Great Men Don't Nessarily Make Good Husbands.

“simon,” She Whispered, Vaguely Surprised That She Had Just Used His First Name, For She Had Never Used It Even In The Privacy Of Her Thoughts. Moistening Her Dry Lips, She Tried Once More, And To Her Astonishment, She Did It Again. “simon…” “yes?” A New Tension Had Entered His Long, Hard Body, And At The Same Time, His Hand Moved Over The Shape Of Her Skull In The Softest Caress Possible. “please… Take Me To My Room.” Hunt Tilted Her Head Back Gently And Regarded Her With A Sudden Faint Smile Playing On His Lips. “sweetheart, I Would Take You To Timbuktu If You Asked.“

A Slow Smile Had Curved St. Vincent's Lips. 'wives Are A Different Case Altogether. They Require A Great Deal Of Effort But The Rewards Are Substantial. I Highly Recommend Wives. Especially One's Own.

He'll Survive," He Answered Her. "just As He's Survived Everything Else In His Life. But He'll Never Be The Same.

She Was Aware Of The Movement Of His Lips As He Pressed Soundless Words In Her Palm. He Released Her, And The Look He Gave Her Seemed To Reveal The Depths Of His Lustful, Longing, Bitter Soul. "good-bye, Miss Fielding," He Said Hoarsely.

The Earl Shook His Head, Exhibiting A Degree Of Frosty Offense That Could Only Be Achieved By An Aristocrat Whose Wishes Had Just Been Gainsaid. “i’ve Never Heard Of A Man Being So Eager To Confess To The Parent Of A Girl He’s Just Ruined,” He Said Sourly.