“No mask you might don, whether cast in gold or comprised of dust, can disguise you from me. In a thousand ways you are revealed to me: The way you illustrate a comment with your fingertips; the manner in which… — Connie Brockway Copy Share Image
“How can you love me?” she asked, forcing herself to say the words that would kill the tenderness in his eyes. “You don’t even know me. You know ‘Lady Agatha,’ a composite, a character, a role I played.” He shook… — 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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image