Adam Faramond Quotes

“Oh, thank you! Thank you," she chirped, surprising him by bounding across the room and clasping him tight for a quick hug.
His arms hung heavy and loose at his sides during her gentle siege.
Rothbury had enchanted exotic opera singers into returning to his bed time and again. He had warmed coldhearted courtesans into confessing their undying love and he had seduced a number of beautiful, feisty women who were just as fickle in picking their lovers as he was. But Charlotte's hug unsettled him, knocked him off balance, one might say.
He didn't want her to let go. But he wouldn't dare bring up his arms to hold her either. Without a doubt he knew if he indulged himself, all he felt, all he thought, would be exposed in the warmth of his embrace. And then there would be no turning back. He would be bared, revealed, humiliated.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Rothbury inhaled the familiar lemon-tinged air wafting before him. He remained silent, ignoring the zing of awareness thrumming through him, and listened for the sound of footfalls instead.
Whoever had entered the room, it was definitely a young woman. He'd bet one of his prized Arabians on it, but it wasn't Cordelia. She smelled perpetually of pungent roses, which he had been partial to in the beginning of their short love affair, but which now merely reminded him that the woman connected to it was just as clingy and thorny as the flower itself.
But this scent- he inhaled deeply as it now surrounded him- inspired contentment, which was a miracle in itself, considering all he wanted to do presently was break free, find Lady Gilton, and throttle her elegant neck.
"Who's there?" Rothbury demanded, his tone firm but quiet. He pulled at the twisted silk binds holding his wrists together behind him, noting they were finally starting to tear. "Come now," he said in a tone he used on skittish horses. "Tell me who's there.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Splatters of mud stained Rothbury's fine lawn shirt, which clung slickly to the broad expanse of his back like a second skin. Having rolled up his sleeves at the onset of his task, his muscled arms were now streaked with mud and rain as were the tall boots and tight black breeches that hugged the sinewy muscles of his long, undoubtedly strong legs.
Her admiring gaze alighted upon his golden-brown hair, which now looked more brown than golden as it was wet with perspiration and mist. A few locks lay plastered to his neck in wispy whorls.
Charlotte suddenly felt overly warm. Seeing him... wet... somehow embarrassed her. It felt dark, intimate. Truly, if it weren't for the mud- and clothes- she rather thought this would be what he looked like after a bath.
A shiver ran down her arms as her eyes drifted to the dewy trails of rain droplets that ran over his slightly bristled jaw and neck, disappearing in the nest of his loosely tied cravat.
And then her hungry gaze raised... and connected with Rothbury's. All thoughts flew straight out of her head.
Looking at her from over his shoulder, he straightened, his smile twisting with arrogance.
Despite the chill in the air, her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. How long had he been watching her in-depth perusal? Long enough, she supposed, if the heated gleam in his eyes was any indication at all.
She blinked, shaking her head hurriedly, hoping by that action she was silently telling him, "No, I definitely was not looking at you."
He answered her gesture by nodding slowly, telling her he knew exactly what she had been doing and that he had caught her in the act.
She gave her head another insistent shake.
Still looking at her from over his shoulder, he sauntered back to the carriage, his smile broadening. He lifted his shoulder as if to say, "I don't care. Look all you want."
She shook her head again, tightly.
He winked.
She gulped.
And then he set back to work with the other men to free the carriage.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Her bottom lip started to tremble and she made a tiny, heart-breaking squeak of a sound.
"Shhhhh," he said in a whisper of air, sounding, even to his own ears, like a wolf comforting a lamb right before he devoured her.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Even in the dim light emanating from the few illuminated windows of the mansions, Charlotte could see that this man's body was athletic and pleasing to the feminine eye. This was no young, besotted whelp declaring his undying love. This was a man.
A clearly stubborn one, but a man just the same. Long and lean muscled, a trim waist and narrow hips, and strong legs encased in black breeches that he must have inched his way into. Inexpressibles. Charlotte almost sighed.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Visions of a slumbering Miss Greene drifted through his thoughts. He imagined that her wheat-colored hair would be unbound, streaming across the pillow like a golden banner. He rather thought she'd toss around in her sleep a lot, which would cause her nightdress to become rucked up to her hips, revealing her thighs, smooth as cream, and her silky-”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Men and women cannot be friends. It is impossible."
Her brow furrowed. "And why not?"
He bit back a smile. Lord, she was an easy one to fool. If he had a mind to fool her, that is. She was so gullible; he had no idea how she made it through life so far without being compromised, fleeced, or coerced into buying a three-legged horse at least a half a dozen times.
He cleared his throat to keep a cynical grin from creeping in. "Because, my sweet, sweet naive creature, lust would, undoubtedly, get in the way. You've heard of lust, correct?"
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "Of course."
"Damn. I should have liked to explain it to you in excruciating detail. Showing you examples, of course."
"Lust is a sin."
"Yes, indeed it is. My favorite one.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“He watched her retreating form, his sinful mind fixating on her small, pleasantly rounded bottom, which had a wiggle that was definitely unintentional, but quite engaging.
Apparently deeming it safe to come out again, his stallion, Petruchio, came out from hiding. The beast nudged Rothbury in the back, breaking his concentration.
"I beg your pardon," he muttered to the horse. "I do not have the attention span of a butterfly when it comes to women.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“After months of searching for the perfect gentleman, you now crave a steady dose of wicked men and you've decided to start with me." He patted his lap, knowing she couldn't see the gesture in the dark. "I don't think I should like you finding another, so I shall work hard to hold your attention.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Let's pretend for a moment that I find you attractive. Let's pretend that your very virtue is sorely threatened at this very moment."
"Unlikely," she scoffed.
His warm gaze dropped down to the hand that rested against his warm, bare skin. Then he looked up at her, his eyes showing an emotion she did not recognize. "I want you," he said, then swallowed hard. "And every time you are near me, your scent, your voice, seeps into my soul."
"Oh my," she muttered with a giggle. "You're good at this. You almost sound as if you believe it yourself."
"I do."
Sighing, she supposed the only thing worse than being pursued by a sinfully attractive, manipulative rake, was having one for a friend. "Stop this, Rothbury. It's not funny."
Feeling flushed, she looked down at her hand with a start, realizing she was still touching his chest. She retracted it quickly, then made a great show of studying the tip of her index finger, where a tiny dot of blood had beaded. A thorn had jabbed her earlier during her perilous climb. She hoped it would draw his attention and distract him.
But it only made it worse. He covered her hand with his own in a movement that could only be called a caress.
She swallowed. "Give me back my hand, you depraved hound."
"Mine." Slowly, he drew her toward his mouth, lips parting slightly.
Good Lord. Was he going to put her finger in his mouth? All her breath seemed to sink down to her knees, if such a ludicrous thing was possible. This had to stop. She thought to shove him away, only her muscles refused to respond.
"Now, what would you do?" He leaned down, his lips parting, giving her a tiny glimpse of his tongue.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Charlotte stood, her gaze instantly connecting with Rothbury's. A zing of awareness tingled down her spine.
Dripping with sensuality, the earl stood with his back to the wall, his stance, as always, exuding a lazy confidence. The damp spring air in the crowded room caused his dark-blond locks to curl slightly where wisps had escaped the velvet queue secured behind his neck. He wore no costume, no mask, which of course wasn't required, therefore catching the eye of every warm-blooded female within a two-hundred-foot radius.
It wasn't an exaggeration. The sighs of feminine appreciation surrounded Charlotte. Though she found it slightly ridiculous, she could not find it in herself to blame them. He was simply that fetching.
His expertly cut dark gray coat hugged his broad shoulders, and his stark white cravat, frothy with elegant folds, emphasized his chiseled chin, gold with faint bristles. And his mouth- oh, that glorious mouth- both haughty and wicked, curving with his ever-present sagacious grin. Lord, what it must feel like to have those lips touch one's own.
Charlotte gave an appreciative sigh, drinking up the sight of him. For a masquerade, his plain evening clothes on any other man would have lent him to fade into the background. But not Rothbury. Dear heavens, no. It only added to his sinful, blush-inducing appeal.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“With the ease of a man who could size up a woman and her worth within seconds, Rothbury's gaze raked the wispy-thin Miss Greene, from her pale ringlets dangling from a bonnet made droopy by too many lacy ribbons down to her silk slippers peeking out from under her frilly hem.
"She is more like a meek lamb than her costume suggests," Tristan remarked with a chuckle.
"Perhaps." Rothbury watched as she caught his smile and then looked behind her, apparently searching for what, or rather whom, he was looking at. "No, sweetheart," he murmured under his breath, "I'm looking at you.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“There, on a spindle-legged chair positioned against the far wall under the warm glow of the twin sconces, Lord Rothbury, blindfolded with his own cravat, his hands tied together, secured behind the back of the chair.
In vain, she tried to swallow, only it felt as if her throat had been doused with sand.
Good Lord! Why on earth was he tied up?
His shirt lay open, displaying the tawny skin of his broad chest, his flat nipples, and the sparse golden hairs that brushed the plane of his muscled stomach. Her greedy eyes remained fastened on that sleek, bare stomach, mesmerized by the rise and fall of each breath he took.
A voice in the back of her mind told her she should look away. After all, he was sin embodied. But what a sight he was for her starved eyes.
His dark blond locks lay in splendid disarray and he gave his head a quick jerk, tossing away the hair that fell across his forehead. He was unsuccessful, the silky strands sliding back into their former position. He blew out his frustration with a low growl.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Just as he was about to grasp the door handle, the toe of his boot nudged something that clunked. He looked down, astonishment washing over his face.
The light scent of lemons.
As he stood there staring down at the damning shepherd's crook, a myriad of feelings coursed through him. He was bewildered. Shocked. Mystified. In a state of disbelief. And, he might as well admit, incredibly aroused.
His mouth quirked with a lopsided grin as he bent to pluck it from the floor. Sweet Lord, he had found his mystery woman.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“I cannot dance with you because I... well..." She cleared her throat. "... That is to say..."
"Miss Greene cannot dance with you," a deep, smooth voice rumbled behind her, "because she has already promised the next to me."
She swallowed a lurch of dread, instantly recognizing to whom the sultry, lazy drawl belonged.
Witherby recoiled from the intrusion. "I say," he replied, looking up at Rothbury with distrust, "no wonder the young lady hesitated over my offer. I know for a fact Miss Greene is not permitted to dance with you."
Rothbury only chortled, low and deep. Charlotte could feel it thrum through her spine and down to the soles of her slippered feet.
Turning, she stole a sidelong glance at him. He stood with his feet braced firmly on the floor, his hands behind his back. His burnished gold hair was swept back into place but for a thick lock that hung low on one side of his forehead.
His hooded eyes stared down Witherby as he gave a lopsided grin that on any other man, she supposed, would appear utterly charming in a boyish sort of way. On Rothbury's handsome face, however, it looked watchful, lethal. Quite like he was silently daring Witherby to touch her just so Rothbury could have the pleasure of breaking his fingers.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“If you don't watch yourself, you'll be bound to turn yourself into a gentleman. With or without my help."
Closing his eyes for a moment, Rothbury inhaled her light lemony scent. At this moment there was nothing in the world he wanted more than for every single guest in this ballroom to disappear so that he could pull Charlotte against him, rip off that silly bonnet, and sink his hands into her hair while sinking his mouth onto her throat. Christ, why did she have to smell so damn good?
Silently, he cursed himself for not realizing just who exactly it was that he had caught in the library when he had her squirming beneath him. Damn, he would have relished the moment, however brief it would have been, had he known it was Charlotte.
He did concede, however, that it was a good thing for her that he hadn't known it was Charlotte writhing beneath him at the time. He would have been decidedly, and happily, obliged to expound, in lavish detail, upon the intricacies of an authentic kiss.
"Oh, I doubt I'll turn into a gentleman anytime soon," he drawled from behind her, "if at all.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Miss Greene?"
She nodded, thinking it safe now to face him.
"Good," he said, offering her a wicked grin when her eyes lifted to his. "I believe all young women, especially those timid and retiring ones like yourself, should embark on new horizons... try new things, if you will. I undoubtedly approve and, in fact, encourage you to indulge your most wicked fantasies.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“I can scarcely believe you remember me telling you about her obsession with the metaphysical."
One broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I pay attention, Miss Greene, to every single syllable that passes over your lips. perhaps you should add that to your list of required attributes in potential husbands.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Charlotte slid a glance at Rothbury. Diagonally across from their little cluster, he lounged on an ornate garden chair that looked as if it was designed specifically for the dainty bottom of an English miss- not the long-legged grown man who was currently occupying it. Indeed, it looked in danger of crumbling under his weight.
Charlotte pressed her lips together, suppressing the need to smile. There was nothing like delicate furniture to make a man seem even more incredibly masculine than he already was.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Sitting in a wing-back chair, his long legs stretched out before him, Rothbury nodded slowly at all the appropriate times, elbows on the arms of the chair, long fingers steepled.
And then, possibly because he hadn't had his tea yet, her father's lecture veered wildly off course, delving into the sins of the flesh.
Charlotte nearly groaned. But then she stopped. Quite suddenly, she realized Rothbury had found her gaze in the crack of the door. He knew she was there, listening. He winked.
And for all her past misinterpretations of that particular gesture, she knew without a doubt just what that wink promised.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl