Helen Ravenel Quotes

“Helen,
You ask if I regret our engagement.
No. I regret every minute that you're out of my sight. I regret every step that doesn't bring me closer to you.
My last thought each night is that you should be in my arms. There is no peace or pleasure in my empty bed, where I sleep with you only in dreams and wake to curse the dawn.
If I had the right, I would forbid you to go anywhere without me. Not out of selfishness, but because being apart from you is like trying to live without breathing.
Think on that. You've stolen my very breath, cariad. And now I'm left to count the days until I take it back from you, kiss by kiss.
Winterborne”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Every time you look at me, you'll remember that I'm half his."
"No." His hand came to the side of her face, his thumb wiping her tears. "You're all mine." His voice was deep and shaken. "Every hair on your head. Every part of you was made to be loved by me.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Rhys absorbed that with chagrin. "No one has ever accused me of being a romantic," he said ruefully.
"If you were, how would you propose?"
He thought for a moment. "I would begin by teaching you a Welsh word. Hiraeth There's no equivalent in English."
"Hiraeth," she repeated, trying to pronounce it with a tapped R, as he had.
"Aye. It's a longing for something that was lost, or never existed. You feel it for a person or a place, or a time in your life...it's a sadness of the soul. Hiraeth calls to a Welshman even when he's closest to happiness, reminding him that he's incomplete."
Her brow knit with concern. "Do you feel that way?"
"Since the day I was born." He looked down into her small, lovely face. "But not when I'm with you. That's why I want to marry you.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“That word doesn't apply to him."
"I agree. A man is not entitled to be called a father merely because he once had a well-timed spasm of the loins.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“You play with great skill," he said.
"Thank you."
"Is that your favorite piece?"
"It's my most difficult," Helen said, "but not my favorite."
"What do you play when there's no one to hear?"
The gentle question, spoken in that accent with vowels as broad as his shoulders, caused Helen's stomach to tighten pleasurably. Perturbed by the sensation, she was slow to reply. "I don't remember the name of it. A piano tutor taught it to me long ago. For years I've tried to find out what it is, but no one has ever recognized the melody."
"Play it for me."
Calling it up from memory, she played the sweetly haunting chords, her hands gentle on the keys. The mournful chords never failed to stir her, making her heart ache for things she couldn't name. At the conclusion, Helen looked up from the keys and found Winterborne staring at her as if transfixed. He masked his expression, but not before she saw a mixture of puzzlement, fascination, and a hint of something hot and unsettling.
"It's Welsh," he said.
Helen shook her head with a laugh of wondering disbelief. "You know it?"
"'A Ei Di'r Deryn Do.' Every Welshman is born knowing it."
"What is it about?"
"A lover who asks a blackbird to carry a message to his sweetheart."
"Why can't he go to her himself?" Helen realized they were both speaking in hushed tones, as if they were exchanging secrets.
"He can't find her. He's too deep in love- it keeps him from seeing clearly."
"Does the blackbird find her?"
"The song doesn't say," he said with a shrug.
"But I must know the ending to the story," Helen protested.
Winterborne laughed. It was an irresistible sound, rough-soft and sly. When he replied, his accent had thickened. "That's what comes o' reading novels, it is. The story needs no ending. That's not what matters."
"What matters, then?" she dared to ask.
His dark gaze held hers. "That he loves. That he's searching. Like the rest of us poor devils, he has no way of knowing if he'll ever have his heart's desire.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“A silky rustling sound came from behind him.
He turned, and saw Helen standing there in a white dress made of thin, glimmering layers of silk trimmed with lace. The dress clung to her slender form, the skirts pulled back to outline her hips and cascading gently behind her. She pulled back a filmy white veil sewn with lace and seed pearls, and smiled at him. She was unearthly in her beauty, as light and delicate as a wash of rainbow through morning mist. He held a hand over his hammering heart, as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“What can Mr. Winterborne be thinking?” she asked with a flustered laugh. “He’s sent enough food for an army.”
“Obviously he’s courting the entire family,” West told her. “I can’t speak for everyone else, but I for one feel thoroughly wooed.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Rhys couldn't help wondering... had he known the first time he'd met Helen that this man was her father, would it have mattered?
Maybe at first. He wasn't sure. But there was no doubt that eventually he would have succumbed to the irresistible attraction of Helen, the magic she would always hold for him. In his mind, there was no connection between Helen and Vance, regardless of physical resemblance, blood, or heredity. There was only good in Helen. That gentle, valiant spirit, that perfect mixture of strength and kindness, was all her own.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Weak sunlight slanted across the table, flecked with glimmering, floating dust motes, some of them swirling around the light blue petals. Confusion spread through her as she saw the inflorescence of glowing blooms. The broad ovoid leaves were clan and glossy, and the roots anchored among the crushed clay pottery shards had been carefully trimmed and kept damped.
The Blue Vanda hadn't sickened in Winterborne's care... it had thrived.
Helen leaned over the orchid, touching the beautiful arc of its stem with a single fingertip. Shaking her head in wonder, she felt a tickle at the edge of her chin, and didn't realize it was a tear until she saw it drop onto one of the Vanda's leaves.
"Oh, Mr. Winterborne," she whispered, and reached up to wipe at her wet cheeks. "Rhys. There's been a mistake.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Please," she eventually said, "you must forgive me. I'm far too shy. I must work harder to overcome it. When I behave that way, it has nothing at all to do with disgust. The truth is, I'm nervous with you. Because..." A deep flush worked up from the high neck of her dress to the edge of her hairline. "Because you're very attractive," she continued awkwardly, "and worldly, and I don't wish for you to think me foolish. As for the other day, that... that was my first kiss. I didn't know what to do, and I felt... quite overwhelmed.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Although she didn't possess the robust sunstruck prettiness of her younger sisters, Helen was compelling in her own way, like the cool glow of moonlight. Her skin was very fair, her hair the lightest shade of blond.
Kathleen found it interesting that although Lord and Lady Trenear had named all four of their children after figures of Greek mythology, Helen was the only one who had been given the name of a mortal.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Before he could explain further, however, Rhys happened to catch sight of a slim, dark shape walking past the doorway. It was only a fleeting glimpse... but it was enough to send a jolt of awareness through him.
"You," he said in a voice that carried out into the hallway. "Whoever just passed by the door. Come here."
In the riveting silence, a young woman appeared at the threshold. Her features were delicately angular, her silver blue eyes round and wide-set. As she stood at the edge of the lamplight, her fair skin and pale blond hair seemed to hold their own radiance, an effect he'd seen in paintings of Old Testament angels.
"There's a grain about it," Rhys's father had always said when he'd wanted to describe something fine and polished and perfect, something of the highest quality. Oh, there was a grain about this woman. She was only medium height, but her extreme slenderness gave her the illusion of being taller. Her breasts were high and gently rounded beneath the high-necked dress, and for a pleasurable, disorienting moment Rhys remembered resting his head there as she had given him sips of orchid tea.
"Say something," he commanded gruffly.
The shy glow of her smile gilded the air. "I'm glad to see you in better health, Mr. Winterborne."
Helen's voice.
She was more beautiful than starlight, and just as unattainable. As he stared at her, Rhys was bitterly reminded of the upper-class ladies who had looked at him with contempt when he was a shop boy, holding their skirts back if he passed near them on the street, the way they would seek to avoid a filthy stray dog.
"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked.
Rhys shook his head, still unable to take his gaze from her. "I only wanted a face to go with the voice.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Lady Helen, who had been accompanied by her husband, Mr. Rhys Winterborne, was far more reserved than the twins. Instead of Pandora's raw and radiant energy, or Cassandra's effervescent charm, she possessed a quality of sweet, patient gravity. With her silver-blonde hair and willowy slenderness, Helen seemed as ethereal as a figure form from a painting by Bougereau.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Spring

“As her gentle voice continued, Rhys had the sensation of floating, the red tide of fever easing. How strange and lovely it was to lie here half dozing in her arms, possibly even better than fucking... but that thought led to the indecent question of what it might be like with her... how she might lie quietly beneath him while he devoured all that petal softness and vanilla sweetness... and slowly he fell asleep in Lady Helen's arms.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Cultivating orchids had been a keen interest and hobby of Helen's ever since her mother had passed away five years ago, leaving a collection of approximately two hundred potted orchids. Since no one else in the family had been inclined to care for them, Helen had taken it upon herself. Orchids were demanding, troublesome plants, each with its own temperament. At first Helen had found no enjoyment in her self-appointed responsibility, but over time, she had become devoted to the orchids.
As she had once told Kathleen, sometimes one had to love something before it became lovable.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“A slender figure emerged from behind an inflorescence of snow-white blooms. Helen's crystalline eyes caught the light, and her pretty lips rounded like a tea rose as she said his name in soundless bewilderment. She moved toward him, stumbling a little as she came around the table too fast. The hint of clumsiness, her obvious haste, electrified him. She had missed him. She had wanted him, too.
Reaching her in three swift strides, Rhys caught her up against him so tightly that her toes left the floor. Momentum turned them in a half-circle. Letting her back down, he dove his face into the warm fragrant skin of her neck and breathed her, absorbed her.
Cariad," he said huskily, "that was the first time I've ever seen you move with less than swanlike grace."
She gave an unsteady laugh. "You surprised me." Her warm, delicate hands came to the cold sides of his face. "You're here," she said, as if trying to make herself believe it.
Breathing unevenly, Rhys nuzzled her, amazed by the silkiness of her skin and hair, the tenderness of her flesh. Something like elation, only stronger, was pouring into his veins, intoxicating him. "I could eat you," he muttered, pushing past her caressing hands to find her lips, feeling her mouth with his. Helen responded eagerly, her fingers sliding into his hair and shaping against his skull.
He murmured rough-soft endearments between kisses, while Helen clung to him.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“She could have been a figure in a Welsh fairy tale, a nymph who had formed from the mist off a lake. There was something otherworldly about the delicacy of her porcelain skin, and the arresting contrast between her dark lashes and brows and her silver-blond hair. And those eyes, cool translucence contained in dark rims.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Mr. Winterborne is in no way beneath me, ma'am. Character is a far more important measure of a man than birth."
"Well said. Fortunately for Mr. Winterborne, marriage to a Ravenel will elevate him sufficiently that he will be allowed to mix in good society. One hopes he will prove worthy of the privilege."
"I hope aristocratic society will be worthy of *him*," Helen said pointedly.
The gray eyes sharpened. "Is he high-minded? Refined in his tastes? Exquisite in his comportment?"
"He is well-mannered, intelligent, honest, and generous."
"But not refined?" Lady Berwick pressed.
"Whatever refinements Mr. Winterborne does not possess, he will certainly acquire them if he wishes. But I wouldn't ask him to change anything about himself, as there is already far too much to admire, and I would be in danger of excessive pride on his behalf."
Lady Berwick gazed at her steadily, her gray eyes warming. "What an extraordinary girl. 'Cool as caller air," as my Scottish grandfather used to say. You'll be wasted on a Welshman- I vow, we could have married you to a duke.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Forgive me for interrupting your task," Devon said to Helen after they were introduced.
A hesitant smile emerged. "Not at all, my lord. I'm merely observing the orchids to make certain there is nothing they lack."
"How can you tell what they lack?" Devon asked.
"I see the color of their leaves, or the condition of the petals. I look for signs of aphids or thrips, and I try to remember which varieties prefer moist soil and which ones like to be drier."
"Will you show them to me?" Devon asked.
Helen nodded and led him along the rows, pointing out particular specimens. "This was all my mother's collection. One of her favorites was Peristeria elata." She showed him a plant with marble-white blossom. "The central part of the flower resembles a tiny dove, you see? And this one is Dendrobium aemulum. It's called a feather orchid because of the petals." With a flash of shy mischief, Helen glanced back at Kathleen and remarked, "My sister-in-law isn't fond of orchids."
"I despise them," Kathleen said, wrinkling her nose. "Stingy, demanding flowers that take forever to bloom. And some of them smell like old boots or rancid meat."
"Those aren't my favorite," Helen admitted. "But I hope to love them someday. Sometimes one must love something before it becomes lovable.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“The word comes from Greek mythology. Orchis was the son of a satyr and a nymph. During a feast to celebrate Bacchus, Orchis drank too much wine and tried to force his attentions on a priestess. Bacchus was very displeased, and reacted by having Orchis torn to pieces. The pieces were scattered far and wide, and wherever one landed, an orchid grew." Pausing, she leaned away for a few seconds, reaching for something. Something soft and delicate touched his cracked lips.... She was applying salve with a fingertip. "Most people don't know that vanilla is the fruit of an orchid vine. We keep one in a glasshouse on the estate- it's so long that it grows sideways on the wall. When one of the flowers is full grown, it opens in the morning, and if it isn't pollinated, it closes in the evening, never to open again. The white blossoms, and the vanilla pods within them, have the sweetest scent in the world...”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“I've never been more impressed with your ability to manage difficult people."
Helen pried a pale yellow flower open to find the pollen-tipped rod within. "If living in a house of Ravenels hasn't been adequate preparation, I can't fathom what would be." Using a toothpick, she collected grains of pollen and applied them to the nectar, which was hidden beneath a tiny flap of the stigma. Her hands were adept from years of practice.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“I've always wondered why you're the only one who doesn't have a temper. I've never seen you in a rage."
"I'm quite capable of anger," Helen assured her wryly.
"Anger, yes. But not the kind of fury in which you shout and throw things, and make nasty remarks you'll later regret."
Helen worked diligently on the vanilla vine as she replied. "Perhaps I'm a late bloomer. I could develop a temper later."
"Heavens, I hope not. If you do, we'll have no kind, calm person to soothe savage beasts such as Mr. Winterborne."
Helen sent her a quick, sidelong glance. "He's not savage. He's accustomed to being the center of much activity. It's difficult for a man with a forceful nature to be idle and ill.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“I've lived away from the world for so much in my life, Mr. Winterborne, that I sometimes wonder who I am, or if I belong anywhere."
Winterborne studied her. "Trenear plans to take you and your sisters to London when you've finished mourning."
Helen nodded. "I haven't been to town since I was a child. I remember it as a very large and exciting place." She paused, vaguely surprised that she was confiding in him. "Now I think I might find it... intimidating."
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "What happens when you're intimidated? Run to the nearest corner and hide, do you?"
"I should say not," she said primly, wondering if she were being teased. "I do what has to be done, no matter what the situation."
Winterborne's smile widened until she saw the flash of white teeth against that deep bronze complexion. "I suppose I know that better than most," he said softly.
Understanding that he was referring to how she had helped him through the fever... and remembering how she had held that black head in the crook of her arm, and bathed his face and neck... Helen felt a blush start. Not the ordinary kind of blush that faded soon after it started. This one kept heating and heating, spreading all through her until she was so uncomfortable that she could scarcely breathe. She made the mistake of glancing into his simmering coffee-black eyes, and she felt positively immolated.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“What is your opinion of Lady Helen?" he asked as Quincy arranged the meal on the table in front of him.
"She is the jewel of the Ravenels," Quincy said. "A more kind-hearted girl you'll ever meet. Sadly, she's always been overlooked. Her older brother received the lion's share of her parents' interest, and what little was left went to the twins."
Rhys had met the twins a few days earlier, both of them bright-eyed and amusing, asking a score of questions about his department store. He had liked the girls well enough, but neither of them had captured his interest. They were nothing close to Helen, whose reserve was mysterious and alluring. She was like a mother-of-pearl shell that appeared to be one color, but from different angles revealed delicate shimmers of lavender, pink, blue, green. A beautiful exterior that revealed little of its true nature.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Helen will never admit what she wants. She's spent her entire life trying not to be a bother to anyone. She'd marry the devil himself if she thought it would help the family- and she's well aware that Eversby Priory would stand to benefit."
"She's not a child. She's a woman of one-and-twenty. Perhaps you didn't notice just now that she behaved with far more composure than you or I." On a callous note, he added gently, "And although it might surprise you, a lifetime of living under your thumb may not appeal to her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“She was gentle but merciless. Her slight weight depressed the side of the mattress, and a slender arm slid behind him. As he was caught in that half-cradling hold, he considered shoving her off the bed. But her hand touched his cheek with a tenderness that somehow undermined his will to hurt her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Cold-Hearted Rake

“Overlooked by her parents, and ignored by her brother Theo, who had spent most of his short life at boarding schools or in London, Helen had turned to her inner world of books and imagination. Her suitors had been Romeo, Heathcliff, Mr. Darcy, Edward Rochester, Sir Lancelot, Sydney Carton, and an assortment of golden-haired fairy tale princes.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“He's following us at a distance," she said, annoyed.
"Like a guardian angel," Helen said.
Dr. Gibson snorted. "Did you see the way he felled that thing? His fists were as quick as thought. Like a professional fighter. One has to question how such a man appeared out of nowhere at just the right moment."
"I think he did far less damage to his opponent than you did to yours," Helen said admiringly. "The way you took that ruffian down with your cane- I've never seen anything like it."
"My aim was a bit off," Dr. Gibson said. "I didn't connect squarely with the ulnar nerve in his wrist. I shall have to consult with my fencing-master about my technique."
"It was still very impressive," Helen assured her. "I pity anyone who makes the mistake of underestimating you, Dr. Gibson."
"My lady, the sentiment is returned in full.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Whoever wrote the column was careful in the wording of it."
"Obviously Lord Lambert wrote it," Pandora said.
"I wouldn't be so sure," Helen commented thoughtfully. "It doesn't have the tone of a young person. The manner is scolding... lecturing... not unlike a disapproving parent."
"Or chaperone," Pandora added, grinning at Lady Berwick, who gave her an admonishing glance.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra

“Last night she'd dared to put on a scandalous garment Helen had given her for the honeymoon. It couldn't really be called a nightgown- in fact, there was hardly enough of it to qualify even as a chemise. It was made of pomegranate-red silk and gauze, fastening in the front with a few coquettish ribbon ties. Helen had used a French word for it... negligée... and had assured her it was exactly the kind of thing husbands liked.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Chasing Cassandra