His eyes opened, wicked and amused. "I know. Your favorite."
She smiled up at him, threading her fingers through his golden hair. "I love you."
"And I love you," he murmured against her lips, before taking her mouth hard and possessively.
Their letters fell to the floor, abandoned, but Bridget didn't care at all.
She was with her true love and the world outside could wait.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He immediately turned to her as the carriage rocked into motion, wrapping her in his cloak and examined her. She had bruises on her shoulders and on her arms. Her wrists were bloodied- he growled under his breath as he examined them, picking away the remains of the ropes. Her plump little toes were muddied and cut and cold. He warmed them with his hands, crooning to them. She had quite a nasty bruise on her left side and he tenderly pressed his fingers around that, soft sounds leaving his lips helplessly. Oh, that he had been there when this had been done! He would have put their eyes out. He would have cut off their noses and made them eat them. He would have-
"Valentine."
He blinked and realized that she had the palms of her hands on his face and was looking at him. "Valentine. I'm all right."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, for he was no fool. They must've had her for several days to bring her here. "Are you, though?"
She looked at him very firmly. "Yes."
"They didn't rape you?"
"No."
"Or touch you in any way?"
She sighed. "They grabbed me when they took me. They tied me up."
He thought about that. He didn't like it. "Did they make you do anything you didn't want to?"
She hesitated.
He went icy cold. "Tell me."
"They..." She went a deep red and looked away. "They... when I needed to... to urinate they didn't turn away."
"Ah." Well. That settled that.
He wrapped his arms around her. "I am truly sorry you had to endure such horrific events, my Séraphine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“And then he saw her burning eyes. They gazed at him calmly and he saw in them benediction.
He fell to his knees before her, pressing his face to her purple-velvet-clad-belly. "Séraphine, Séraphine, Séraphine. O most beloved of women, most fiery of saints, never leave me, please. I'll erect columns of white marble to you, build gardens of delight for you, cause ships to sail and warriors to rise for you, if you'll only remain by my side."
She smiled down at him and cupped his cheeks. "Valentine, do you love me?"
Ah, God, it was like a shot to the gut.
He squeezed tight his eyes. To come so close and lose her because of this. "If I were able I would love you as no man has ever loved a woman since the beginning of time."
She knelt then to face him and whispered, "But you are able."
He clutched her. He wouldn't let her go, no, not even when she realized... "Séraphine, my darling, burning one, do you not remember? I told you, so long ago now, that I lacked that part. I cannot-"
"But you can, Valentine." She touched a finger to his cheek and then showed it to him.
He blinked.
Her finger was wet. His eyes were wet.
She smiled at him, his burning Séraphine, and it was as if the night sky were ablaze. "You love me."
"I love you," he said in wonder, and felt his chest fill with warmth. "I love you."
"And I love you," she whispered, her hands cupping his face.
So he kissed her until she was limp and pliable and so very hot against him, and then he purred into her ear, "Does that mean you'll become my duchess, darling Bridget Crumb?"
And when she sighed back, "Oh, yes, Val," he picked her up and carried her off to have his wicked, wicked way with her.
Because he might have a heart now but some things weren't ever going to change.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He strode, nude, to his desk, and, bending over it, afforded her a quite scandalous view of his muscular bottom. He seemed to have a dark mark of some kind on the left cheek. Good God, it looked like a tattoo. What-? "I have the most lamentable taste sometimes. It probably would be better if a few of my things disappeared. Why, Mrs. Crumb," he drawled, and she snapped her gaze belatedly up to find that he'd turned back to her- damn it! "Were you ogling my arse?"
She opened her mouth and then wasn't sure, exactly, what to say. Was he about to dismiss her or not? "I... I-"
"Ye-es?" He took one long stride toward her.
She was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of what she'd until now successfully ignored: He. Was. Nude.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“No more shall you go bookless, Mrs. Crumb. From this day henceforth you have free run of my library with my compliments."
She stared. "I-"
He grinned, looking not a little wicked. "Have you looked at my books? Glanced at my titles? Fondled my spines?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Oh, Séraphine," he purred, pushing his nose close to her jaw to inhale her righteous scent. "Who do you suppose sits in Parliament? Who makes the laws, runs the government of this great and lofty nation, hmm?" She hadn't bathed this morning, he could tell, and she smelled of herself: woman, sweat, sex. He licked across her cheek, tasting salt and pure saint, to her mouth. He bit her lips. Once, twice, a third time, wanting, craving.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He smiled and pulled the ugly white fichu from her neck.
She blinked and looked down at the simple, square neckline of her bodice as if she'd never seen it. Perhaps she hadn't. Perhaps she dressed in the dark like a nun. "What are you doing?"
He sighed. "I confess, I find your naïveté perplexing. How have you arrived at the advanced age of six and twenty without having anyone attempt seduction upon yourself? I'm of two minds on the matter: One, utter astonishment at my sex and their deaf disregard for your siren call. Two, glee at the thought that your innocence might signal that you are indeed innocent. Why this should excite me so, I don't know- virginity has never before been a particular whim of mine. I think perhaps it's the setting. Who knows how many virgins were deflowered here by my lusty ancestors? Or," he said as he deftly unpinned and tossed aside her apron, "maybe it's simply you."
"I don't..." Her words trailed off and then, interestingly, she blushed a deep rose. Well. That question settled, then. His little maiden was really a maiden. "What?"
"I think it's you," he confided, pulling the strings tying her hideous mobcap beneath her chin.
She made a wild grab for it, but he was faster, snatching the bloody thing off- finally, and with a great deal of satisfaction. She might've deprived him of a wife that it'd taken him half a year and a rather large sum of money to entangle, but by God, he'd taken off her awful cap.
And underneath...
"Oh, Séraphine," he breathed, enchanted, for her hair was as black as coal, as black as night, as black as his own soul, save for one white streak just over her left eye. But she'd twisted and braided and tortured the strands, binding them tight to her head, and his fingers itched to let them free.
"Don't!" she said, as if she knew what he wanted, her hands flying up to cover her hair.
He batted them aside, laughing, pulling a pin here, a pin there, dropping them carelessly to the carpet as she squealed like a little girl and backed away from him, trying frantically to ward off his fingers.
He might've taken pity on her had he not just spent an hour on a freezing moor, wondering if he was going to find her dead, neck broken, at the bottom of a hill.
Her hair came down all at once, a tumbling mass, tousled and heavy and nearly down to her waist.
"Wonderful," he murmured, taking it in both hands and lifting it.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“And she arched, screaming, the lightning blazing from her center, sparking through her limbs, flying out her fingertips.
She was incandescent.
He fell atop her, heavy and male, pulling her legs up around his narrow hips, and ground down into her, once, twice.
His cock jerked within her and she could feel every muscle in his body tense. He groaned into her ear like a man dying and then fell senseless and limp.
And as she followed him into exhausted slumber she heard his single word:
Mine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He paused and eyed her as if she were an agate discovered in gravel. "But what a very sharp tongue you have for a housekeeper."
Bridget's heart sank- she knew better than to speak so frankly. It was never good for a servant to be noticed by a master- particularly this master.
"Come." He beckoned her closer with his forefinger and she saw the flash of a jeweled gold ring on his left thumb.
She swallowed and opened her right hand, silently dropping the miniature to the lush carpet. As she walked toward him she nudged the little painting under the enormous bed with the side of her foot.
She stopped a pace away from him.
His lips curved, sly and sensual. "Closer."
She stepped nearer until her plain, practical black linsey-woolsey skirts were crushed against his purple velvet knees. Her heart beat hard and swift, but she was confident her expression didn't show her fear.
Still smiling, he held out his hands, palms upward. His hands were long-fingered and elegant. The hands of a musician- or a swordsman.
She stared down at them a moment, confused.
He quirked an eyebrow and nodded.
Bridget placed her hands on top of his. Palm to palm. She expected searing heat or deathly cold and was a little surprised to instead feel human warmth.
She'd been hired little more than a fortnight before the duke had supposedly been banished. In that time he had never struck her as human- or humane.
"Ah," His Grace murmured, cocking his head with interest. "What feminine hands you have, despite your station in life."
His blue eyes flashed at her from under dark eyelashes, a secretive smile playing about his mouth.
She met his gaze stonily.
His lips quirked and he looked down again. "Small, plump, with neat, round nails." He turned her hands over so that they now rested palms-up in his. "I once knew a Greek girl who swore she could read a man's life story from the lines on his hands." He dropped her left hand to trace the lines on her right palm with a forefinger.
His touch sent a frisson along her nerves and Bridget couldn't hold back a shudder.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“The duke brought her hand to his mouth and, his azure eyes glittering in the candlelight, pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.
And then the edge of his teeth.
She felt the warm softness of his lips, the prickle of against tender skin, and a sort of shock seemed to go straight through the center of her body.
He let her go and her wrist felt the cold of night. "Séraphine. The burning one. I should've known.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“I'd take her to the top of the widow's tower at Ainsdale Castle, late at night, and we'd watch the moon rise. The widow's tower was very high but she wasn't afraid. Sometimes I'd steal a pie from the kitchens and we'd picnic up there. I brought up a blanket, too, so she wouldn't have to sit on the bare stone floor."
Mrs. Crumb made an aborted movement, as if she'd meant to turn to face him and then changed her mind.
He let the wineglass dangle by his side. "I told her a rabbit lived on the moon and she believed me. She believed everything I told her then."
"What rabbit?"
"There." He roused himself, straightening.
He drew back, fitting her against his chest and setting his chin on her shoulder. She smelled of tea and housekeeperly things, and she was warm, so warm. He caught up her right hand in his and traced the moon with it. "D'you see? There are the long ears, there the tail, there the forepaws, there the back."
"I see," she whispered.
"I told her the rabbit had lavender fur and ate pink moon clover up there." His mouth twisted, as he remembered. "She'd watch me with big blue eyes, her mouth half-open, a bit of piecrust on her dress. She hung on every word."
He could hear her breath, could feel the tremble of her limbs. Did she fear him?
"D'you believe me?" he asked against her ear, his lips wet with wine. She was a housekeeper and housekeepers didn't matter in the grand schemes of kings and dukes and little girls who wished upon rabbit moons.
But she was silent, damnable housekeeper.
They breathed together for a moment, there in the night air, London twinkling before them, overhung by a pagan moon.
At last she stirred and asked, "What happened to the girl?"
He broke away from her, draining his glass of wine. "She grew up and knew me for a liar.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He looked down at her sleeping form. Her hands lay like half-opened flowers on her lap, one cupped within the other. Such sturdy little hands, meant for practical work. Her fingers were rather plump. He smiled at the thought. He held his own hand over hers, comparing. His fingers, long and elegant, dwarfed hers, and yet he found he preferred hers.
He let his hand fall to his lap.
She wore that dreadful mobcap, hiding both her hair and her face from him, and he wanted to pluck it from her head.
But to do so would disturb her sleep.
He cocked his head, considering the conundrum. He found, on the whole, that he didn't wish to disturb his housekeeper's sleep. It felt... nice to have her lying so trustingly against him.
If he listened very intently he could hear her breaths.
After a bit he breathed with her.
In and out.
In... and then out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He began on the hidden hooks to her bodice as she stood still, her breasts rising and falling tremblingly beneath his fingers. It was like undressing a wild animal. Or an angel who had consented to stand still for a moment. Any false move on his part might startle her into flight.
He smiled into her eyes, aware that his cock pressed hard and hot against the placket of his breeches. Her hair had smelled of earth and her. He was almost loath to replace her essential scent with perfumes.
But she was freezing. He'd felt it in the ice of her fingers, in the chill of her cheeks. He wanted her warm.
He couldn't let his burning angel's fire go out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Let me help you rinse your hair."
His voice had deepened and it made a shock go through her, low in her belly. He rose and crossed to where a pitcher stood on the hearth. She didn't turn, but she could hear him moving behind her, and it struck her that she'd seldom been waited upon before in her life- and never by a gentleman.
"Sit a little forward." He was suddenly close. "Close your eyes and tilt your head back."
The water flowed over her scalp, warm and soothing, but her skin was prickled with goose bumps nonetheless.
"Once more, I think," he said, his voice so near, his hands large and sure, and he poured again. "There."
She sat back, wringing the water from her hair with fingers that trembled. She could hear him setting down the pitcher and she wasn't sure what to do. This was so far outside any experience she'd ever before had or imagined...
Bridget cleared her throat, but her voice was husky when she spoke. "Can you hand me a cloth for my hair?"
"Let me." He expertly wrapped a cloth around her head, keeping her clean hair out of the water. "Now you look like an Ottoman sultana." His fingers lingered on the back of her neck, stroking.
She closed her eyes, feeling her nipples throb. Oh, God, he'd barely touched her yet.
She inhaled and tried to smile, but found she was too tense. "Is... is there another cloth with which to dry myself?"
The fingers left as he reseated himself, his cheek propped on his knuckles. "But you haven't washed yourself, sweet Brid-get." He snapped off the t of her name with a click of his tongue. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss..." His gaze seemed to penetrate the now-clouded water before rising and meeting her own eyes with a devilish gleam. "Well, everything.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He attacked her throat and she was so startled by the sudden move that she squeaked. He was laving her with his tongue, openmouthed, and she moaned, arching, wondering wildly if this was the same man who wore pink silk coats and black velvet bows. This seemed so base, so animal. Not at all like the effete aristocrat she thought she knew.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She knelt in the mud and tried to pull the cord from his neck, but it had been tied terribly tight and her hands were trembling.
She felt the duke crouch behind her, his arms reaching around her, warm and hard, and felt a moment's confusion before he leaned forward and murmured in her ear, "Here."
He placed her opened chatelaine knife in her hands.
She took it gratefully. "Thank you."
Carefully she cut the cord and picked up the little dog, his body warm and rather smelly in her arms.
The terrier immediately began licking her chin.
Bridget inhaled on a sob, even as she felt the brush of the duke's tongue at the corner of her eye.
"Your tears taste like salvation." His voice was deep, resonating against her back, and he almost sounded puzzled.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She would've sworn the cat- or kitten, for it sounded quite small- was right in front of her, but there was nothing there.
She straightened and glanced at Val.
His azure eyes were alight with amusement. "Phantom cats and ghostly kittens."
She frowned at him. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"Boring." He kissed her on the nose and, while she was still blinking in surprise, leaned down and did something to the back of the cupboard.
Suddenly one of the boards came away in his hands.
She leaned down again to look.
Staring back at them was a ginger cat, her green eyes wide, and at her teats were a row of wriggling kittens in a rainbow of colors. She was curled in the small space of what was evidently a false back to the cupboard.
"But how did she get in?" Bridget breathed, enchanted. The kittens were at that wee fluffy stage and absolutely adorable.
"Magic," Val said promptly, and then, more prosaically, "or the back of the cupboard's rotted away.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Come," he said gently, for he knew she'd been through travail. "I sought you out amongst your labors to bend my knee and plead that you leave the dust and spiders and mouse droppings to come and lounge awhile and perhaps partake of luncheon."
Interestingly, she blushed. "I can't do that," she hissed under her breath.
"Why not?" he asked, deeply diverted by her reaction.
"The other servants."
He blinked. "I assure you, I do let all my servants partake of luncheon."
"But if I am with you..." Her blush deepened.
He cocked his head, studying her, entirely baffled. "I didn't mean luncheon as a euphemism; however, I'm entirely happy to adjourn to my rooms right at this moment if that is-"
"No," she said with what some might take as unflattering emphasis. She rolled her eyes as if he were the one being difficult, which, to be fair, he often was. "Let's go have luncheon."
He smiled. "Splendid!"
She looked at him a little shyly. Absolutely enchanting. "I'm dusty. I'll go wash first and meet you in the dining room, shall I?"
He bowed with a flourish. "I await your presence."
She looked flustered at that and he was very tempted to perhaps lean her up against one of the tables and-”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“For a moment all was silence, save for her breathing. Triumph raced through Bridget's chest. At last!
Then she heard a masculine chuckle behind her.
Bridget froze, ice sliding down her spine. The sound could be nothing else, not the wind or a creaky house or even a mouse in the walls.
She turned, pushing the panel shut with her shoulder, and palming the portrait as she did so.
The Duke of Montgomery, all golden hair and sharp blue eyes, and wearing a purple velvet suit, smiled at her from the armchair in the far corner of the room.
"A lovely woman in my bed, what a fetching surprise." He cocked his head, a corner of his beautiful mouth curving cruelly. "Tell me, Mrs. Crumb, what are you looking for?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“And this"- the duke stroked the mound beneath her thumb- "do you know what this is called?"
Bridget cleared her throat, but her voice emerged a bit rusty nonetheless. "I could not say, Your Grace."
"The Mount of Venus." He arched his eyebrows at her. Devastatingly beautiful. Lethally charming. "My Greek girl told me that this foretells how passionate a woman may be. You, Mrs. Crumb, must have untold depths of sensual need within you."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He bent and bit the base of her thumb.
She gasped and snatched her hand away.
The duke laughed and sat back, smoothing his bottom lip with his beringed thumb slowly.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“His azure eyes suddenly dropped to pin her, hard and merciless, and she lost her breath as she fell into his predator's stare. It was like looking into the eyes of something inhuman, almost otherworldly. Her chest ached as she stared at him, the air still locked within her, but at the same time the place between her legs ached as well. She was suddenly made very aware that beneath the starch of her apron, the wool of her dress, and the bone of her stays, she had soft nipples that had tightened into points.
Then she inhaled, filling her lungs with sweet air, as he watched her still, his eyes half-lidded, and she felt an odd exhilaration, as if a gauntlet had been thrown down. As if they were adversaries, equal on the field.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“There would be repercussions should I not return."
Montgomery's eyes widened, blue and guileless. "You see, this is the difference between you and me. When you make a statement like that, you think it will sway me. It doesn't. I. Don't. Care. I could kill you as easily as stepping on an ant and with far less remorse. Perhaps I'd face your repercussions on the morrow. Perhaps not. But that is for the sunrise. Tonight the shadows reign and the blood is singing in my veins. My very muscles tremble with the urge to carve the meat from your bones. Tell me"- he swept wide his arms- "who in this whole dissolute world is to dissuade me from my pleasures?"
Standing barefoot in his purple silk banyan, books scattered at his feet in the flickering light of a few candles, still holding that jeweled, curving dagger, he might've been some druidic priest, born before history was written.
Before men knew human sacrifice was forbidden.
Bridget found herself with her hand on his arm. How it had happened she could hardly think. Had it been daylight, had she been better rested, been better prepared, had at least one cup of tea inside her, she would've had better control over herself.
As it was, she was left with the act already done and the duke staring at her with his dangerous, mad eyes.
She swallowed, her lips trembling, and lifted her chin. "Don't. Please."
He cocked his head as though hearing a new song. Or a sound he'd never heard before at all. Something alien and strange.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He was a terrible, evil man, and most likely mad to boot. She knew that.
And yet.
As if he could hear her thoughts, his head turned and his eyes met hers.
She should've ducked before he could see her. That would've been the sensible thing to do- the smart thing to do. Instead she lifted her chin and stared back as if she were equal to a duke.
Without acknowledging the gentleman still talking to him, the duke pivoted and walked toward her.
Through that crowded ballroom, as if nothing stood between him and her. And all those people parted as if he were a ship cleaving the waves. Why shouldn't they? He was the Duke of Montgomery. Nothing stood in his way. He made sure of that.
He made her side and took her hand and simply said, "Come.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“When I was a little older, about twelve, I went to work at a nearby house. It was owned by old Mrs. Cromby and oh, I was so homesick! I cried myself to sleep for a fortnight it seemed, until it was my day off and I could go home to see Mam."
He frowned at this, not liking to think of his infant housekeeper in tears. "Why did they send you then if you were so upset?"
She gave him a look. "Because I needed to learn a trade, naturally. And it was a good position. Mrs. Cromby was very strict but I learned so much from her and her housekeeper, Mrs. Little. How to keep records and how to make wood polish and brass polish and silver polish. When to turn linen and how to store cheese. What cuts of beef are the cheapest and how to bargain down the butcher. How to judge when a fish is fresh and when to buy shellfish and when not to. How to keep moths from woolen and mice from the pantry. How to get wine stains out of white linen and how to dye faded cloth black again. All that and so much more."
She drew breath and he looked at her, deeply appalled. "That all sounds frightfully boring."
"And yet without that knowledge you'd live in dirty, messy, vermin-infested chaos," she said sweetly.
"Mm.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“That story I told you as we arrived? About the man who killed the former master of this castle and raped his wife? Did you think it a fairy tale? No, his blood runs in my veins. I was bred to do what I am doing now. Don't fault the viper for striking. It's what snakes do."
Her lips trembled, but her eyes were dry, as if she'd already given up hope of persuading him and he did not mourn at all. Not at all. "The blood of that woman who was raped is in your veins, too, isn't it?"
Oh, she knew where to hit. "Naturally. But I think it's less apparent, don't you? The story says she was dark and small."
She shook her head. "So all that talk of right and wrong- that doesn't matter in the end to you at all?"
He hesitated- just for the smallest fraction of a second- because he had always found the question of right and wrong rather fascinating.
But then he smiled at her. "Only in the abstract.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“It's tempting. I can see why those Ottomans hide their women. If I could, I might dress you in silk- deep-red silk- and put you away where no other man might see you."
She turned her head to glare at him, those dark eyes sparking. "I shouldn't like that."
He smiled at her fondly, almost sadly. This woman- why did he want this woman so very much?
"I know." He sipped at her lips lightly- so lightly. "And yet, as I say, tempting."
He caught her lips with his, widening her mouth, tasting red wine and gravy, apples, and her, all her. Bridget, Séraphine, her.
Her.
Her.
Her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Will you be traveling there again? To Istanbul and Arabia and the places where they follow the Koran?"
"I hope so," he said, laying aside the golden book very carefully. "The air is so hot there, warm and fragrant, the sky so blue, and the food tastes like nothing here. They have olives and dates and soft cheeses. I think you would like it, my Séraphine. You could dress in pink and gold and mahogany and lounge on silken pillows, listening to strange music. I'd buy you a little monkey with a vest and a hat to make you laugh and I'd sit and watch you and feed you juicy grapes."
She smiled sadly and drew off her stays. "And how would we get there, Val?"
"I'd hire a ship," he said taking a sip of his red wine. "No, I'd buy a ship- one of our very own. It'll have blue sails and a flag with a rooster on it. We'll take your mongrel and Mehmed and all his cats and set sail with fifty strong men. During the day we'll sit on deck and watch for mermaids and monsters in the waves, and at night we'll stare at the stars and then I'll make love to you until dawn."
"And after far Arabia?" she whispered as she drew off her chemise and stood nude save for her stockings and shoes. "What then?"
His smile faded and he looked very grave as she took off her shoes and stockings. "Why, Séraphine, then we would journey on to Egypt or India or China or indeed wherever else you please. Or even come round about here, back to foggy, bustling London, where, if nothing else, the pies and sausages are quite good, if that was what you wished. Just as long as I were with you and you with me, my sweet Séraphine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin