...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 mattress when he did it, whilst the rest of London would splatter.
"Oh, my goodness, Lord Dryden. You should have seen your face when you said the word work. It's not counted among the deadly sins, you know."
"And I served as an officer in the army."
"Very impressive. I've been told that war is boredom interspersed with violence and terror."
"Your imagination has an impressive reach."
"Or my boredom an impressive scope."
No one understood what his legend had cost him.
"The wrong man could have brought it all crashing down," she told him. "A different man might have collapsed under the weight of the responsibility."
We all have foibles, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder oftentimes gets it wrong.
"I took a fall," he confirmed evenly. After a hesitation doubtless only Phoebe noticed.
And Phoebe didn't know whether it was the sort of fall Lucifer took, or the sort poets wrote about when love struck, or even if it was an innuendo at all, because she suspected everything was destined to sound like an innuendo from now on.
"Use it all you want. Marry him. He'll never really be yours, and you'll never know it.
Or maybe you will."
And before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and with a thumb brushed away one teardrop glistening in that mauve crescent beneath her eyes.
And then he looked down at his thumb, and rubbed the tear out of existence, right into his skin.
Her voice was a thread, but still she managed to sound acerbic. "I believe it's the devil's job to tempt me. Not yours."
"And the difference between the devil and I would be . . . ?"
"None that I can detect."
And good luck to you, Miss Vale, wherever you may go.
Because that's what happened to fury when tenderness was applied. It dissolved.
"Oh, my goodness, Lord Dryden. You should have seen your face when you said the word work. It's not counted among the deadly sins, you know."
"And I served as an officer in the army."
"Very impressive. I've been told that war is boredom interspersed with violence and terror."
"Your imagination has an impressive reach."
"Or my boredom an impressive scope."
No one understood what his legend had cost him.
"The wrong man could have brought it all crashing down," she told him. "A different man might have collapsed under the weight of the responsibility."
We all have foibles, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And the beholder oftentimes gets it wrong.
"I took a fall," he confirmed evenly. After a hesitation doubtless only Phoebe noticed.
And Phoebe didn't know whether it was the sort of fall Lucifer took, or the sort poets wrote about when love struck, or even if it was an innuendo at all, because she suspected everything was destined to sound like an innuendo from now on.
"Use it all you want. Marry him. He'll never really be yours, and you'll never know it.
Or maybe you will."
And before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and with a thumb brushed away one teardrop glistening in that mauve crescent beneath her eyes.
And then he looked down at his thumb, and rubbed the tear out of existence, right into his skin.
Her voice was a thread, but still she managed to sound acerbic. "I believe it's the devil's job to tempt me. Not yours."
"And the difference between the devil and I would be . . . ?"
"None that I can detect."
And good luck to you, Miss Vale, wherever you may go.
Because that's what happened to fury when tenderness was applied. It dissolved.
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