Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Hugh La Coeur was renowned for a great many things in addition to his propensity for hedonism. He was a beautiful male specimen, with golden hair and dark, heavy-lidded eyes. He’d emerged victorious from two duels, and was considered to be an expert marksman and swordsman. If only he’d focus that level of intensity on making money, they could climb out of the financial mire they were in now. “Jules, what the devil are you doing here?” he cried. “What do you think, Hugh?” Her voice rose with anger. “You irresponsible, self-centered—” He clamped a tobacco-scented hand over her mouth and tugged her down the hall. Opening a closed door, he pushed her into a dimly lit parlor. “If Fontaine heard word of your presence in this house, it would be a disaster!” Julienne pulled her arm from his grip. “And then he might not be inclined to offer for me, and you would be ruined in debt. I can well collect your concern.” Hugh had the decency to flush. “You would be ruined as well,” he pointed out gruffly. “At this point, Hugh, I would find the loss of my reputation to be worth it if you would learn your lesson.” She slashed her hand through the air. “Your rakehell days are over. I’ve come to like Lord Fontaine. It troubles me to think of his money being used to pay for your selfish indulgences. I will not allow him to support you forever. You must do your duty to the title. You need to maintain the estates, make the tenants happy, and find someone you can trust to make some investments for you.” Hugh gaped. “Hell’s teeth! I will not engage in trade!” “Swallow your pride,” she snapped. “You have squandered centuries of Le Coeur heritage in less than a decade. Now you must find a way to rebuild it.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And you will start doing so immediately. You no longer have the luxury of parties such as these. You should be home, sleeping, in preparation for the day’s hard work on the morrow.” “Damnation.” His hands went to his hips. “I will not be dictated to!” “And you will not whore me out to pay for your lifestyle!” Hugh was shocked into silence. He was still young enough that his hard living had not yet etched its passing on his handsome face, but that wouldn’t last long. If he continued on his present course of endless indulgences, he would age before his time. But Julienne would fight tooth and nail before she allowed that to happen.

• From Story of the Eye (1928)

  With a demented gesture, he bashed the sacred chamber-pot against a wall. Four robust arms lifted him up and, with open thighs, his body erect, and yelling like a pig being slaughtered, he spurted his come on the hosts in the ciborium, which Simone held in front of him while masturbating him. Part 2 COINCIDENCES 13. The Legs of the Fly We dropped the swine and he crashed to the floor. Sir Edmund, Simone, and myself were coldly animated by the same determination, together with an incredible excitement and levity. The priest lay there with a limp cock, his teeth digging into the floor with rage and shame. Now that his balls were drained, his abomination appeared to him in all its horror. He audibly sighed: “Oh miserable sacrileges….” And muttering other incomprehensible laments. Sir Edmund nudged him with his foot; the monster leaped up and drew back, bellowing with such ludicrous fury that we burst out laughing. “Get on your feet,” Sir Edmund ordered him, “you’re going to fuck this girl.” “Wretches …” Don Aminado threatened in a choking voice, “Spanish police … prison … the garrotte….” “But you are forgetting that is your sperm,” observed Sir Edmund. A ferocious grimace, a trembling like that of a cornered beast, and then: “The garrotte for me too. But you three … first.” “Poor fool,” smirked Sir Edmund. “ First! Do you think I am going to let you wait that long? First! ” The imbecile gaped dumbstruck at the Englishman: an extremely silly expression darted across his handsome face. Something like an absurd joy began to open his mouth, he crossed his arms over his naked chest and finally gazed at us with ecstatic eyes. “Martyrdom….” he uttered in a voice that was suddenly feeble and yet tore out like a sob. “Martyrdom….” A bizarre hope of purification had come to the wretch, illuminating his eyes. “First I am going to tell you a story,” Sir Edmund said to him sedately. “You know that men who are hanged or garrotted have such stiff cocks the instant their respiration is cut off, that they ejaculate. You are going to have the pleasure of being martyred while fucking this girl.” And when the horrified priest rose to defend himself, the Englishman brutally knocked him down, twisting his arm. Next, Sir Edmund, slipping under his victim, pinioned his arms behind his back while I gagged him and bound his legs with a belt. The Englishman, gripping his arms from behind in a stranglehold, disabled the priest’s legs in his own.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Go to your whore,” she cried, even as she held him tightly to her. Even as she prayed he wouldn’t. “Damn you to hell!” he cursed, gripping her thigh with bruising strength. “You’re so willing to discard me.” His fingers reached her sex, and he gave a tortured groan. “So wet, almost dripping. Can anyone else make you feel like this, Julienne? Or is this only for me?” “Lucien—” “Do you want me to stop?” he asked hoarsely as he slid his fingers inside her. She tried to pull away, but her traitorous body welcomed him with a rush of moisture. “I don’t want . . . y-your anger . . .” “You want me,” he whispered savagely. “But you’ll send me to another’s bed.” His damp cheek pressed against hers, his hot breath burning across her ear. “That woman out there—she’s desperate for me, Julienne, as mad for me as you are, but she won’t turn me away. In an hour, I’ll be deep inside of her, and she’ll be screaming my name . . . while you rot in your virginal bed.” “Bastard,” she sobbed, her hands fisting against his back. “Why are you doing this?” “Tell me to stop, and I will.” His mouth moved feverishly, pressing openmouthed kisses against her neck. “Go to hell!” “Ah, sweet,” he murmured, his velvety voice filling with sadness, his thrusting fingers never ceasing their torment. “You can’t say it, can you? You crave me too much.” Julienne moaned as the pleasure built, Lucien’s fingers slipping easily through the cream that flowed from her, pumping faster and faster, making her writhe with the need for more than just this. “Does it feel good, my love?” He pressed his damp forehead to hers. “Your cunt is so drenched, so hot and tight. I could fuck you properly, Julienne. Ram my cock in you until you scream with pleasure. Would you like that?” She pressed herself against him, her hips lifting to give him greater access. “Lucien . . .” He ground his erection into her leg. “You’ll miss me when you’re married to your philandering marquess.” He nuzzled the side of her face. “But I’ll accommodate you when you want to be held like this . . . pleasured like this. Wear those trousers and come to my club.” “I hate you for this,” she sobbed. And she hated herself for loving him anyway. “Show me how much you hate me, Julienne. I want to feel it when you come around my fingers.” Lucien reached farther into her, stroking skillfully. And she climaxed on his command, a white hot, exploding orgasm that had her moaning his name. He swallowed her pleasured cries in his mouth, groaning along with her, holding her shuddering body tightly against him.

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  bishops attending Lambeth Conferences. In 1908 they called on Christians ‘to discountenance the use of all artificial means of restriction as demoralizing to character and hostile to national welfare’, as well as being ‘repugnant to Christian morality’. In 1920 they still expressed grave concern at the spread of ‘theories and practices hostile to the family’, and the teaching which ‘encourages married people in the deliberate cultivation of sexual union as an end in itself’, but they declined to lay down rules to meet every case; in 1930 they declared that ‘each couple must decide for themselves, as in the sight of God, after the most careful and conscientious thought, and, if perplexed in mind, after taking competent advice, both medical and spiritual’.12 Much had happened in the world since the Anglican bishops had made their measured recommendations, and the council was meeting amid a cultural revolution in sexual mores in the West of the 1960s which would have astonished them. Would Roman Catholic moral teaching nevertheless follow the same trajectory as the Anglicans? A strong hint to the contrary came from the moment in 1964 when, in another example of his personal initiative, Paul VI announced that he was ending discussion on the subject before the forthcoming Third Session of the council met. Yet in 1968, it looked as if Roman Catholic teaching would indeed change. A commission of experts on natural law – including laypeople, even women – was about to publish a report on birth control after five years of deliberations, concluding that there was no good argument for banning contraceptive devices. Alarmed by the direction that the commission’s thoughts had taken, Pope Paul enlarged the commission and changed the criteria for those entitled to vote, with the aim of overturning the finding; instead, it was reinforced. So the Pope finally ignored the work and issued his own statement in 1968: the encyclical Humanae vitae (‘Of Human life’), which gave no place for artificial contraception in Catholic family life.13 To his astonishment and dismay, the case was not closed when Rome had spoken. There were open and angry protests both lay and clerical all over the northern Catholic world, and worse still, demographics soon revealed that millions of Catholic laity paid no attention to the papal ban. They have gone on rejecting it, the first time that the Catholic faithful have ever so consistently scorned a major papal pronouncement intended to structure their lives. The long-drawn-out battle over contraception cast a permanent shadow over Paul VI’s pontificate through the 1970s. There was so much that was positive in this humane and private man’s exercise of his leadership: notably generous ecumenical acts, such as the agreement with the Oecumenical Patriarch in 1965 to end the excommunications mutually proclaimed by East and West in 1054 (see p. 374), and a notably warm meeting with the endearingly saintly

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Hugh was dumbstruck, and damned himself for landing Julienne in this predicament. She was correct. It was time to get his affairs in order. “What if she refuses?” “Then I will allow her to do so. But she must refuse me each time.” “Hell’s teeth, this is abominable. You, sir, are no gentleman.” Remington smiled. “I have never claimed to be one.” “I have stipulations.” Remington nodded. “I expected you would.” “Outings must be chaperoned.” “Of course.” “If I acquire any portion of the money on my own, I can buy you out.” “Agreed.” “And”—Hugh flushed—“she’s untouched. Don’t think to ruin her to force my hand, or I will call you out. In case you hadn’t heard, I’m an excellent shot. You would not survive the encounter.” “I accept your terms.” Remington’s confident expression never wavered. “I will claim the last set of the evening with Lady Julienne at the Dempsey Ball tonight. Don’t say anything to her. I will approach her myself and afford her the opportunity to refuse.” “Fine.” Hugh rose and took another look around the elegantly appointed office. “I shall never wager another shilling in my life.” “Good idea,” returned Remington as he picked up his quill. “I don’t like to wager myself.” Hugh gaped in astonishment and then started toward the door, muttering to himself. “Doesn’t like to wager. Ridiculous. Man owns the largest gambling establishment in town.” Lucien grinned triumphantly as the door closed behind Montrose. “And I just made the biggest gamble of my life.” Julienne surveyed the glittering ballroom with bleary eyes. Hugh’s trips to his various creditors that afternoon had been successful. He assured her of the ready cooperation of all, including Lucien Remington, and seemed truly determined to take his responsibilities more seriously. Having accomplished that, Julienne could have spent the evening at home and considered the day well spent. But Hugh had insisted she attend the Dempsey Ball. Now it was the early hours of the following morning, she was exhausted, her mind tortured by thoughts of Lucien, and her brother insisted they remain until the end. Julienne tried desperately to stifle a yawn. “Hugh,” she muttered, “I’m retiring to the ladies’ room for a nap. You send for me when you’re ready to depart.” He scowled. “You promised the last set to me.” “Well, then, send for me just before. If I stand here another moment, I shall embarrass myself by falling asleep on my feet.” “Fine,” he grumbled. “Go.” Julienne moved away before he could change his mind. Reaching the hallway, she hid a yawn behind her gloved hand. She screeched as she was yanked without warning into an alcove. Lucien slid the curtain closed behind her. “What are you doing?” she cried, even as her heart leapt at his proximity. Stunningly handsome, he was impeccably attired in evening black. She hadn’t seen him all evening, and she hated to contemplate where he might have been. “Adding to my collection of bruises?” she snapped.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  She was speechless for a moment, surprised by the accusation. “And you don’t?” she scoffed, rising to her feet. “No rows,” came Gwen’s chastising voice from the doorway. She swept into the room with her customary enthusiasm. Dressed in sprigged muslin, with her long, dark hair tied at the nape, she appeared younger than her seventeen years. “We’ve been trapped together for days. ’Tis inevitable that we would become a tad testy with one another.” “I’ve been here for years,” Charlotte retorted. “Montrose is the testy one. Perhaps his lordship is the one who is bored?” Hugh turned from the window, and the smoldering light in his eyes stole her breath. “With the games you play to keep me at bay? Yes, I weary of them.” “Keep you at bay? How can you say that after these last two weeks?” He snorted, and her hands clenched into fists. He wanted everything, damn him. Gwen coughed discreetly. “Cook outdid herself for tea. Katie will be bringing it up shortly.” Bowing, and looking damned dashing while doing it, Hugh said, “You must excuse me today, Miss Guinevere. I feel a headache coming on. I believe I’ll retire for a nap.” His glare blamed Charlotte as he walked past her and left the room without another word. “Oh.” Gwen’s wide-eyed gaze moved to Charlotte. “He’s not testy. He’s angry.” “Apparently.” “Will he still take us with him when he departs?” The plaintive note in Gwen’s voice drew Charlotte from her thoughts. “Of course,” she soothed. “He won’t be angry in an hour or so.” Gwen’s head tilted to the side. “Why not?” “Men don’t usually stay angry at women for long.” Charlotte moved back to the settee as Katie entered with a cacophony of rattling china. “Even if the fault is ours.” Sighing, Gwen joined her, spreading out her skirts to avoid wrinkles, as Charlotte had taught her. “I don’t believe I will ever understand men. The more I learn about them, the less they make sense.” Charlotte laughed. “Truer words were never spoken.” “If Lord Montrose is bored, perhaps I could play whist with him, or cassino, though it’s not as much fun with only two.” “He’d probably enjoy that.” Hugh had taken a liking to Gwen, and his gentle, courtly dealings with the young girl warmed Charlotte’s heart. “But perhaps you meant to say, it is the company that bores him,” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, no, Gwen.” Charlotte covered her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “If he’s bored with anything, it’s me.” “I doubt it’s that.” Reaching for the tea, Gwen began to serve, demonstrating a grace and social adeptness Charlotte had worked hard to teach her. But Charlotte had no formal training. Everything she knew about proper social deportment was learned from studying others. She wanted Gwen to have a better start in life, and already time was running out. Gwen would come of age in less than a year.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  It was one of the few pieces of jewelry Charlotte had remaining, and it was one of her favorites. “Of course. I think the dress looks almost naked without it.” And the fact was, after this week the chances of Gwen mingling with Polite Society were very slim indeed. Charlotte wanted to ensure the young girl enjoyed every moment to the fullest. “Well, we should retrieve the brooch, then,” Julienne said with a smile. “Please proceed without me,” Charlotte urged. “You have guests to attend to, and Gwen is so excited. I hate to delay either of you.” As the two women moved away, Charlotte lifted her skirts and ran to her room. Hugh was certainly waiting downstairs by now, and she couldn’t wait to see him. There was so much yet to learn about each other, so many questions to ask. Clutching the diamond-encrusted piece in her gloved palm, she backed out of her chamber and shut the door. “I thought that was you.” She stiffened at the familiar voice behind her. “Only a woman of your breeding would run down the hallway like a hoyden.” Taking a deep breath, she turned around. “Good evening, Your Grace.” The Duke of Glenmoore smiled and sketched a mocking bow. “Good evening, Your Grace.” “I detest it when you call me that,” she said tightly, her gaze raking his stocky form. He remained unchanged from the last time she’d seen him, a year ago. He was still handsome, with his dark brown hair and even darker, almost black eyes—eyes that radiated none of the warmth she found in Hugh’s. Once she’d found Jared appealing; now she wondered why. “I detest that you married my father. Some things cannot be changed. Such as our agreement.” He stepped closer. “What are you doing here?” She lifted her chin. “Whatever I please.” Jared laughed, a harsh sound lacking any humor. “Decided to make a laughingstock of the old man after all?” His gaze narrowed. “I will not allow you to besmirch the Kent name.” Charlotte forcibly restrained herself from taking a step back. Any sign of weakness would only fuel Jared’s ire. “No one knows who I am.” “Charlotte,” came the soft, hesitant voice down the hall. “Are you well?” She turned her head toward Gwen and managed a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Please go wait downstairs.” Jared glanced down the hall, and his face darkened with fury. His hand lashed out, gripping her upper arm in a brutal vice. “You brought my bastard to a social gathering? Are you mad?” Gwen gave a pained gasp, then turned on her heel and ran back down the hall. Furious, Charlotte slapped his face, inwardly cursing the material that prevented a satisfying sting. “Unhand me. You make me physically ill.” “As does the sight of that mistake, dressed in finery and mingling with Society,” he bit out.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Now, now. Order some hot tea and settle in. Don’t worry yourself. I will locate Hugh, and we’ll sort this entire mess out.” She prodded her aunt up the stairs. “I don’t feel right about you going out alone at this hour, Julienne.” “I know,” she soothed. “I won’t be gone long.” “The last time you said that, you spent the night with Lucien Remington!” “Aunt Eugenia!” Julienne glanced around the foyer in dismay. “Keep your voice down!” Her aunt grumbled her way up the stairs, glancing down at the foyer indecisively every few steps. Julienne moved into the study to wait for the carriage, and poured herself two fingers of Hugh’s expensive brandy. She lifted the tumbler and downed the contents, coughing and wincing as the potent liquor burned its way down her throat. Her body still hummed vibrantly from her earlier orgasm, but deep inside, her heart was cold. The things Lucien had said . . . that woman he was with . . . No. She couldn’t think of that now, or she would go mad. She had to think about Hugh, who was in for a surprise. She was weary of his irresponsibility, and at the present moment, she was furious with every male on the planet. Her brother was about to discover that firsthand. It was nearly dawn, and Julienne was close to exhaustion by the time the carriage pulled up to the fourth house. She was relying on her coachman to find her brother based on his knowledge of Hugh’s favorite haunts. This was her final stop. If this was not the correct party, she would return to Montrose Hall and wait for Hugh there. Her footman climbed the steps and made the necessary inquiries. Moments later, he opened the carriage door. “Lord Montrose arrived an hour past, my lady.” “Good.” She alighted from the carriage and wrapped her cloak tighter around her. As she walked up the short staircase, Julienne admired the grand Georgian design. It was large for a townhouse, and the beautifully maintained façade proudly boasted the wealth of its owner. The door was held open, and she swept right in, using the hood of her cloak to hide her face. She found her brother in a richly appointed billiards room, surrounded by a large and boisterous group of gentlemen and demimondaines. Julienne waited for him to notice her in the doorway, unwilling to risk stepping inside. Hugh laughed at a pretty brunette’s witticism and then glanced her way. Despite her hood and cloak, he recognized her. His humor fled, turning into wide-eyed, mouth-agape horror. He left his companions without a word and hastened toward her with his long-legged stride. Gripping her elbow, he pulled her into the shadows.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  The captain’s smile peeked out from his bushy gray beard. “Aye, milord, but as I tried to tell you, the men are loyal to Lady Merrick. We’ve all been with ’er father, Mr. Lambert, since she was a babe. As far as pirates go, yer crew were the only ones what could catch us. You kept the damage to a minimum, and ye didn’t ’urt the lass even before you knew she was yer wife. The men on this ship can respect that.” Sebastian nodded, relieved. A sharp screech from the quay and his name shouted in Olivia’s angry voice had him running toward the gangplank. With a quick eye, he took in the rigid set of her spine, the reticule swinging from her fist, and the finely dressed man who covered his face with his hands, cursing foully. It was easy to deduce that she’d been accosted in some manner she’d found offensive and fought back, as she was wont to do. Filled with furious possessiveness, Sebastian launched himself at the man, no questions asked. Two quick punches, one to the face and the other to the diaphragm, had the lecher moaning in misery. Satisfied, Sebastian leapt to his feet, straightening his waistcoat, and went to his wife. “What happened?” he asked gently, visually searching for any evidence of injury or insult to her person. Olivia’s face was frighteningly pale. “That man—” she stabbed a finger at her assailant, “—wants a trip to Bedlam! He kissed me, then called me his wife!” Sebastian shot a curious glance at the man on the ground and gasped. Now that his face was no longer hidden, the visage was startlingly familiar. “Bloody hell, Carr! What the devil are you doing assaulting my wife?” “You know him?” Olivia asked in astonishment as Sebastian helped Carr to his feet. “Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered. “This deranged man is Carr Blake, my cousin.” Carr glanced at Sebastian and then Olivia with watering eyes. “Damnation, Merrick! What are you doing here?” Sebastian arched a brow. “I am escorting my wife to our home. What are you doing here? And kissing my wife, for Christ’s sake! Are you mad?” Carr swallowed hard. Sebastian lifted his gaze and spied the waiting carriage. The equipage was new, not one he recognized, but the crest emblazoned on the door was his. “You’ve been using my carriage?” Olivia placed her hand on his arm. “He called me his wife,” she choked out. “He came in your equipage.” Sebastian shot a look at her, saw her blanched features, and felt his mouth fall open as the pieces fell into place. “Oh, hell!” He turned to Carr, his nails digging into his palms as he resisted the urge to throttle his relative. “Tell me, cousin, that you are not here pretending to be me.” Carr winced a split second before Sebastian’s fist knocked him into oblivion.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Fontaine settled into a chair and glanced around Lucien’s office. “Impressive, Mr. Remington.” “What can I do for you, my lord? I was”—he paused a moment in delicious remembrance—“wrapped up in something important.” “So I gathered,” the marquess drawled, with caustic amusement. “I shall get to the point straight away.” “I wish you would.” Fontaine crossed his ankle over his knee, settling into the chair with casual arrogance. “I’m here to pay Lord Montrose’s debt to your club.” Lucien kept his face impassive as he rose and went to the sideboard. “Care for a brandy?” “Thank you,” Fontaine said. “I would.” Lucien poured two rations. “Did Montrose send you?” Fontaine took the offered snifter before answering. “No, but I will have to settle the debt eventually. I would rather see to it now.” Lucien resumed his seat and spun his snifter slowly between his hands. “It is not your responsibility.” “You’ve never quibbled before, Remington. I have it on good authority that you will take a payment on a debt from anyone.” Fontaine’s voice turned derisive. “Just so long as you get paid.” Lucien tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. He wasn’t a fool. Money was money, and he never turned it down, especially when it was his own being returned to him. “This situation is different. I’ve already made arrangements with Montrose. Your assistance is not required, nor is it welcome.” Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so eager to hold his debt?” “Why are you so eager to pay it?” “I’m marrying his sister, Lady Julienne. I want Montrose’s finances to be in order so Julienne feels free to marry without worrying about her brother’s affairs.” “Ah,” Lucien murmured, with a tight smile. “Shall we be honest? You hope to marry Lady Julienne, and you wish to pay off Montrose’s debt so she feels obligated to marry you.” Fontaine stiffened the instant before he downed his brandy in one swallow. He set his empty glass on the edge of Lucien’s desk. “You are the other gentleman she referred to, are you not?” “I am.” “Are you attempting to buy a highborn bride with a gentleman’s debt?” “I’m not buying anything. I have no hold on Julienne other than her affection for me.” The marquess snorted. “If you had any care for her at all, you would want her to marry someone of her station. Her feelings for you will ruin her life, and you know it.” “Spare me your aristocratic entitlement,” Lucien bit out. “I can give her everything you can except for your blasted title. I can assure you, my love for her will more than make up for that.”

• From The Greatest Controversies of Early Christian History (2013)

  63 Was Pontius Pilate a Secret Christian? Lecture 10 T here are three traditional “bad guys” in the story of Jesus’s death: Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Jesus; the priest Caiaphas who handed him over to Pontius Pilate; and Pilate himself, the Roman governor who ordered him to be crucifi ed. Throughout Christian history, two of these continued to be seen as evil opponents of Jesus and the God he represented—the two Jews. But the third fi gure, Pilate, the Roman who was not a Jew, experienced a character change over the course of Christian history. As we’ll see in this lecture, even though Pilate himself was the one who ordered Jesus to be cruci fi ed, he increasingly came to be exonerated in the eyes of Christians. The Historical Pilate  Historically, we know very little about Pontius Pilate. We have some information from the 1 st-century Jewish historian Josephus and some from the 1st-century Jewish philosopher Philo. From these sources, we learn that Pilate was the governor of Judea between the years 26 and 36 C.E. It’s clear from these accounts that Pilate ruled Judea with a fi st of iron.  Josephus tells two important stories about Pilate that give us an insight into his character. The fi rst comes to us in Josephus’s book The Wars of the Jews. This is an account of what happened when the Jews rose up against the Roman authorities in the year 66, starting a rebellion that lasted more than three years and eventually leading to the destruction of Jerusalem and the burning of the Temple. o Josephus tells us that when Pilate fi rst came into Judea by night, he had the images of Caesar Augustus brought into Jerusalem; these were the standards for the Roman armies. According to Josephus, when the Jews saw the standards with an image of Caesar throughout the city of Jerusalem, they were incensed. o The Jews fl ocked to Pilate’s palace in the city of Caesarea and begged him to remove the standards. Displaying the

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  With her eyes closed, Olivia relied on her other sleep-hazy senses—smell, taste, touch. Every hard plane and ridge of her husband’s body was so familiar to her questing fingertips. He whispered to her, incoherent sounds that made her feel safe and cherished. She tugged him closer, her need as fierce as his, until he rose above her and blocked out the whispers of light. He anchored her thigh over his hip and thrust skillfully inside her. Over and over he brought her to climax, knowing her pleasures, understanding her wants as only an expert and attentive lover could. She could feel his tenderness spreading through every touch, every lunge. Giving a startled cry, Olivia felt the rapture wash over her, through her, and into Sebastian, who shivered against her and gave a low, pained moan. Olivia woke hours later and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her left hand felt weighted, and she looked at it, coming to immediate wakefulness at the sight of the massive sapphire that graced her ring finger. Her heart tightened. She didn’t have to look around to be certain. Sebastian was gone. As he threw open the door to his father’s bedroom, stealth was not the primary goal in Sebastian’s mind. Olivia’s scent rose up from his skin as his blood heated with fury. His father had deliberately set out to destroy his wife to attain his own ends. Sebastian would not tolerate it happening again. His father would know that for a certainty in a moment. He watched with grim satisfaction as his father shot up in the bed, startled by the sound of the door banging against the wall. The marquess glanced around with wild eyes. “Hang it all, Sebastian! What is the meaning of this?” “How fitting. The last morning we met was much like this, only it was I in the bed and you the wrathful figure in the doorway.” The memory still made the bile rise in his throat. He smiled with wicked intent as his father paled. “Ah . . . so you see my purpose.” He leapt onto the bed and pinned his father down, his hand forming a vice around the marquess’s neck. He would not leave his wife at the mercy of this monster. “You are fortunate that I have no desire to be a marquess, or I would kill you now and be done with you.” His father’s eyes bulged from the face that so resembled his own. What an odd bit of fate that was. Edmund had looked like their mother, sharing her reddish hair and moss green eyes. “Sebas—For God’s—” Dunsmore struggled like a man gone mad, his hands scratching at Sebastian’s wrists, drawing blood, his legs kicking convulsively beneath the counterpane.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  He set his hand atop hers, stilling its movement. “I realize I cannot compete socially with your other suitors, Julienne, but financially I can hold my own with any of them.” He steeled himself inwardly and then bared his thoughts. “I want you in my bed. I need to be inside you so badly, I’m about to lose my mind, and I’m beginning to think one time won’t be enough. It might take weeks, months, to rid myself of this craving. It doesn’t matter how many women I take, and hell, I’ve had at least a dozen since—” “Stop!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I don’t want to know.” Lucien straightened, staring at the top of her downcast head. “Julienne.” His voice dropped seductively. “I’m extremely wealthy. I can help your brother, and I can give you everything Fontaine can, except for a title. Is a title so important to you?” She lifted her chin, her gaze soft and liquid with tears. “No. A title does not matter to me, Lucien.” He reached out and captured her hand. “Then take me,” he urged, sweat misting his skin. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.” “Oh, Lucien,” Julienne breathed. “I cannot.” “Why?” Her chin quivered. “Because I couldn’t bear to share you if you were mine.” Lucien was stunned. “But you will tolerate a peer’s indiscretions? I don’t understand.” “I know.” She sighed miserably. “We must forget this conversation. Your friendship is important to me, Lucien. I—” “Friendship?” His hands tightened brutally on hers. She winced, but he couldn’t make himself release her. “We are more than friends, Julienne. My fingers have been inside you. I’ve held your naked body against mine. You have taken my cock in your mouth—” She covered his mouth with her hand. “Please, don’t be angry. I would never take advantage of your desire by forcing you into marriage. You would be miserable tied down in such a way, which would, in turn, make me miserable. I can meet with you. We can arrange to—” “You will fuck me,” he snapped, “but not wed me?” He broke into a sweat, even though his heart was cold. A tear rolled down her cheek, breaking him, and he fought back in self-defense. “You act as if my background and social standing were of no consequence to you, but that’s a lie, Julienne. You consider me beneath you. Not worthy of marriage. I’m good enough to fuck, but nothing more.” Lucien dropped her hand and turned away. He didn’t trust himself to touch her. He might do something completely idiotic—like drop to his knees and beg. “That’s not true!” she cried. “You know that’s not true.” He shot her a furious glance, and the sight of her tore at him. Her lush mouth, which had loved his body so ardently the night before, was quivering, and she was struggling to hold back tears. The damned thing was, so was he.

• From Bright Lights, Big City (1984)

  As you watch he smiles at something Amanda has said, and reaches over to squeeze her ass. Au contraire , Pierre. Sexual Abandonment in spades. The man looks like he was carved by Praxiteles in 350 B.C . and touched up by Paramount in 1947. You wonder if the physique is functional or cosmetic. How well would he respond if you ripped his ears off? “Who’s the greaseball?” Tad says. You reach down for a bottle and pour yourself a large drink. “Must be lucky Pierre.” “I’ve seen him somewhere.” “Gentlemen’s Quarterly. ” “No. I’ve seen him around. I know it.” Tad nods his head up and down, as if trying to dislodge a memory. “I saw him at a party. Note the coke spoon dangling betwixt his hairy pecs.” “I don’t want to hear about it.” “He wasn’t with Amanda. Some other bimbo.” Stevie returns from the bathroom. “Here’s the dancing fool,” she says. “I don’t need to dance to be foolish.” Tad says, “Batten down the hatches, Coach. She’s coming at you.” Sure enough, here’s Amanda. She says, “Ciao, bello, ” and before you can react she kisses your cheek. Is she out of her mind? Doesn’t she know that you desist from strangling her only through the exercise of heroic restraint? She kisses Tad with the same formal benevolence. Tad introduces Stevie to Amanda. You can’t even believe this is happening. Shouldn’t someone say what a nice party this is? “Is that your Italian stallion?” Tad says, nodding in the direction from which Amanda has come. “Or your Greek peak? Your French mensch? Or some other species of wetback?” “That’s Odysseus,” Amanda says. “My fiancé.” “Odysseus,” Tad says. “Odysseus. Right, the Greek.” You wish Tad would shut up. Amanda smiles at you as if you were an acquaintance whose name she is eager to remember. Won’t she at least berate you for trying to trash her fashion show? “So, how’s it going?” she says. You stare at her, craving a glimmer of irony or shame in her big blue eyes. “How’s it going?” You start to laugh. She laughs too. You slap your thigh. She wants to know how it’s going. A very funny question. Hilarious. Amanda is a riot. You are laughing so hard that you choke. Stevie slaps your back. As soon as you catch your breath you start laughing even harder. Amanda looks alarmed. She doesn’t know how funny she can be. You want to tell her she’s a barrel of monkeys but you can’t speak. You are laughing. People are pounding your back. It’s funny. People are funny. Everything’s so funny you could die laughing. You can’t breathe. You can’t even see. “Drink,” Tad says. He is holding you up with one arm and holding a plastic cup with the other. “Let there be space,” Tad says to the faces around you. You don’t see Amanda’s. “What’s the matter,” Stevie asks. “He’s epileptic,” Tad says.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Sebastian laughed. “You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic, Robidoux.” He tossed two hefty purses onto the table. “Take your guineas and be happy. You should be grateful. I’ve saved you the trouble of disposing of the items.” Pierre snatched up his purse and hefted the weight in his hand. The gleam in his eyes betrayed his pleasure at the sum, but it wasn’t enough. “I want the woman too.” “No!” Sebastian said, far too quickly. He took a rapid, deep breath, damning himself for revealing an interest he should have kept hidden. Dominique’s eyes narrowed as he collected his purse. “Give him the woman, Phoenix, and we’ll call it even.” “She’s not available to you, gentlemen.” He took a step back, suddenly anxious to be with Olivia. “She has a maid,” Dominique drawled, his brittle gaze brightening with malice. “And her garments are costly. A devilish good piece that one. I’d wager she’s worth something to someone. Beauty like that is expensive, wouldn’t you say, Pierre?” “Yes, certainly,” Pierre agreed. “A small fortune for that bit of fluff.” Sebastian paused. “Leave the woman out of this. You have your shares. Our transaction is completed.” “But I feel as if I’ve pulled the short stick,” Pierre whined. Then he smiled. “I’ll pay you for her, Phoenix.” He opened the purse Sebastian had just given him. “How much?” “She’s not for sale,” he bit out, his forehead beading with sweat. The situation was rapidly slipping from his control. The barmaid came by, setting two overflowing mugs on the table. “Celia,” Dominique purred. “Your sister works at the inn, non?” She eyed the pirate warily. “Aye.” “Hmmm. What tidbits did she share about the guests? More specifically, what did she say about the wom—” Sebastian drew his knife and stabbed it into the table with such fury the wooden surface cracked down the center. “There will be no more discussion of the woman!” he snarled. “Forget you saw her, forget you heard of her, forget she exists.” He grabbed the startled Pierre by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the table. The Frenchman stared wide-eyed at the knife, which was only a hair’s breadth away from the tip of his nose. Sebastian bent over him. “Have I made myself clearer this time, Robidoux?” “O-of course!” Pierre gasped. Sebastian shoved him to the floor with a grunt and yanked his blade from the ruined table. “I’ve finished here.” He backed out of the tavern, his heart racing. Turning, he ran to the Seawitch. The alert was given as he hit the gangplank, and the crew leapt into action. They cast off, catching the faint evening breeze and moving with torturous sluggishness from the quay.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Sebastian gazed upon his wife’s luminous beauty, and he wanted to howl. She could not have stopped loving him. He would die if she had. “You love me.” Olivia snorted. “You flatter yourself.” “You do,” he insisted. “And by God, you’ll admit it!” “I will do no such thing!” “You will!” Oh, he sounded like a child, and he felt like one, chastened and eager to win back the love that made him whole. No one in his life had ever loved him besides Olivia. Well, perhaps his mother had, but what good did it do him when he couldn’t remember it? The carriage came to a halt, and before he could move, Olivia stumbled down from the carriage and ran into the house. Sebastian gave chase, startling the footman, who moved to lower the step. She ran past the gaping butler, who held the door open, and flew up the steps. “Olivia!” he bellowed. He almost caught her, but he tripped on the runner as he rounded the corner, and the extra steps required to prevent falling on his face cost him. She reached her bedroom and slammed the door, ramming home what sounded to be a very substantial bolt. With an oath, he turned and entered his own suite. Lock him out, would she? He’d just see about that. He strode toward the adjoining door that had no lock. And realized the portal no longer existed. She’d sealed the damn thing up and covered the wall with taupe damask so that no trace of it remained. Damnation, that was the final straw! Sebastian exited to the gallery with angry strides and kicked the door to his wife’s room as hard as he could, yelling a curse when it budged not one whit. “It won’t work!” she shouted through the door. “It’s barred.” “Barred?” he shouted back, incredulous. “Yes, barred. Now go away!” His chest heaved with furious indignation. “Olivia . . .” he began warningly. “Go away!” Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, her heart pounding, her arms wrapped around a pillow, as she stared apprehensively at the door. Long moments of silence passed, and still she fretted that Sebastian would return. She was stricken to realize she had underestimated the power of his attractiveness. In the four months of his absence, she’d managed to convince herself that their passion would fade eventually. Now she knew it would never fade. Her love for him wouldn’t allow it. Still, she was grimly satisfied that she’d managed to thwart his amorous intent, if only for this evening. She was barely surviving every day, her heart aching with his loss. He certainly deserved whatever discomfort she could throw at him.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  He cursed, and then twisted his hips, releasing his seed in powerful spurts across the rug. Julienne continued to attend to him, drawing out everything he had, until her hands were covered in his semen, until Lucien slumped in exhaustion, his body twitching, his breathing labored. Only then did she release him. She brushed featherlight kisses across his closed lids and parted lips, all the while carefully unwinding his cravat. Then she wiped her hands off with it. She stood and tossed the ruined linen on his chest. “Good-bye, Lucien.” Glorious with anger, she left him spent on the floor. Chapter Eight Julienne collected Aunt Eugenia and left the ball immediately. She was relieved to return to Montrose Hall. With her emotions in turmoil, she longed for a glass of sherry and a warm bath. As the butler closed the door behind them, their housekeeper approached with a letter in hand. “Lord Montrose returned this evening, my lady. I was told to present this to you upon your return.” “Dear heaven,” Eugenia muttered. “What now?” Julienne opened the missive and read quickly. Furious, she stomped her slippered foot on the marble floor. “The idiot returned to London only to leave straight away for a party.” “A party? With what we’ve been through these last weeks?” “I will need my cloak back,” Julienne informed the startled butler. “And have the carriage brought around again.” “No, Julienne.” She turned wide-eyed to her aunt. Eugenia shook her head. “Our position is too precarious. Risking your reputation at a time like this could lead to our ruin. I’m ashamed of myself for allowing Hugh to run wild like this, and I’m ashamed that you’ve been the one to go haring after him every time.” She sighed. “I haven’t done a very good job of being the disciplinarian, I’m afraid. It’s time I corrected that. I shall be the one to go after him.” Julienne leaned over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “You’ve done a remarkable job. But you’ll have to trust me. The places Hugh frequents would make you swoon, and we can’t have that.” “Oh, I don’t know about that. I was married, and you’re just a—” “Do you know what a dildo is?” Eugenia’s eyes widened. “Good grief!” “Or the Kama Sutra?” Eugenia waved her hands in front of her face. “Of course, I’ve heard of such things, but for you to have been exposed . . . Good heavens.” “See? You’re already on the verge of a fit of vapors.” Julienne grabbed her aunt’s elbow and led her toward the stairs. “I shall see to Hugh.” “You cannot go back to Remington’s! If Fontaine were to hear of it—” “I don’t believe Hugh went to Remington’s,” she said dryly. “He owes too much money there.” “Too much . . . Oh, dear God, we’re ruined!” Eugenia shook her head, resigned.

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  Leading actors in both power structures were largely drawn from an elite of Creoles who claimed pure Spanish blood. Creoles might be regarded as indifferent to the concerns of ordinary people, and they had certainly long treated native peoples as second-class citizens, rather as they themselves had once been treated by home-born Spaniards.37 Now mestizos (half-bloods) and full-blooded natives were voters as well as parishioners, and they began to seek to exercise their power in church as much as in the ballot box. In 1903 Pope Pius X far away in Rome sought to impose good taste on liturgical church music, emphasizing that pipe organs honoured God in worship, while popular instruments did not. Faced with a ban on brass bands, some Mexican parishes menacingly gave their parish priests an ultimatum: no bands, no services. One Mexican priest wearily summed up the situation in 1908 when filling in a diocesan questionnaire: in reply to, ‘Do all the parishioners profess the Catholic religion?’ he put down, ‘The Catholic religion, in a manner of their own.’38 This might seem a symptom of Catholic weakness, but it proved an unexpected asset when matters again turned sour between Church and State in Mexico, provoking the most serious trial of strength faced by the Catholic Church worldwide in the 1920s, equalled only by the tribulations of Greek Catholics in post-1917 Soviet Ukraine. The prolonged rule of Mexico’s clericalist President Díaz provoked revolution in 1910, associated with a militant anti-Catholicism both popular and official. Churches were burned down or painted red, images destroyed and ceremonies mocked. The Church fought back for control of Mexican life: the Mexican bishops in 1914 anticipated Pope Pius XI’s later move by proclaiming that Christ was King of Mexico. In retaliation a new constitution of 1917, while declaring in North American style the principle of freedom of worship for all, suppressed all Church primary education and placed drastic limits on what the clergy could do; monasteries and nunneries were forcibly closed. Education, as in the contemporary though far less violent conflict in the Third French Republic, was the chief focus for struggle, but public conflict between Catholics and anticlericals now punctuated all Mexican life. When a holy image was damaged in the stately cathedral city of Morelia in 1921, twelve people died in the resulting street violence.39 In 1926 the Primate of Mexico used the ultimate weapon available to him when he suspended all public worship, all sacraments, in protest against the crippling of the Church’s activities, particularly its loss of control over schooling. Over the next three years before an uneasy truce there was all-out warfare between Church and Republic, in which thousands died. The Catholics who rose in rebellion against the victimization of the Church were nicknamed Cristeros from their Christ the King battle slogan ¡Viva Cristo Rey!

• From Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009)

  One of the tragedies of the great tradition of liberal German Protestant theology was that some of its assumptions could turn some of its greatest practitioners into fellow-travellers with Nazi anti-Semitism. They were Lutherans: they naturally took as a basic assumption Luther’s great theological contrast between Law and Gospel, or Judaism and Christianity. That had borne fruit in the nineteenth-century tradition of biblical scholarship, where, from the work of F. C. Baur onwards, scholars customarily analysed the Gospel as the product of conflict between Petrine Christians, who wished to remain close to Judaism, and Pauline Christians, who wished to take it in a new direction. In the case of Adolf von Harnack, this resulted in rejecting the whole of the Old Testament as not part of the canon of scripture, and an interest (albeit critical) in Marcion’s ancient effort to do the same.52 For other scholars in the next generation, most notoriously the celebrated New Testament scholar Gerhard Kittel, this led on to a welcome for Hitler’s assumption of power, and to a number of anti-Semitic biases in one of the most monumental and still frequently consulted works of New Testament scholarship, the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, of which Kittel was main editor.53 This intellectual background gave a superficial plausibility to the setting up of a Protestant body calling itself the German Christians, a movement supporting the aim of the Nazis to eliminate Jewish influence from the Church, and seeking to become the voice of German Protestantism. Once more it drew on an aspect of the German Protestant past, the search for reunion among Protestant Churches, which had a perfectly respectable history, but which was now perverted towards open racism. In order to account for the Saviour’s origins in Galilee, German Christians suggested that the area had been an enclave of Aryan ethnic identity. Besides this borrowing from a great deal of nineteenth-century anthropological speculation and scholarship sometimes of alarmingly respectable provenance, they appealed to a selection of opinions of Luther (such as his intemperate remarks about the Jews and his theme of obedience to superior powers) in order to justify their rewriting of the faith.54 With Nazi backing, they did well in State Church elections in July 1933, and their most prominent pastor, Ludwig Müller, gained the title Reichsbischof. Who could have the imagination or the courage to stand up to the insidious mixture of seduction and intimidation? One theologian, Karl Barth, had the advantage as a Swiss of coming from outside German Protestantism, and also from a Reformed Protestant tradition, which had much more in its theological heritage than German State Lutheranism to encourage the Church into an independent or critical stance towards temporal power. Barth had been enraged by the liberal Protestant establishment’s subservience to the German Empire,

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  She was running at us at full speed, and she was screaming, but I couldn’t hear her over the pounding rain until she was so close to us that I could see her spit flying. “The fuckers flooded my room. They ruined like a hundred of my books! Goddamned pissant Weekday Warrior shit. Colonel, they poked a hole in the gutter and connected a plastic tube from the gutter down through my back window into my room! The whole place is soaking wet. My copy of The General in His Labyrinth is absolutely ruined.” “That’s pretty good,” the Colonel said, like an artist admiring another’s work. “Hey!” she shouted. “Sorry. Don’t worry, dude,” he said. “God will punish the wicked. And before He does, we will.” sixty-seven days before SO THIS IS HOW NOAH FELT. You wake up one morning and God has forgiven you and you walk around squinting all day because you’ve forgotten how sunlight feels warm and rough against your skin like a kiss on the cheek from your dad, and the whole world is brighter and cleaner than ever before, like central Alabama has been put in the washing machine for two weeks and cleaned with extra-superstrength detergent with color brightener, and now the grass is greener and the bufriedos are crunchier. I stayed by the classrooms that afternoon, lying on my stomach in the newly dry grass and reading for American history—the Civil War, or as it was known around these parts, the War Between the States. To me, it was the war that spawned a thousand good last words. Like General Albert Sidney Johnston, who, when asked if he was injured, answered, “Yes, and I fear seriously.” Or Robert E. Lee, who, many years after the war, in a dying delirium, announced, “Strike the tent!” I was mulling over why the Confederate generals had better last words than the Union ones (Ulysses S. Grant’s last word, “Water,” was pretty lame) when I noticed a shadow blocking me from the sun. It had been some time since I’d seen a shadow, and it startled me a bit. I looked up. “I brought you a snack,” Takumi said, dropping an oatmeal cream pie onto my book. “Very nutritious.” I smiled. “You’ve got your oats. You’ve got your meal. You’ve got your cream. It’s a fuckin’ food pyramid.” “Hell yeah it is.” And then I didn’t know what to say. Takumi knew a lot about hip-hop; I knew a lot about last words and video games. Finally, I said, “I can’t believe those guys flooded Alaska’s room.” “Yeah,” Takumi said, not looking at me. “Well, they had their reasons. You have to understand that with like everybody, even the Weekday Warriors, Alaska is famous for pranking. I mean, last year, we put a Volkswagen Beetle in the library. So if they have a reason to try and one-up her, they’ll try.