“Sorry . . . thank you. Good night,” she said finally. She pivoted and headed for the house. He stared blankly. Thank you, good night? Like she was Lynyrd Skynyrd, and he was a San Francisco crowd?” — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“So she was to be savagely heartbroken and then poisoned by one of their cook’s noxious herbal brews in the space of a few… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“A nondescript place, but it had inevitably changed over the years; one of the old oaks had been split by lightning and now lay… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“It’s…” She couldn’t finish. “Don’t try, Miss Redmond,” he agreed, shading his eyes. “There are honestly no suitable words, so we shall not fault you for failing to find them. Nothing makes a man feel more like God than sailing a ship over the sea with no land in sight. And nothing makes a man feel less like a God… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share
“You shouldn't ask questions when you know at heart you'd prefer not to hear the answers.” — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“She settled upon the hound. She met its brown eyes. It blinked slowly in what she liked to think was sympathy. Neither of them… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“He had one of those chins what…” One of the innkeeper’s hands went up to squeeze his chin into two little folds. “…a chin what looks like an arse.” “A chin dimple? A cleft?” “Not cleft so much as dented, Mr. Eversea. And blue eyes. Went nicely with his costume.” Dumbstruck silence followed this observation. The innkeeper sighed. “It’s me… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share
“What happens next?" she whispered. Connor turned to her and smiled faintly. Always a question, that was Rebecca. There's more?" he said in mock… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“I couldn't see it because you are my heart, damn you! And how can I see my own heart if it's beating in my… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
“I love you," she murmured. The words ... it was as though an entire sun had exploded in his chest. He'd been ridiculous. His thrashing thoughts, his grand confusion and torment and helplessness -- it was only love, had always been love, he supposed. It was no precipice he stood at, or rather precipices have little meaning when one finally… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share
“imagine the ton would leap from London Bridge if the marquess did it first. Mind you, he’d land on a cart carrying a feather… — Julie Anne Long Copy Share Image
