Rhys And Helen Quotes

“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

“Why do old houses creak so much?" he asked idly, playing with her braid and drawing the silky end across her cheek.
"When all the warmth fades at night, it makes the old boards contract and slip against each other."
"A bloody massive house, it is. And you were left to your own devices in this place for too long. I didn't understand before, how alone you were."
"I had the twins for company. I watched over them."
"But there was no one to watch over you."
A sense of uneasiness came over her, as it always did whenever she reflected on her childhood. It had seemed as if her very survival had depended on never complaining or drawing attention to herself. "Oh I- I didn't need that."
"All little girls need to feel safe and wanted.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Codfish aristocracy' is what they call us. Men who've made a fortune in business, but are common-born."
"Why codfish?"
"It used to refer to the rich merchants who settled the American colonies and made their money in the cod trade. Now it means any successful businessman."
"Nouveau riche is another term," Helen added. "It's never used as a compliment, of course. But it should be. Being self-made is something to be admired." As she felt his soundless chuckle, she insisted, "It is."
Rhys turned his head to kiss her. "You've no need to flatter my vanity."
"I'm not flattering you. I think you're remarkable.”
― 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

“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

“Hush, now." His voice dropped to a deeper octave, a brush of dark velvet against her ears. "Hush, bychan, little one, my dove. Nothing is worth your tears."
"You are.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“I intend to marry you in six weeks," he said, making his voice hard to mask his desperation, "whatever the cost. Tell me what you want. Tell me, and you'll have it."
"I'm afraid there's nothing you can bribe me with." Looking sincerely apologetic, Helen added, "You already promised me the piano.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Will she disapprove of me?" Helen asked.
Rhys tried to imagine what his mother would make of this subtle, incandescent creature with a mind full of books and music in her fingers.
"She'll think you're too pretty. And too soft. She doesn't understand your kind of strength.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Now you have me like a dog on a leash, begging for more."
Amusement curled through her voice. "I see no dog on a leash. Only a very large wolf."
Catching her from behind, Rhys lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. "Your wolf," he said gruffly, and grazed her skin with the edge of his teeth.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Did you have a pleasant ride?" she asked softly, watching as Kathleen introduced Devon to Lady Berwick.
"Which ride are you referring to?" His tone was so bland that at first she didn't perceive his implication.
Helen shot him a shocked glance. "Don't be wicked," she whispered.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“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 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