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379 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published April 1, 1998
She was a breathtaking firebrand, and Vere Mallory, the notorious Duke of Ainswood, had never seen anything like her. Although he thought he was rescuing Lydia Grenville from the cluches of a renowned wastrel, he quickly discovers she is angry at his interference! Amused by the sultry hell-cats's fury, Mallory vows to teach her some humility -- in life and in love.
“Due to not getting pumped regular, females take the oddest fancies, such as imagining they can think.”
"Men don't see the world as women do. Men don't always see what's under their noses."
"Thank you," she whispered again, helplessly, while she looked into his handsome face and gave up all hope of ever being sensible again.
"Mad, quite mad, alas!"
“You cannot do everything, you know. Sometimes you must be content with giving moral support. I don't need to be coddled and sheltered. I don't need all my battles fought for me. I do need to be believed in.”
Why the devil should I consider the title? It never considered me.” He snatched up his hat and gloves. “It should have stayed where it was and let me alone, but no, it wouldn’t, would it? It had to keep creeping on toward me, one confounded funeral after another. Well, I say let it go on creeping after they plant me with the others. Then it can hang itself on some other poor sod’s neck, like the bleeding damned albatross it is.
While not morally corrupt—as her father had been—they had been shallow, unintelligent, disorganized, and afflicted with a virulent case of wanderlust. They were forever wanting to shake the dust of someplace from their feet long before dust could possibly have time to settle. The ground Lydia had covered with them reached from Lisbon in the West to Damascus in the East, and included the countries on the southern shores of the Mediterranean.
“Ah, now, ladies, ladies.” The tall ruffian shoved another clodpole out of the way and pushed forward. “All this daring and daunting will burst your stays, my fair delicates. And all for what? The smallest problem: one chick, and two hens wanting her. Lots of chicks about, aren’t there? Not worth disturbing the King’s peace and annoying the constables, is it? Certainly not.”
He drew out his purse. “Here’s what we’ll do. A screen [pound] apiece for you, my dears—and I’ll take the little one off your hands.”
“I should like to know why I am the only woman who has to marry you,” she said, “merely to get what you pay to give other women. Thousands of other women.”
“Leave it to you,” he said, “to make it sound as though you’ve been singled out for punishment—cruel and inhuman, no doubt.”
"Why the devil should I consider the title? It never considered me." He snatched up his hat and gloves. "It should have stayed where it was and let me alone, but no, it wouldn't, would it? It had to keep creeping on toward me, one confounded funeral after another. Well, I say let it go on creeping after they plant me with the others. Then it can hang itself on some other poor sod's neck, like the bleeding damned albatross it is."
"What about love, Grenville? Do you think, in time, you might be so graciously condescending as to endure my love? Or is love only for mere mortals? Perhaps the godlike Balusters have no more need for it than the Olympian deities need a curricle to take them down to Delphi, or a vessel to take them to Troy."