“Marry me,” he said, searching her eyes for some sign, some indication of how to proceed. Her gaze held his. His heart beat in his chest like a drum. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice hushed and oddly hopeful… — Connie Brockway Copy Share Image
“[S]he hardly deserved to be labeled a witch.' 'I find it hard to believe anyone could take such a thing seriously. This isn't the… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“You can’t carry me out your front door in the middle of the day and drop me on the sidewalk!” “I wasn’t going to.”… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“I love you,” she whispered, gazing up into his pale gray eyes. He smiled crookedly, for a moment looking at her with a dazzled… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
She clutched the train ticket tighter and waited for the sense of escape to come over her as it had a dozen times before,… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“Beverly?” she said. “Lady Evelyn.” “Are you a confirmed misogynist or am I special?” His smile was sublime. “My appreciation of the fairer sex… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“It looks fine, Beverly.” “I grow faint at such praise.” “Don’t let it go to your head. We still have, what? Another six rooms… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“Avery?" she whispered. He gathered her closer, his eyes still closed. "Avery?" "Shh." His voice was low and infinitely sad. "Hush. Tomorrow's waiting outside… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“Marry me,” he said, searching her eyes for some sign, some indication of how to proceed. Her gaze held his. His heart beat in… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
She'd stood by that creed. No softness, because the world wasn't soft; lots of laughter, because if you were in on the joke, the… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“He stood staring down at her a second before raking his hand through his hair. “What the devil am I—Damnation!” “Probably,” Evelyn agreed. He… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“Why did you refuse to marry me then?” he demanded. She should be quiet; she should just stay mute. But she was angry and… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
“He stopped. She heard the intake of his breath. “You are my country, Desdemona.” Yearning, harsh and poignant and she felt herself swaying toward… — Connie Brockway Copy Share
