Alice Montague Quotes

“Closing the distance between them, he had savored the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile.
As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes.
His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen.
His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place.
Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things.
'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“They had crossed the terrace where weeds, ivy, and goldenrod had run amuck in the flowerbeds that lined the weather-beaten stone balustrade. Mounds of blue hydrangeas nearly as tall as Lucien crowded the three mossy steps that led down into the formal garden. He went down them, and Alice followed him toward the circular fountain. As they approached, two doves that had perched on the stately stone fountain urn fluttered away, cooing. Alice stopped beside the fountain pool and gazed down with a faraway expression at the lily pads, driven with dreamlike slowness over the surface of the shallow water like tiny sailing vessels. She studied the scene as though memorizing it, while Lucien gazed at her, watching the wind toy with her clothes and the tendrils of her hair that it had worked free from her neat coif.
Her waving red-gold hair, blue eyes, and ivory skin, and the chaste, faraway serenity of her face, put him in mind of Botticelli's Venus, rising from the sea upon her scallop shell.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Closing the distance between them, he had saved the modest allure of her walk and felt his body respond to the graceful sway of her hips as they approached the pool. He had envisioned her taking off her robe and showing him her slender nakedness, but instead, she had just stood there, as though searching for someone. It skipped through his mind that when he caught up to the girl, he would either apprehend or ravish her. He still wasn't sure which it would be as he stood before her, blocking her escape with a dark, slight smile.
As she peered up at him fearfully from the shadowed folds of her hood, he found himself staring into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had only encountered that deep, dream-spun shade of cobalt once in his life before, in the stained glass windows of Chartres Cathedral. His awareness of the crowd them dimmed in the ocean-blue depths of her eyes. 'Who are you?' He did not say a word nor ask her permission. With the smooth self-assurance of a man who has access to every woman in the room, he captured her chin in a firm but gentle grip. She jumped when he touched her, panic flashing in her eyes.
His hard stare softened slightly in amusement at that, but then his faint smile faded, for her skin was silken beneath his fingertips. With one hand, he lifted her face toward the dim torchlight, while the other softly brushed back her hood. Then Lucien faltered, faced with a beauty the likes of which he had never seen.
His very soul grew hushed with reverence as he gazed at her, holding his breath for fear the vision would dissolve, a figment of his overactive brain. With her bright tresses gleaming the flame-gold of dawn and her large, frightened eyes of that shining, ethereal blue, he was so sure for a moment that she was a lost angel that he half expected to see silvery, feathered wings folded demurely beneath her coarse brown robe. She appeared somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two- a wholesome, nay, a virginal beauty of trembling purity. He instantly 'knew' that she was utterly untouched, impossible as that seemed in this place.
Her face was proud and weary. Her satiny skin glowed in the candlelight, pale and fine, but her soft, luscious lips shot off an effervescent champagne-pop of desire that fizzed more sweetly in his veins than anything he'd felt since his adolescence, which had taken place, if he recalled correctly, some time during the Dark Ages. There was intelligence and valor in her delicate face, courage, and a quivering vulnerability that made him ache with anguish for the doom of all innocent things.
'A noble youth, a questing youth,' he thought, and if she had come to slay dragons, she had already pierced him in his black, fiery heart with the lance of her heaven-blue gaze.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“You're no grenadier. Grenadiers are big, stalwart souls, the first into battle, or so I've been told."
He raised his eyebrow at her, unsure if he was being insulted.
"No," she concluded, "you must have been captain of the light infantry company. The quick-witted ones, the sharpshooters."
"How ever did you guess?"
"I know these things," she said with a sage look, then turned and walked on, entirely pleased with herself.
Lucien gazed after her with a smile on his face. God help him, he was utterly charmed.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“As he stared at her in hushed wonder, it was as though the world stopped. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a virginal water nymph, her tender skin flushed and glistening, the long tendrils of her strawberry-blond hair twining around her arms and slender waist, her thin muslin chemise wafting around her elegant hips like the white, delicate flowers of the lily pads she had studied so carefully in the garden. He could barely breathe for sheer worship.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Letting his gaze travel possessively over her, he drank in the loveliness of her face as she sat in a ray of sunlight. 'To be sure, she had a temper to match those red streaks in her golden hair,' he thought fondly. Her pale blond eyebrows were knitted in thought as she worked. She had luxurious lashes and cobalt eyes with the power to devastate him. She had a smattering of light freckles on her cheeks and fine, aristocratic features.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“This city was going to burn,' he thought with a narrow smile. Going out the door with Lady Glenwood, however, he did not like the defiant way her young sister-in-law held his gaze as she picked up the child and braced him against her hip.
Though Miss Montague looked as delicate and demure as any young English gentlewoman, he read a strength of character in her wary blue eyes that gave him pause. Bardou turned away, shrugging off the odd sensation that the girl could somehow see through his charade as a Prussian nobleman. 'Absurd.' Eager to escape her cool, blue stare, he escorted Lady Glenwood out to the Stafford's waiting carriage, which he had borrowed.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He gave me a message to you. Leave London. Go home to Glenwood Park at once. There is great danger for you here, as you surely know."
"You may give him a message in return for me. He is not my husband. He has no authority over me. I shall do what I please."
"She's got some fight in her yet!" O'Shea said with a grin.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He just stared at her, feeling his very soul swell with love as she padded toward him, barefooted. He loved her eyes; he loved her smile; he loved her pale, slender arms. He loved her dainty ankles, skimmed by the hem of her chemise. He loved her gliding walk and the way her long, thick hair swung around her waist as she hurried toward him. God help him, he was her slave.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“I have told her a hundred times that long, cascading Rapunzel hair is entirely out of fashion, but Alice ignores me. She likes it. Now are you satisfied?"
"She sounds delicious," Lucien whispered in her ear. "Might I bring her to Revell Court instead of you?”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“She slipped her hands into her apron pockets and stood very still, the sunlight warming her skin, glistening upon her bright, reddish-gold hair. She tensed her body tightly, trying to get rid of the well-hidden tension that plagued her, then forced her shoulders to relax and took deliberate pleasure in gazing upon the vase of dried hydrangeas that she had arranged just yesterday. The flowers graced the center of the table. Beside them lay the elegant silk purses she was sewing as Christmas gifts for a few of her London friends, and her delicate japanning tools, perched well out of Harry's reach. Her latest piece, an intricate jewel box, sat in a middle stage of completion. All of her hobbies ran in an artistic vein, but in her heart, she knew in a sense they were merely distractions, her way of trying to burn off her restlessness.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He drove both torturous images away by losing himself in thoughts of young, delicious Alice Montague. Her shy, skeptical smile, so reluctantly given and therefore so much more precious, charmed him even now. There was a wholeness, a simplicity in her that eased him. He began to relax at last as he savored the memory of touching her, the silken tenderness of her thighs under his hands, the delectable softness of her breasts. The wonder in her response as he had tasted her warm, virginal mouth. 'So innocent,' he thought. It pleased him deeply to know that he had touched her where no one ever had, that he had been the first to kiss her.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“As she sat down, Caro sent Alice a haughty warning glance. She rested her elbow on the chair arm and braced her forehead with her fingertips, the very sketch of a person suffering the aftereffects of intemperance. 'Serves you right,' Alice thought, sending her an answering look that flashed with rebellion.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Very well, then," Alice said barely audibly. "I will be the one to stay." With a tempestuous stare, she turned to him so suddenly that he hardly managed to hide his incredulity. "But if you lay a hand on me against my will, I will not hesitate to have you arrested and I 'shall' press charges against you. If it is scandal that you crave, my lord, you shall have it.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Alice Montague was that rarest of flowers, a beautiful woman of integrity. Someone he might even be able to trust, in time. He had searched the world for such a creature. He had her in his grasp. How could he possibly let her slip through his fingers?
He could not. He could not help himself.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“She turned absently from her contemplative study of the lily pads. "Your garden is beautiful."
He shrugged and glanced around at it. "It is overgrown."
"Yes, but it has a lost, eerie beauty that quite pleases me. I wish I had my watercolor set."
Lucien lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, are you an artistic young lady, Miss Montague?"
She smiled reluctantly. "I have been known to dabble."
He laughed softly, tickled by the revelation. 'An artist. Of course.' Those beautiful hands. That penetrating gaze. The seething passion under her cool, demure surface. "What sort of work do you most enjoy?" he asked as they sauntered past rows of one-conical yews that had grown into huge, dark green lumps.
"Sketching faces."
"Really?"
"Portraits in charcoal are my forte, but I love watercolors and all sorts of crafts. Japanning, fancy embroidery.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“She smiled at him more frequently as they chatted about nothing in particular, pointing out various flowers and the occasional woodland animal to each other. They saw plump squirrels in the trees, pheasants in the brush, and a horned stag and his shy, delicate does gliding soundlessly through the shadows.
On three separate occasions, he caught her gazing at him longer than she should. He felt distracted, entranced, and painfully alive as he watched her in the mellow autumn afternoon, dazzled by the coppery richness of her golden hair. Her innocence captivated him, and her guileless simplicity healed him somehow. He felt like a man whose fever had broken, flush with the euphoria of the first, tenuous return of strength- still weak, but buoyant with the hope of an eventual return to wholeness.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“What rank did you attain?"
"Captain."
"Captain Lord Lucien!" she echoed, laughing harder. "Did you buy it or earn it?”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Were you close?"
She nodded. "Losing our parents at a young age drew us together."
Lucien tensed, scanning her face.
She looked away. "He lingered for three weeks before he died. He was twenty-nine."
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
She gazed at him for a long moment as though sizing him up while the wind riffled through their hair and clothes. Then she smiled wryly. "Don't be. If Phillip were alive, he would have challenged you to a duel and shot you dead for all of this."
"Ah," he said in chagrin as she turned away with a chiding smile and walked on.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“His muscled thighs and lean hips felt like warm steel under her hands as she caressed him on her knees, kissing his chiseled belly, while his large, gentle hands stroked her shoulders and her hair. She felt the mystery of his rock-hard manhood brush her throat. He was swollen solid behind the barrier of his tight black breeches. He needed her, she knew, and it pleased her.' There was no sound in her dream but his urgent whisper, 'Give it to me. Give it all to me.'
'Yes,' she thought, her body arching, 'yes.'
She was naked beneath the brown robe and painfully aroused, acutely aware of the feel of coarse wool against her tender flesh. She wanted to be rid of it, but she waited patiently, weaving a wreath of careful, rosy kisses around his navel, for she knew he would sate her.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“I heard that you struck Harry," she said through gritted teeth.
"Oh? That bulldog-faced, old woman has been talking to you, I see. Well, do not concern yourself with my son- he is 'my' son, Alice. It is time he learned discipline."
"And you who have never learned it yourself are the one to teach him?" she asked bitterly.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Lucien saw all heads turn curiously toward the entrance; then his jaw dropped as a graceful beauty in white walked in, her chin high, a strand of pearls draped artfully over her strawberry-blond hair.
'Alice!'
He stared, flabbergasted, transfixed.
'What the hell is she doing here?' He couldn't believe his eyes. Joy and panic crashed in on him from opposite directions. Oh, God, how he had missed her. 'What the hell is she doing in London?'
Caro sidled into the ballroom beside her. The baroness was dressed in a tight black velvet dress, but Alice commanded the room, poised, slender, and cool. With her airy evening gown of white silk wafting sensually against her skin, she was an aloof marble goddess who had just stepped down to life from atop her pedestal. She seemed an entirely different creature than the serious, shy young thing who had ventured into his library last week and had been so easily charmed by a bit of Donne poetry. Now she was a force to be reckoned with.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“Hate me if you wish, but don't be a fool. It is too dangerous for you to be here."
"Why should I believe you? You're an expert at lies. Maybe you just don't want me getting in the way when you choose your next victim to seduce and abandon.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“God, she looked adorable. She was clad in a loose-fitting morning gown covered by a pretty, frilled house apron, her luxurious hair flowing long and unbound over her shoulders in a most fetching state of dishabille. This was his beloved as he remembered her best, not the terrifyingly beautiful goddess in white from the ballroom the night before.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire

“He just stared at her, feeling his very soul swell with love as she padded toward him, barefooted. He loved her eyes; he loved her smile; he loved her pale, slender arms. He loved her dainty ankles, skimmed by the hem of her chemise. He loved her gliding walk and the way her long, thick hair swung around her waist as she hurried toward him. God, help him, he was her slave.”
― Gaelen Foley, Lord of Fire