9
" Zachary had never accepted defeat before. He'd tolerated it in small doses, perhaps, always knowing that in the larger scheme of things, he would have what he wanted. But he'd never been truly vanquished, never known a real loss. Until this, the biggest loss of all. It made him feel vicious and a bit crazed. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to weep. Most of all he wanted to laugh at himself for being a big sodding fool. In the nonsensical stories that Holly read aloud some evenings about Greeks and their amorous, carelessly cruel gods, mortals were always punished for reaching too high. Hubris, Holly had once explained. Too much prideful ambition. Zachary knew he had been guilty of hubris, and now he was paying the price. He should never have let himself want a woman who was clearly not meant for him. What tormented him the most was the suspicion that he might actually still be able to obtain her, if he bullied and tormented and bribed her into it. But he wouldn't do that to her, or to himself. He wanted her to love him as willingly and joyously as she had loved George. The very idea would have made most people laugh. It even amused him. What must Holly think when she compared him to her saintly husband? Zachary was a scoundrel, an opportunist, a rough-mannered scavenger—the definitive opposite of a gentleman. Clearly Ravenhill was the right choice, the only choice, if she wanted a life similar to the one she'd had with George. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
11
" Oh, Zachary, you're such a beautiful man.” She gathered herself against the wonderful wealth of hair on his chest, playing with the dark curls, brushing her mouth and fingers through them. A faint groan came from over her head. “You're the beautiful one.” His hands moved gently over her back and hips, savoring the texture of her skin. “I never recovered from my first glance at you, at the Bellemont ball.” “You saw me then? But it was dark outside.” “I followed you after I kissed you in the conservatory.” He pushed her to her back, his gaze sweeping over her naked body. “I watched as you went to your carriage, and I thought you were the loveliest thing I had ever seen.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his tongue touching the fragile curve, and Holly trembled. “And you began to scheme,” she said breathlessly. “That's right. I thought of a hundred ways to get under your skirts, and I decided the best plan was to hire you. But somewhere in the middle of my efforts to seduce you, I fell in love with you.” “And your intentions became honorable,” she said, pleased. “No, I still wanted to get under your skirts.” “Zachary Bronson,” she exclaimed, and he grinned, bracing his forearms on either side of her head. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
13
" Where is Rose?” was Holly's first question, as Maude helped her to sit up in bed. “Downstairs with the master and his mother and sister,” Maude answered, tucking supportive pillows behind her back. “They've all been doting on her while ye've been sleeping, playing games with the child and giving her extra sweets. Mr. Bronson canceled his ride to town today and spent all morning guiding her ‘round the paddock on a little brown pony.” “Oh, he shouldn't have,” Holly said in instant concern. “He shouldn't have neglected his business concerns—it isn't his place to take care of my child.” “He insisted, milady. I thought it a bit unseemly, and I tried to tell him there was no need. But ye know how the master is when he is set on something.” “Yes, I know. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
14
" She felt the heat of his fingertips brush her shoulder, throat, until he found the side of her face and curved his palm against her cheek. She should have jerked away from the touch, but she was shocked by the pleasure of his warm, cradling hand on her face. “You're the sweetest thing I've ever touched,” came his voice from the darkness. “Tell me who you are. Tell me your name.” Holly took a deep gulp of air and pushed away from the wall, but there was nowhere to go. His powerful masculine form was everywhere, surrounding her, and without intending to, she walked straight into his arms. “I must go,” she gasped. “My carriage is waiting.” “Let it wait. Stay with me. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
18
" To Holly's surprise, the maid set out a plate piled high with miniature round cakes, each one covered with a delicate sheen of pale pink icing. Holly sent Bronson a reproachful glance, knowing that he had ordered the treat specifically for her enjoyment. “Mr. Bronson,” she said, recalling their conversation much earlier in the day, “I can't fathom what reason you have for plying me with cakes.” Bronson settled back in his chair, looking completely unrepentant. “I wanted to see you wrestle with temptation.” Holly couldn't repress the laugh that bubbled to her lips. The insolent rogue! “I fear you're a wicked man,” she said. “I am,” he admitted without hesitation. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
19
" I'm only a ‘Miss,’” she informed him, having listened to their discussion of the peerage. “But when I marry a prince someday, I'll be ‘Princess Rose,’ and then you may call me ‘Your Highness.’” Bronson laughed, his tension seeming to dispel. “You're already a princess,” he said, scooping the little girl up and setting her on his knee. Caught by surprise, Rose let out a squealing laugh. “No, I'm not! I don't have a crown!” Bronson appeared to take the point seriously. “What kind of crown would you like, Princess Rose?” “Well, let me think…” Rose screwed up her small face in deep concentration. “Silver?” Bronson prompted. “Gold? With colored stones, or pearls?” “Rose does not need a crown,” Holly intervened with a touch of alarm, realizing that Bronson was more than ready to purchase some ostentatious headpiece for the child. “Back to play, Rose—unless you would care to take an afternoon nap, in which case I'll ring for Maude.” “Oh, no, I don't want a nap,” the little girl said, immediately sliding from Bronson's knee. “May I have another cake, Mama?” Holly smiled fondly and shook her head. “No, you may not. You'll spoil your dinner.” “Oh, Mama, can't I have just one more? One of the little ones?” “I've just said no, Rose. Now please play quietly while Mr. Bronson and I finish our discussion.” Obeying reluctantly, Rose glanced back at Bronson. “Why is your nose crooked, Mr. Bronson?” “Rose,” Holly reproved sharply. “You know very well that we never make observations about a person's appearance.” However, Bronson answered the child with a grin. “I ran into something once.” “A door?” The child guessed. “A wall?” “A hard left hook.” “Oh.” Rose stared at him contemplatively. “What does that mean?” “It's a fighting term.” “Fighting is bad,” the little girl said firmly. “Very, very bad.” “Yes, I know.” Lowering his head, Bronson tried to look chastened, but his air of repentance was far from convincing. “Rose,” Holly said in a warning tone. “There'll be no further interruptions, I hope.” “No, Mama.” Obediently the child returned to her play area. As she walked behind Bronson's chair, he surreptitiously handed her another cake. Grabbing the tidbit, Rose hurried to the corner like a furtive squirrel. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Where Dreams Begin
