Love

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)

  “It was nothing I haven’t heard before.” He smiled and reached for her hand. “Although I thank you for defending my honor.” The feel of her skin against his was heaven. And hell. He glanced down at their joined hands, hers so pale, so tiny and delicate. Lucien remembered the feel of those hands on his body, their gentle exploration belying her ravenous hunger for him. Knowing he would soon lose her touch forever made his heart ache. Julienne bit her lower lip. “Why say such horrid things about you merely because you are in trade?” “’Tis more than that, Julienne.” He was silent for a moment, wanting to hide the things she didn’t know. But the moment was intimate, her gaze tender, and he found himself sharing the things he discussed with no one. “I’m a bastard by birth.” She didn’t even blink. “You have no control over such things!” “It gets worse,” he said dryly, squeezing her hand in silent appreciation. “I am the product of a long-term affair between a courtesan and a nobleman.” “Good heavens!” Lucien waited for her to put the pieces together. It took only a moment. “Remington. Your mother is Amanda Remington? The famous demimondaine?” He nodded, and wondered if Julienne would think less of him now that she knew he was the bastard son of a prostitute. A very wealthy, extremely discriminating, and, for the last thirty years, monogamous prostitute, but a one-time whore nevertheless. It was common knowledge. The fact that Julienne knew nothing of it proved once again how far removed their existences were from one another. “How romantic,” she sighed, and Lucien almost fell off the chaise. “You’re a love child! How lucky you are.” He stared at her, agape. With gentle fingertips, Julienne urged his mouth closed. “Your blood is almost as blue as mine, Lucien. No wonder you carry yourself with such pride.” “Are you quite mad?” “Beg your pardon?” He shook his head. It was almost as if she didn’t see his tarnish. Or perhaps she didn’t care . . . The possibility made his heart race, a tiny flame of hope sparking to life within him. “Julienne, every moment I spend with you brings you closer to ruin. Why don’t you see that? I’m a hedonistic, self-centered bastard who has taken liberties with you that deserve to get me drawn and quartered. Beheaded. Hanged. Shot. Run through—” “Fine,” she said sharply, pulling her hand from his and straightening her spine. “Fine?” “Yes. Fine. You are a horrible, wretched excuse for a man. Is that what you want me to say? Do you feel better?” She lifted the folder and opened it. “I will choose a husband posthaste so you will have no further need to seek me out.” Julienne looked briefly at the column of names, then snapped the folder shut. “The Marquess of Fontaine, it is.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  pulled up stakes and moved to Washington, D.C., where she enrolled at George Washington University and took a job at Garfinckel’s Department Store. And started dating a medical student. Lovell could hardly blame her. He was so busy at Annapolis he hardly had a chance to call, let alone take out, his girl, and even when midshipmen got liberty for a night on the town, there were curfews and other style-cramping rules. Still, the med student didn’t last long; he didn’t like it when Marilyn wore Lovell’s class crest on her sweater one night. Things got easier for Lovell and Marilyn in his third year, when the Academy allowed him more liberty. After dinner one night, he walked her to a jewelry store, where they admired a selection of engagement rings. “Do you like that one?” Lovell asked. “Do you want me to have one of those?” she replied. “After seven years, I don’t want anything else,” he said. Lovell tore into his final year at Annapolis. Only fifty in the class of nearly eight hundred would be assigned to flight school right away, and finishing strong depended in part on the quality of one’s senior thesis. Most played it safe, writing on naval history or tactics, but Lovell took a leap into the theoretical. Working long into the nights, and with Marilyn as his typist, he put together a study of the development of the liquid-fuel rocket engine, a paper that didn’t just analyze the state of the art but made predictions that sounded more Jules Verne than midshipman. “The big day for rockets is still coming,” he wrote, “the day when science will have advanced to the stage when flight into space is reality and not a dream. That will be the day when the advantage of rocket power —simplicity, high thrust, and the ability to operate in a vacuum—will be used to best advantage.” Even in 1952, talking about combustion in a vacuum could seem ridiculous to the uninformed. But Lovell’s vision never wavered. When the paper came back it was marked A minus. Lovell graduated at the top of the class on June 6, 1952. Later that day, he and Marilyn were married at St. Anne’s Episcopal Church in Annapolis. As he’d long hoped, Lovell was chosen to attend the Navy’s flight training program. He returned to Pensacola, this time as an officer (ensign), not a midshipman. A year after they arrived, Marilyn gave birth

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  hand to my face. It was wet. Only then did I realize I had cried silently and steadily throughout the funeral. Not over Randall or the loss, so much loss; not the visions of family or redemption laid to waste. It was something else, something alien and familiar as my prodigal heart. I watched an elderly couple make their way through the line. I saw the concern in their faces as they approached Brother Terrell and grabbed his hands, eager to convey all they carried in their hearts for him. He inclined his head as he listened and nodded. “Okay. Okay. We ’preciate that. Bless you, now.” A flash of a smile that moved from shy to showtime in an instant, his eyes sliding off to the next in line. The couple walked past me, hands clasped, each leaning on the other, faces shining. They looked . . . blessed. Yes, that was the word. By a con man? A prophet? A performer? I had spent a lifetime deciding, and each time I thought I knew, the answer proved too small to encompass my experience. Or was it the question? Maybe it wasn’t about Brother Terrell, but two worlds: one under the tent and the other outside. Each time I turned toward one, I turned away from some part of myself. I watched the people move through the line. Women with their arms folded across their chests, hugging their elbows. The men with their straight-ahead stares. Kids tugging at their parents. I recognized no one and yet, I knew them. I had always known them. There was no separation, no division, no choice to be made. They had been with me all along, and without knowing it, I had been with them. After all this time. It wasn’t belief or unbelief. It was love. It could not have been otherwise. I walked to the front of the church and took my place in line. When it was my turn, I took his hand and told him I loved him. His expression, practiced and perfect, showed no recognition. “Thank you. ’Preciate that.” I looked into his face. “Brother Terrell, it’s me, Donna.” He stammered and I fell toward him. He pulled me close. After a few seconds we pushed away from each other, shy and embarrassed. He patted my arm. There was nothing to do but move on. As I made my way back to my seat, I saw the old man and woman framed in the doorway of the church; beyond them stretched the beginning of the West Texas sky, and the world, the big, wide world. I’d be there again soon enough.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  in Tucson, he called Susan and asked her to dinner. They hadn’t had a date in ages, and she still had hurt feelings from their breakup of three years ago, but she agreed. He took her to a small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of town. They laughed and talked and connected as if they were still in high school; even the owner could see their chemistry because he kept feeding the jukebox and pressing the love song buttons. Borman didn’t waver this time, he did what he’d been wanting to do for years—he asked Susan to be his wife. There was no talk of the challenges of a military life or the risks he’d be taking as a fighter pilot. There was just the question—“Will you marry me?”—and her answer—“I will.” — A month later, Frank and Susan were married in a Tucson Episcopal church. After honeymooning at the Grand Canyon and in Las Vegas, the Bormans reported to Perrin Air Force Base, then to Williams Air Force Base in Chandler, Arizona. These were fun and adventurous times for the new couple, even if training was risky. Men died from losing control while pushing the limits in these high-performance jets, but it never occurred to Borman that he’d be hurt. Others had survived the training, and he knew he was better than any of them. Susan never complained about the dangers of Frank’s job, the hours it required, or even their tiny home, a trailer with no air-conditioning. Once, after Frank’s model airplane flew away from him, Susan spent the next day searching the area for miles, knowing how disappointed he was to have lost it. She didn’t find it, but Borman was touched that she didn’t want him to worry, even about little things. Soon Susan was pregnant. A month before the baby was due, in September 1951, Borman was transferred for the second time in eight weeks, this time to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas. He protested, arguing that the move was too much for his eight-months-pregnant wife. A captain reminded him, in various shades of blue, that there was a war going on in Korea. Borman gathered blankets and a pillow and turned the bench seat in the back of the Oldsmobile into a bed, tucked in his pregnant wife, and drove to Las Vegas. On October 4, 1951, Susan gave birth to a baby boy, Frederick. On the same day, Borman flew two missions—no time off for a brand-new father,

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  busy senior who hardly had time for serious romance, yet she was slowly falling in love with Anders, and he was in love with her. The relationship did not please Muriel. She’d long thought her son should marry an admiral’s daughter—a higher grade of folk—and took the formal tea dance invitations he’d received and lined them up on her kitchen window. Valerie saw the display when she was at Anders’s house, but she also noticed something else—that he hadn’t attended a single one of these debutante parties. He just wanted to be with her. In the summer before Anders’s third year at the Academy, he and about four hundred classmates boarded the USS Bennington, an aircraft carrier bound from the East Coast for Halifax, to see how fliers operated at sea. Also aboard was an array of fighter aircraft: Panthers, Cougars, Crusaders, and the AJ Savage, a three-engine nuclear-weapon-carrying bomber. On the first night, a young Marine pilot made a landing approach in his Cougar, floated over all the wires, and slammed into a pack of parked airplanes. Such was the surplus of aircraft after the Korean War that sailors just pushed the damaged ones overboard rather than fix them. Hours later, an AJ Savage came roaring in and hit badly on landing. The pilot and copilot tumbled down the flight deck head over heels in their severed, flaming cockpit but somehow managed to survive; the third crewman, however, died when he was thrown under the ship. The smoke had hardly cleared on that incident when Anders saw one of the gull wings of a Corsair fold up during takeoff. Just off the flight deck, the plane did a full roll and plummeted into the water. Immediately, the carrier turned toward the downed aircraft to make a rescue. Anders could see the pilot in the cockpit, but it was clear the man wasn’t moving. Anders had been on the plebe swim team and could handle himself in rough waters; now he had a decision to make. He could jump in and try to rescue the pilot, or he could allow carrier rescue personnel to do what they were trained to do. The sight of the pilot, unresponsive and starting to sink, pulled on him, but he also knew the ship was moving at about thirty-five knots, he had no life jacket, and he’d have to fall about fifty feet before hitting the water. He had a thought that would bother him for years: If he did jump, he might get put on report or receive demerits. He saw a helicopter and a destroyer approaching to

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  Her lips never left mine as she spoke. We moved together, my body between her legs. “This is so fun,” she whispered, “but I’m so sleepy. To be continued?” She kissed me for another moment, my mouth straining to stay near hers, and then she moved from beneath me, placed her head on my chest, and fell asleep instantly. We didn’t have sex. We never got naked. I never touched her bare breast, and her hands never got lower than my hips. It didn’t matter. As she slept, I whispered, “I love you, Alaska Young.” Just as I was falling asleep, the Colonel spoke. “Dude, did you just make out with Alaska?” “Yeah.” “This is going to end poorly,” he said to himself. And then I was asleep. That deep, can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth sleep, that sleep that is not particularly restful but is difficult to wake from all the same. And then I heard the phone ring. I think. And I think, although I can’t know, that I felt Alaska get up. I think I heard her leave. I think. How long she was gone is impossible to know. But the Colonel and I both woke up when she returned, whenever that was, because she slammed the door. She was sobbing, like that post-Thanksgiving morning but worse. “I have to get out of here!” she cried. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I forgot! God, how many times can I fuck up?” she said. I didn’t even have time to wonder what she forgot before she screamed, “I JUST HAVE TO GO. HELP ME GET OUT OF HERE!” “Where do you need to go?” She sat down and put her head between her legs, sobbing. “Just please distract the Eagle right now so I can go. Please.” The Colonel and I, at the same moment, equal in our guilt, said, “Okay.” “Just don’t turn on your lights,” the Colonel said. “Just drive slow and don’t turn on your lights. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Fuck,” she said. “Just get rid of the Eagle for me,” she said, her sobs childlike half screams. “God oh God, I’m so sorry.” “Okay,” the Colonel said. “Start the car when you hear the second string.” We left. We did not say: Don’t drive. You’re drunk. We did not say: We aren’t letting you in that car when you are upset. We did not say: We insist on going with you. We did not say: This can wait until tomorrow. Anything—everything—can wait. We walked to our bathroom, grabbed the three strings of leftover firecrackers from beneath the sink, and ran to the Eagle’s.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  photographed from the neck up. By the time it became obvious that Marilyn was carrying, NASA would—hopefully—think it too late to change crews. Training consumed all the astronauts’ lives. By now, some of them were struggling in their marriages; the demands of the job, and the easy availability of women on the road, put a strain on their relationships. For Lovell and Borman it was different. Neither man caroused or stayed out late—not just because it wasn’t the right thing to do, but because neither had the impulse to do it. They were in love with their wives—their best friends—women who’d loved them since the days when they were nothing but dreams, their lives just a blur of military base transfers. At home in Houston, a very round Marilyn watched on television, eight months pregnant, as the Gemini 7 countdown neared zero. She didn’t worry—she trusted in NASA and her Episcopal faith, and she trusted in Jim. When he’d left for the Cape, he hadn’t given her any if-I- don’t-come-home speeches or recited any I’ve loved you forever goodbyes. Instead, he swept the garage, balanced the checkbook, and painted the cradle in case the baby came while he was in space. As photographers snapped her photo, Marilyn watched as Gemini 7’s Titan II rocket spewed billows of orange-tinted smoke, then rose on a narrow, nearly transparent column of flame into the sky. The moment Lovell had waited for since Juneau High School was unfolding in thundering detail. It took seven full seconds before he could no longer contain himself. “We’re on our way, Frank!” he shouted to his crewmate. At the two-minute mark, the spacecraft reached a speed of 3,600 miles per hour. Until now, the liquid-fuel rocket had lifted them in a kind of slow pull, but now the second stage kicked in, hurtling the ship forward with a new kind of fury. A minute later, Lovell and Borman were traveling at 7,100 miles per hour and picking up speed fast. Just under five minutes into the flight, Lovell caught a glimpse of something outside his window. “Look at the Moon, Frank!” The rocket pushed past seven g’s and then separated from the spacecraft, sending Gemini 7 into orbit around Earth. For Lovell, the ascent was a wild and wonderful ride.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  family for years. Joe Tighe was deeply kind and supportive during the writing of this book (and a keen reader, as well); I don’t know how to thank him enough. It was too late to remember Rachel Harris Doxey in my last book, so I’m doing it here and sending love to her family and friends; we miss you. My family always reads my work, cheers me on, and gives me wonderful (and honest) notes. Much love to Jane Glover (who read this book before anyone), Larry, Mike, and Sam Glover; the Wisniewski family; and to Ken, Steve, Carrie, and Chaya Kurson. Jane and Ken, my brother and sister, are better writers than I, but they are modest so I can live with it. My mom and dad, Annette and Jack Kurson, were the two best storytellers I’ve ever known; I hope I do them proud when I tell my kids stories on long drives and before bed, and in these books. A special thanks goes to my friend Dave Shapson. I met him on the day I arrived as a freshman at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in 1981. By 2:30 A.M., I was homesick and unable to sleep, and wandered into Open Pantry, where I found Dave (the only customer in the store) thumbing through magazines about science and space travel. We spoke about our mutual love of astronomy and our admiration for NASA, and I understood it when he lamented that so many great innovations in technology and space would come after our lifetimes. Dave has been among my closest friends ever since, one of the most unique and thoughtful people I’ve met. He is, at once, a master storyteller, a brilliant cook, a wonderful musician, a great listener, and a first-rate thinker. He sees more beauty in the world, and especially in the ordinary, than anyone I’ve known. I knew Dave would be excited when I undertook this book project, but couldn’t imagine he would end up spending hundreds of hours to help me research, study, refine, and think it through. I never could have done this without him. Finally, thanks to Amy, Nate, and Will Kurson. My sons always read my writing and talk through the architecture of my thinking. They find planets with me on smartphone apps when we look into the evening sky. They know things I don’t know about the Moon. Amy is my best friend and soul mate. She gave more hours, and more love, to this book than most people give to their own careers, all while running her own full-time business and making a beautiful home. During the past three years, as I worked on this project, several people watched Amy and told me I was the luckiest man in the world, and I agree. My family is my everything. They guide me in the dark. They are my stars.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  After the meal, Borman dropped me off at my hotel, then went to visit his wife at the nursing home where she lives. As he drove away, it seemed to me strange—I felt I’d come to know Susan as well as I had Frank, despite having met her for just a few minutes, despite the fact that she had been too ill to speak. When I returned home and transcribed the tapes of my interviews, I understood why. Borman spoke of Susan constantly; there didn’t seem an aspect of his life he could explain without discussing how much she meant to him or how much he loved her. I’d heard the same from Lovell and Anders about their wives. When I discovered that Apollo 8 was the only crew in which all the marriages survived (astronaut careers were notoriously hard on marriages) it didn’t surprise me. In a singularly beautiful story, it seemed only fitting that the first men to leave Earth considered home to be the most important place in the universe.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Lawrence continued to write to her, as if nothing had happened. She soon to alleviate her wretched realized that she had fallen hopelessly in love with him, despite everything condition by bearing a child he had said to her. Or was it not despite what he had said, but because of it? to Contrivance, lay with him and conceived Love. In 1914, the writer John Middleton-Murry received a letter from Since Love was begotten on Lawrence, a good friend of his. In the letter, out of nowhere, Lawrence Aphrodite's birthday, and criticized Middleton-Murry for being passionless and not gallant enough since he has also an innate passion for the beautiful, with his wife, the novelist Katherine Mansfield. Middleton-Murry later and so for the beauty of wrote, "I had never felt for a man before what his letter made me feel for Aphrodite herself, he him. It was a new thing, a unique thing, in my experience; and it was to re-became her follower and servant. Again, having main unique." He felt that beneath Lawrence's criticisms lay some weird Contrivance for his father kind of affection. Whenever he saw Lawrence from then on, he felt a and Poverty for his strange physical attraction that he could not explain. mother, he bears the following character. He is always poor, and, far from being sensitive and Interpretation. The number of women, and of men, who fell under beautiful, as most people Lawrence's spell is astonishing given how unpleasant he could be. In almost imagine, he is hard and weather-beaten, shoeless every case the relationship began in friendship—with frank talks, exchanges and homeless, always of confidences, a spiritual bond. Then, invariably, he would suddenly turn sleeping out for want of a against them, voicing harsh personal criticisms. He would know them well bed, on the ground, on doorsteps, and in the street. by that time, and the criticisms were often quite accurate, and hit a nerve. So far he takes after his This would inevitably trigger confusion in his victims, and a sense of anxi-mother and lives in want. ety, a feeling that something was wrong with them. Jolted out of their usual But, being also his father's sense of normality, they would feel divided inside. With half of their minds Create a Need— Stir Anxiety and Discontent • 207 they wondered why he was doing this, and felt he was unfair; with the son, he schemes to get for other half, they believed it was all true. Then, in those moments of self- himself whatever is beautiful and good; he is doubt, they would get a letter or a visit from him in which he was his old bold and forward and charming self. strenuous, always devising Now they saw him differently Now they were weak and vulnerable, in tricks like a cunning need of something; and he would seem so strong. Now he drew them to huntsman."

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Create a False Sense of Security— Approach Indirectly • 181 He would become her most devoted friend. At first this was charming; a and, until he could achieve man was taking the time to talk to her, of poetry, history, the deeds of h is hoped-for pleasure, kissed her hands. He could war—her favorite subjects. She slowly began to confide in him. Then, al- scarcely wait for the rest, most without her realizing it, her feelings shifted: the consummate ladies' only with great difficulty man was only interested in friendship? He was not attracted to her as a did he restrain himself. • woman? Such thoughts made her aware that she had fallen in love with Now he frolicked and played on the green turf him. This, in part, was what eventually made her turn down the match now lay down, all snowy with the king's brother—a decision cleverly and indirectly provoked by white on the yellow sand. Lauzun himself, when he stopped visiting her. And how could he be after Gradually the princess lost her fear, and with her money or position, or sex, when he had never made any kind of move? innocent hands she stroked No, the brilliance of Lauzun's seduction was that the Grande Mademoiselle his breast when he offered believed it was she who was making all the moves. it for her caress, and hung fresh garlands on his horns: Once you have chosen the right victim, you must get his or her at- till finally she even tention and stir desire. To move from friendship to love can win success ventured to mount the bull, without calling attention to itself as a maneuver. First, your friendly con- little knowing on whose back she was resting. Then versations with your targets will bring you valuable information about their the god drew away from characters, their tastes, their weaknesses, the childhood yearnings that gov- the shore by easy stages, ern their adult behavior. (Lauzun, for example, could adapt cleverly to first planting the hooves Anne Marie's tastes once he had studied her close up.) Second, by spending that were part of his disguise in the surf at the time with your targets you can make them comfortable with you. Believing water's edge, and then you are interested only in their thoughts, in their company, they will lower proceeding farther out to their resistance, dissipating the usual tension between the sexes. Now they sea, till he bore his booty away over the wide are vulnerable, for your friendship with them has opened the golden gate to stretches of mid ocean. their body: their mind. At this point any offhand comment, any slight —OVID, METAMORPHOSES, physical contact, will spark a different thought, which will catch them off- TRANSLATED BY MARY M. INNES

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  A few weeks later the king was inspecting the royal stables when he caught sight of a young man who was new to the court: the twenty-two-year-old George Villiers, a member of the lower nobility. The courtiers who accompanied the king that day watched the king's eyes following Villiers, and saw with what interest he asked about this young man. Indeed everyone had to agree that he was a most handsome youth, with the face of an angel and a charmingly childish manner. When news of the king's interest in Villiers reached the conspirators, they instantly knew they had found what they had been looking for: a young man who could seduce the king and supplant the dreaded favorite. Left to nature, though, the seduction would never happen. They had to help it along. So, without telling Villiers of their plan, they befriended him. King James was the son of Mary Queen of Scots. His childhood had been a nightmare: his father, his mother's favorite, and his own regents had all been murdered; his mother had first been exiled, later executed. When James was young, to escape suspicion he played the part of a fool. He hated the sight of a sword and could not stand the slightest sign of argument. When his cousin Queen Elizabeth I died in 1603, leaving no heir, he became king of England. James surrounded himself with bright, happy young men, and seemed to prefer the company of boys. In 1612, his son, Prince Henry, died. The king was inconsolable. He needed distraction and good cheer, and his favorite, the Earl of Somerset, was no longer so young and attractive. The timing for a seduction was perfect. And so the conspirators went to work on Villiers, under the guise of trying to help him advance within the court. They supplied him with a magnificent wardrobe, jewels, a glittering carriage, the kind of things the king noticed. They worked on his riding, Effect a Regression • 347 fencing, tennis, dancing, his skills with birds and dogs. He was instructed in the art of conversation—how to flatter, tell a joke, sigh at the right moment. Fortunately Villiers was easy to work with; he had a naturally buoyant manner and nothing seemed to bother him. That same year the conspirators managed to get him appointed the royal cup-bearer: every night he poured out the king's wine, so that the king could see him up close. After a few weeks, the king was in love. The boy seemed to crave attention and tenderness, exactly what he yearned to offer. How wonderful it would be to mold and educate him. And what a perfect figure he had!

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Goodness, Glass,” his mother scolded as she took in his condition. “You have no tact. You don’t just thrust a revelation like that on someone. Can’t you see Lucien’s in shock?” “How in hell can a man not know when he’s in love?” Magnus complained. Amanda shook her head. Lucien laughed, an odd, slightly wondering chuckle. “I do love her,” he breathed. “All these weeks of torture, and we could have been together.” “Why don’t you simply tell her how you feel?” Amanda asked. “I will.” He firmed his resolve. “And I’ll prove it to her.” “You don’t have a lot of time,” Magnus pointed out. “Fontaine is champing at the bit.” Lucien grit his teeth. “I know. But Julienne promised me she would keep him waiting until the end of the Season.” “That’s only a few weeks away,” his mother reminded. “You mustn’t lose her, Lucien. You’ll regret it forever.” “Don’t worry, Mother.” He hadn’t achieved his success through good fortune. He’d worked hard for it, and he would work hard for Julienne. “I won’t.” Chapter Eleven “You must be bored stiff.” Julienne looked up from her book and hid a smile. Curled up in a settee in Lucien’s office, she watched him surreptitiously while he worked. “What gave you that impression?” she asked. He was in the middle of purchasing a mill, which would be the cornerstone of several new ventures, and the acquisition was taking up all of his time. She hadn’t seen him in two days and finally decided to simply show up unannounced at Remington’s. By bringing her abigail with her, she’d deflected any suspicion on Aunt Eugenia and Hugh’s parts, and she’d snuck in through the kitchens to avoid being seen. Lucien came for her immediately, dispatching her maid for a tour of the establishment before taking Julienne to his office. She had insisted he work, apologizing profusely for disturbing him, despite his assurances that her interruption was welcome. “You’re too quiet,” he said. “And I’m certain you didn’t come here to watch me work.” Lucien had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Something about his casualness and absorption in his task made her hot. The sight of his bare forearms and strong hands made her ache. The way he muttered over contracts filled her with contentment. After years of watching Hugh struggle with money, she admired Lucien’s easy handling of it. A “domesticated pirate” is what Fontaine had called him. Julienne agreed and found it thrilling. “I quite enjoy watching you work,” she murmured. “Is that so?” Lucien grinned and set aside his quill. “I quite enjoy having you here. I wasn’t certain I could accomplish much with you so close at hand, but actually I find your presence quite stimulating.” “That’s because you’re a scoundrel.” Leaning back in his chair, he asked, “How are things progressing with Fontaine?”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “I’m not worried,” she denied, and then she dropped her head. “Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. He’s been kind. I think, had I not met you first, I would have been content to spend my life at his side. It’s not his fault my affections are engaged elsewhere.” Lucien leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. “I want to pay off all of your brother’s markers. No strings attached.” “Beg your pardon?” “I want you to decide between Fontaine and me with your heart, not with your brother’s welfare in mind. I’ll have my solicitor draw up documents stating all the debts are paid, regardless of which one of us you wed.” His voice lowered and throbbed with emotion. “I would give up everything I have, Julienne, to give you a choice.” “No.” Julienne rose from her chair. “I don’t want you to do that. It isn’t money that will decide my mind.” Lucien remained by the door with the greatest of effort. “If I told you I loved you, would you believe me?” “Lucien . . .” “Haven’t you wondered why your brother has allowed me to see you?” “Well, yes . . .” “Extortion.” Julienne blinked. “He owes me a great deal of money. I leveraged it against him to get what I want—time with you.” She sank back into the chair. “I warned you I wasn’t honorable, my love. I told you I wasn’t a gentleman. I’ll do whatever it takes to win you. Anything at all. I have no scruples or morals to hold me back.” Lucien watched her closely. “Now, if I told you I love you, would you believe me?” “I don’t know,” she breathed. “But I want to.” She held out a hand to him, and that was all the encouragement he needed. He reached her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. Heat swirled around them, as did endless hunger. He would never have enough of her, would always crave her. “I need you, Julienne.” Her fingers entwined in his hair. “I’m here, my love.” “Not just now. Forever.” His mouth traveled down her neck. “You are mine. You belong to me. I won’t allow Fontaine to have you.” He tugged at her bodice, releasing her breasts, then laved her nipples until she clawed at his back. “Marry me,” he urged against her breast. “Love me,” she countered breathlessly. “Sweetheart,” Lucien said, smiling, “I already do.” Chapter Twelve Lucien watched Hugh La Coeur pace behind his desk in Montrose Hall. Unlike his own spacious and airy office, Montrose’s study was paneled in dark walnut, with parquet floors covered in Aubusson rugs. With red drapes so dark in color as to be almost black, the room was oppressive and forbidding, nothing like the jovial, irresponsible man who owned it. Leaning back a little farther in his chair, Lucien released his breath in a quiet rush. Unfortunately, this meeting was going exactly as he had anticipated.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “What?” Lucien’s eyes widened in horror. There was one way for his life to become more hellish than it presently was, and that was for his younger brother, Charles, the present Marquess of Haverston and future Duke of Glasser, to court or (heaven forbid!) marry his Julienne. His Grace shot a glance at his longtime paramour. “Seems you were correct, love,” he conceded dryly. Amanda smiled with triumph. “Am I not always?” The duke grunted and bent to kiss her upraised cheek. “I must depart. Carolyn is having some sort of soiree this weekend, and I’m expected to attend.” “Of course,” she replied, showing no sign of hurt or dismay at the mention of the Duchess of Glasser. After all their years together, she was confident in the extent of the duke’s love for her and was aware that after the birth of Charles, the heir, he had never touched his wife again. “Return to me at your soonest.” “Never doubt it.” Magnus kissed her again. Lucien watched the exchange as he had often done over the years, but today the scene held new poignancy. It was a harsh reminder that people did not marry below their class. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that the most he could hope for would be to become Julienne’s lover after her marriage. The arrangement could almost be perfect. He would not have to marry, and Julienne could have the title she deserved. But Lucien knew he could never share her with another man, and Julienne would never consent to such an arrangement in any case. She took her responsibilities seriously and would never betray her husband, even if that husband were unfaithful to her. After the duke left, his mother returned her attention to him. “Do you intend to allow Lady Julienne to marry Fontaine?” “I have no choice.” “Why not?” “I offered to marry her, and she refused.” “Lucien!” Amanda’s brow creased with a frown, something she never allowed herself to do because she feared it would cause wrinkles. “You love her.” It was a statement, not a question. Lucien lifted his cup. “I lust for her.” She sighed. “For heaven’s sake, darling, I am your mother. You cannot lie to me.” “That’s not a lie.” “Surely there’s more to it than that.” “Such as?” he muttered. First Marchant, now his mother. Was everyone determined to meddle in his life? Amanda set her clasped hands on the edge of the table. “Such as why she was so quick to rush to your defense? Against her brother, no less. And one hundred thousand quid, Lucien? You would never have allowed Montrose to become so far in your debt without a motive.” Her eyes lit with discovery. “Are you planning to use the earl’s misfortune to obtain his sister? Something so underhanded sounds just like you.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Lucien, no,” she protested, agonizingly aware of the thinness of the curtain that separated them from the prying eyes of the ton. “Not here. Not now.” He dipped his head, hushing her with a kiss. Soon her gown gaped in the back, and he pushed it to the floor. He growled, his fingers brushing over their own prints left in the tender skin of her breasts. “Jesus,” he breathed. Pulling her to him, he kissed her throat. His mouth wandered downward, kissing every mark he’d left on her. The touch of his lips was gentle, reverent. He whispered anguished apologies against her skin, and as he dropped to his knees in front of her, she could feel the wetness of his tears soak through her chemise. The depth of his remorse, his openness of feeling, his willingness to show her his vulnerability, stunned her. This was a side of Lucien she had never seen. Julienne wondered if anyone had ever seen it. As he pushed up her chemise, his hot breath ruffled the curls of her sex. She shivered, her blood heating, her heart racing. Lucien groaned and buried his mouth between her legs. Slipping a hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg free of her gown and pulled it over his shoulder, opening her to his ravishment. Gentle fingers parted her, and Julienne sagged against the wall as his tongue delved deeper inside, licking her as if he savored the taste of her. She stared down, watching him, and her heart clenched in her chest. She could never have imagined the sight of the powerful Lucien Remington on his knees before her, his gorgeous eyes bright with grief and other more frightening emotions. With long, slow, sinuous laps he cherished her. He loved her leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were alone and not mere steps away from ruination. Melancholy welled up inside her. “Lucien,” she whispered as his tongue thrust into her. “My darling.” Her fingers slipped through his hair and wrapped around his scalp. His tongue probed deep, and she bit her lip to hold back her cries. The coiling tension wound tighter, and her hips thrust forward, seeking to deepen the contact. She rode his mouth, undulating against him, her lips parted as she fought to breathe. He latched onto her and suckled with expert, gentle force, knowing just what she needed. Her back arched, her breath seized, her fingers tugged at his hair as she came against his mouth. Her orgasm rolled through her, over her, releasing the relentless tension that had gripped her for over a week. A week in which she’d fallen in love and then had her heart broken. He soothed her tremors with soft laps, gentling her before rising to his feet.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “Feel better now?” he asked gently. And then she understood. “You were teasing me,” she accused without heat, her heart racing madly that this resplendently wicked man was now hers. Forever. “Relaxing you a bit,” he corrected. “You looked tense when I came in.” Lucien strolled toward the bed, untying his cravat. The rest of his clothing was hastily discarded. Then he was pressing her into the bed, his body hard and beautifully built. “We must set some ground rules here, my lady.” His kissed the tip of her nose. “First of all, I do all of the touching.” He covered her protest with his hand. “I’ve needed you too long; I won’t last if you touch me. For the rest of our lives, you can touch me all you want, whenever you want, but not this first time.” He waited until she nodded her acquiesce and then removed his hand, sliding it downward between her breasts, before letting it come to rest on her hip. “Second, it may be painful. You’re very small, and I’m fairly large.” He bit back a smile at her choked laugh. “But I’ll pleasure you, my love. I promise you that.” “I know you will,” she said, loving him even more for his reverent approach to her first time. “And last but not least, I love you, my wife.” He rested his forehead against hers. “With every fiber of my being, I adore you. I intend to cherish you and worship you forever.” He brushed kisses against her mouth. Slow, sweet kisses that skillfully stoked her ardor. “I thank you for becoming my wife.” “Oh, Lucien,” she sighed, and tugged his mouth back down to hers. With a chastising murmur Lucien disengaged her hands from behind his neck and laced their fingers together. He concentrated long moments on exploring her mouth, his kisses lazy and drugging, until she writhed against him, begging for his touch. “Please . . .” He smiled, and her heart stopped. His mouth moved to the slim column of her throat, licking and nipping the sensitive skin. He began to undulate his body against hers, slow, sinuous movements of his powerful frame, awakening every nerve, making her moan with the torment. Lucien made love to her with his mouth, with his hands, with the gentle friction of his body, murmuring praise and encouragement so sweet she wanted to cry. “These, my love, are perfection.” He lavished long licks of his tongue across her nipples and then blew on them, grinning as they puckered. “There is no greater pleasure than having these in my mouth.” Bending his head, he suckled her, the rhythmic tugging pulling at places deep inside, driving her to madness. She began to writhe, yanking at his hands, needing to touch him. Burning, aching, her skin was too hot . . . too tight . . . “Darling,” she pleaded. But he wouldn’t cease, wouldn’t release her.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Boneless, Julienne stood unmoving as Lucien dressed her. He drew her against his chest as he buttoned the back of her gown. When he was done, he rocked her gently in his arms. Never in her life had Julienne felt more cherished. “It’s the last set,” he whispered. “I must go,” she sighed. “Montrose will be looking for me.” Lucien nuzzled her throat. “This set is reserved for me.” “Be serious,” she murmured, kissing the sharp line of his jaw. “You cannot continue to ravish me in public venues. We’ll—” “I am serious. Montrose is aware of my intentions and has promised to offer no objection. Say yes, Julienne.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m an excellent dancer.” “You’re also a conceited rogue.” “Ah.” His smile stunned her wits. “But you wouldn’t wish me to be any other way. Now, go out to the ballroom and wait for me.” Tossing a skeptical glance over her shoulder, Julienne exited the alcove and moved down the hallway to the ballroom. Within moments, Lucien was bowing over her hand. She glanced at Hugh, who scowled. “Do you wish to dance with him?” he asked, giving her the choice. “Yes,” she breathed, waiting for his refusal and astonished when he offered a curt nod to Lucien. “How did you do it?” she asked as Lucien led her to the line of dancers with a sure hand and a confident step. His powerful body moved gracefully, and she found herself eagerly anticipating the upcoming cotillion. “Never mind,” he said, grinning. “I believe I’m in heaven. Your taste flavors my mouth, and your scent clings to my nostrils.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and sighed. Julienne blushed. “You say the most wicked things, Lucien.” He raised a mocking brow. “You do the most wicked things, my love. Underneath that prim-and-proper exterior is a wanton dying to be satisfied. And I am just the repentant rake to do it.” “Repentant?” She arched a brow. “Definitely.” She glanced around furtively before whispering, “Do you really think so?” “Think what?” he asked. “That I’m the man to satisfy you?” His mouth curved with devilish amusement. “Do you doubt it? I think I’ve proven myself rather well, considering I haven’t been able to use all of my endowments.” His grin widened. “You do remember what I told you about challenging a man’s virility?” “No, not that.” Her blush deepened. “I meant the part about my being a wanton.” He laughed. “You liked that, did you?” She blushed. “It’s a relief to know you find me . . .” “Passionate? Desirable? Interesting? Beautiful?” Julienne laughed, heedless of the scandalized eyes that watched them cross the dance floor. “You make me feel like I am all of those things. I thank you for that.” “And you make me happy. So it is I who must thank you.” Her eyes dropped shyly. “Julienne.” She glanced at him. “I would like to take you on a picnic tomorrow.” “Montrose would never—”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  “I can take you to Lord Merrick,” he continued, hoping to allay her refusal. “His father-in-law is Jack Lambert. If anyone could decipher that map, Merrick could, or at the very least he would know someone who could.” Charlotte swallowed hard. Rushing ahead, he said, “Both my sister and Lord Merrick have holdings in Derbyshire. That was my destination before fate led me here.” He brushed his fingertips across her lips. “You shall have to travel by ship eventually. It would relieve me greatly to know you traveled on a Lambert vessel, with proper escort and protection. I can make arrangements for you.” “You would do that?” He smiled at the softening he saw in her gaze. “Only one person in my life has ever relied on me for anything—my sister, Julienne—and I’m ashamed to admit I failed her. Miserably. You would be doing me a great honor if you would rely on me and give me the chance to redeem myself. You’ve carried your burdens for a long time. Why not pass the weight to me for a while?” “From the moment you arrived, my burdens have felt lighter, even if in truth nothing has changed.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I would appreciate your intimate companionship for the duration of our association, but only if you wish it. If you don’t, I still promise to assist you in whatever way I can. This is not about sex, Charlotte. ’Tis important to me that you understand my motives.” Resting her head against his chest, she laughed. “I understand, Hugh. And continuing our association would please me as well. It’s shameful, really. I’ve been nothing but a wanton since you arrived.” “Only when you’re not rescuing the entire population of Derbyshire misfits,” he said dryly. “’Ere now!” Artemis complained, stepping out of the study. “We don’t take kindly to that nonsense ’round ’ere!” Hugh attempted to step away from Charlotte, but she held fast, and after a second he relaxed. Another second more, and he discovered he rather liked holding a female in a nonamorous position. It was soothing. Looking over the pile of red curls, he locked his eyes with Artemis’s one, which had the gall to wink. Hugh chuckled, realizing he just might like the butler a little after all. Chapter Seven “It hasn’t snowed in the last two days,” Charlotte said sadly, as she looked out the window. She’d come to love the sight of snow, since the fall of it meant Hugh would stay another day. Glancing up from the journal, the object of her affection gifted her with a boyish smile. The effect of that smile was so powerful, her breath caught and her hand lifted to shelter her rapidly beating heart. Hugh ran a careless hand through his golden hair. “I noticed that this morning.”

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  Hugh rubbed the back of his neck. The pose emphasized his powerful arms and beautifully built chest. She licked her lips. Good heavens, she was going to drool. “Charlotte, don’t you think—” He raised his eyes from the map and met hers. Then he groaned. “How in damnation is a man to concentrate on anything when you dress in that manner and look at him thusly?” “Why are you so interested in the map all of a sudden?” Reaching down, he stroked his erection through his broadcloth trousers. “I’d like to be useful to you for things other than sex.” Charlotte blinked, then moved to a nearby chair and sat down. All thoughts of seduction and winning their amorous bet left her head. “You’d like to be useful,” she repeated softly, awed by the statement. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a man say that to me before.” “Yes, well, I, for one, have never said such a thing before,” he grumbled. “Being wanted for simple fornication has its decided benefits. And giving in to such demands is certainly less painful to a man’s genitals. I blame the water hereabouts for this madness.” He scrubbed a hand across his face before pulling the journal closer. “Do you truly believe in this treasure nonsense?” She watched him studying the journal, obviously sexually frustrated and yet determined to find a way to be valuable to her, and her heart softened. What an odd man he was. She couldn’t puzzle him out, but then, what did it matter? She felt alive and appreciated, and this man was the cause. “Charlotte?” He glanced at her and muttered an oath under his breath. “Do you intend to assist me with this or not?” “I forfeit.” She’d never done such a thing in her life. Cursed (or blessed, depending on how one looked at it) with a competitive nature she took every challenge seriously. “Beg your pardon?” “You win. I forfeit. Can we have sex now?” “Hell and damnation!” Hugh pushed away from the desk and began to pace. “You are not allowed to forfeit.” She stood. “Why not?” “Because I need to help you with this.” “You can help me later.” He paused and faced her, holding his arms out, displaying his perfection even as he displayed his frustration. “Why are you being so bloody difficult?” “What do you want, Hugh?” she asked softly. “What do you gain by assisting me?” Growling, he turned away. “The storm will pass soon, leaving me no reason to tarry here.” “Yes, I know.” “My carriage was new, damn it, and cost me a bloody fortune! I should be enraged, furious, that the wretched thing broke. Yet I’m grateful, because it gave me the opportunity to meet you. And I suspect once I leave, I shall miss you, and I never miss anyone.”