Bridget Crumb Quotes

“Séraphine."
The whisper in her dreams and Bridget whimpered and tried to bat it away. She needn't wake yet. It wasn't time to rise. She had hours still.
A soft chuckle and the brush of something soft on her cheek. "I would never have guessed you were such a deep sleeper, my practical housekeeper."
She had a terrible foreboding, an awful suspicion, even in her dreams, and she fought valiantly through the sluggish waves.
Bridget opened her eyes, blinking, in the candlelight, to find azure eyes only inches from her own.
They crinkled at the corners. "There you are.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Val turned, still naked, still impossibly beautiful. Only the gore spattered on his belly, chest, and arm, marred his perfection.
He walked toward her and she couldn't help it. She backed away from him.
He smiled.
Sweetly. Like a boy. The dagger still in his left hand. And caught her arm with his right hand.
"This is who I am, Séraphine. Naked, with blade and blood. I am vengeance. I am hate. I am sin personified. Never mistake me for the hero of this tale, for I am not and shall never be. I am the villain."
And he laid his lips over hers and pushed his hot tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she couldn't breathe and it was only later that she found the bloodstains on her dress.

Her lips had been sweet, like ripe figs, her mouth a cavern of delight. But her eyes- those dark inquisitor's eyes- had held only horror and disgust.
Val sipped his China tea the next morning and gazed out the window. The sun shone on his garden, giving the illusion of warmth, though his empty chest was ice-cold.
He could have explained to her that a razor-sharp blade was kinder than a hangman's noose. That death delivered in seconds with a few thrusts was preferable to a laughing, jabbering mob, gleeful at the jerking, agonizing execution.
But those saint's eyes would've seen the hypocrisy.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Oh," said her husband, sounding deeply pleased at something he'd read in his letter.
"What?" Bridget sat up, inadvertently spilling several drops of honey on her breast.
Sadly, she succumbed to her husband's fondness for nudity soon after their marriage.
Valentine glanced up, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the honey slowly dripping down her breast.
"Val..." Bridget moved to scoop the honey up with her finger.
His hand darted out, catching hers.
"Oh, don't," he breathed, leaning over her, forcing her flat on her back.
He bent, closing his azure eyes, and licked her breast almost reverently.
She shuddered.
"It's the middle of the day," she whispered.
His eyes opened, wicked and amused. "I know. Your favorite."
She smiled up at him, threading her fingers through his golden hair. "I love you."
"And I love you," he murmured against her lips, before taking her mouth hard and possessively.
Their letters fell to the floor, abandoned, but Bridget didn't care at all.
She was with her true love and the world outside could wait.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Had she not nursed him with her own hands? Had she not suckled his tongue so ardently? He'd give her time- a day or so only- and then he would invite her again to wait upon him. He'd slide close behind her, whisper scandalous words into her mobcap-sheltered ear, and remind her of all the things she tried so hard to hide beneath black wool and starched linen. And then... oh, and then, he'd see if his little housekeeper truly burned at her core.
Patience.
He could be patient when the occasion called for it, and this one certainly did.
She'd come back to him, even with his true face revealed.
She only needed time.
So.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She flew in, all fiery flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, her bosom heaving beneath black wool.
She was magnificent.
"Tell them to let her go!" Séraphine ordered him imperiously. "Tell them to let her go right now."
She stood over him, her lips wet, her body shaking with her rage, and he wanted to take her and roll her beneath him and fuck her into the mattress.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“For a moment she stared at him, panting, breathless and wordless, it seemed, with rage.
He'd had no idea she would respond to his capture of her queen so violently.
It was rather arousing.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He paused and eyed her as if she were an agate discovered in gravel. "But what a very sharp tongue you have for a housekeeper."
Bridget's heart sank- she knew better than to speak so frankly. It was never good for a servant to be noticed by a master- particularly this master.
"Come." He beckoned her closer with his forefinger and she saw the flash of a jeweled gold ring on his left thumb.
She swallowed and opened her right hand, silently dropping the miniature to the lush carpet. As she walked toward him she nudged the little painting under the enormous bed with the side of her foot.
She stopped a pace away from him.
His lips curved, sly and sensual. "Closer."
She stepped nearer until her plain, practical black linsey-woolsey skirts were crushed against his purple velvet knees. Her heart beat hard and swift, but she was confident her expression didn't show her fear.
Still smiling, he held out his hands, palms upward. His hands were long-fingered and elegant. The hands of a musician- or a swordsman.
She stared down at them a moment, confused.
He quirked an eyebrow and nodded.
Bridget placed her hands on top of his. Palm to palm. She expected searing heat or deathly cold and was a little surprised to instead feel human warmth.
She'd been hired little more than a fortnight before the duke had supposedly been banished. In that time he had never struck her as human- or humane.
"Ah," His Grace murmured, cocking his head with interest. "What feminine hands you have, despite your station in life."
His blue eyes flashed at her from under dark eyelashes, a secretive smile playing about his mouth.
She met his gaze stonily.
His lips quirked and he looked down again. "Small, plump, with neat, round nails." He turned her hands over so that they now rested palms-up in his. "I once knew a Greek girl who swore she could read a man's life story from the lines on his hands." He dropped her left hand to trace the lines on her right palm with a forefinger.
His touch sent a frisson along her nerves and Bridget couldn't hold back a shudder.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She climbed into the carriage and sat down across from the other lady. Pip hopped inside.
Miss Royle smiled down at the terrier. "Oh, what a sweet little dog!"
Pip wagged his tail and placed his front paws on Miss Royle's skirts for a pat and Bridget began to suspect he was a flirt.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Why then was he taking her? Was it merely for his own amusement- or was it for some other, more sinister reason?
After all, only two days before she'd seen him kill a footman in cold blood. Of course Cal had tried to kill the duke in a particularly awful and vicious way. But then afterward the duke had kissed her as she'd never been kissed in all her life. His tongue had tasted of wine and sin and she'd wanted to moan and rub herself against him as he'd tilted her back over his arm.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He looked down at her sleeping form. Her hands lay like half-opened flowers on her lap, one cupped within the other. Such sturdy little hands, meant for practical work. Her fingers were rather plump. He smiled at the thought. He held his own hand over hers, comparing. His fingers, long and elegant, dwarfed hers, and yet he found he preferred hers.
He let his hand fall to his lap.
She wore that dreadful mobcap, hiding both her hair and her face from him, and he wanted to pluck it from her head.
But to do so would disturb her sleep.
He cocked his head, considering the conundrum. He found, on the whole, that he didn't wish to disturb his housekeeper's sleep. It felt... nice to have her lying so trustingly against him.
If he listened very intently he could hear her breaths.
After a bit he breathed with her.
In and out.
In... and then out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He began on the hidden hooks to her bodice as she stood still, her breasts rising and falling tremblingly beneath his fingers. It was like undressing a wild animal. Or an angel who had consented to stand still for a moment. Any false move on his part might startle her into flight.
He smiled into her eyes, aware that his cock pressed hard and hot against the placket of his breeches. Her hair had smelled of earth and her. He was almost loath to replace her essential scent with perfumes.
But she was freezing. He'd felt it in the ice of her fingers, in the chill of her cheeks. He wanted her warm.
He couldn't let his burning angel's fire go out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He attacked her throat and she was so startled by the sudden move that she squeaked. He was laving her with his tongue, openmouthed, and she moaned, arching, wondering wildly if this was the same man who wore pink silk coats and black velvet bows. This seemed so base, so animal. Not at all like the effete aristocrat she thought she knew.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Then she heard a masculine chuckle behind her.
Bridget froze, ice sliding down her spine. The sound could be nothing else, not the wind or a creaky house or even a mouse in the walls.
She turned, pushing the panel shut with her shoulder, and palming the portrait as she did so.
The Duke of Montgomery, all golden hair and sharp blue eyes, and wearing a purple velvet suit, smiled at her from the armchair in the far corner of the room.
"A lovely woman in my bed, what a fetching surprise." He cocked his head, a corner of his beautiful mouth curving cruelly. "Tell me, Mrs. Crumb, what are you looking for?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“For a moment all was silence, save for her breathing. Triumph raced through Bridget's chest. At last!
Then she heard a masculine chuckle behind her.
Bridget froze, ice sliding down her spine. The sound could be nothing else, not the wind or a creaky house or even a mouse in the walls.
She turned, pushing the panel shut with her shoulder, and palming the portrait as she did so.
The Duke of Montgomery, all golden hair and sharp blue eyes, and wearing a purple velvet suit, smiled at her from the armchair in the far corner of the room.
"A lovely woman in my bed, what a fetching surprise." He cocked his head, a corner of his beautiful mouth curving cruelly. "Tell me, Mrs. Crumb, what are you looking for?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Sweetest Scoundrel

“Not only had his housekeeper attempted to steal from him, but she'd refused to answer his questions, and- he surveyed the servants sent to wait upon him- if he wasn't mistaken she'd made sure to hide away the comeliest of his maids and footmen. Did she think him a satyr?
Well, perhaps she wasn't entirely mistaken in her judgement...
Val smirked as he shed his banyan- the only article of clothing he wore- and sauntered nude to the bath. He crooked a finger at the eldest and most worldly-looking of the footmen. If Mrs. Crumb thought to curtail his bedsport, she was going to be sadly disappointed.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“A small brownish-gray terrier had been sitting on the brick, but he hopped to his feet as soon as he saw Bridget and gave one sharp emphatic bark.
"Now hush," she said to him- not that he seemed to care. She set the tin plate down and uncovered it, revealing the scraps that Mrs. Bram had saved for her.
The terrier immediately began gobbling the food as if he was starving which, sadly, he might be.
"You'll choke," Bridget said sternly. The terrier didn't listen. He never did, no matter how businesslike she made her voice. Grown men- footmen- might jump to obey her, but this scrawny waif defied her.
Bridget bit her lip. If she was forced to leave Hermes House, who would feed the terrier? Mrs. Bram might- if she remembered to do so- but the cook was a busy woman with other matters on her mind.
The dog finished his meal and licked the plate so enthusiastically that he overturned it with a clatter.
Bridget tutted and bent to pick it up.
The dog thrust his short snout under her hand as she did so and she found herself stroking his head. His fur was wiry rather than silky, almost greasy, but the dog had liquid brown eyes and seemed to smile as his mouth hung open, tongue lolling out. He was very, very sweet. She'd never been allowed a pet dog as a child. Her foster father was a shepherd and had considered dogs farm animals. A pet dog wasn't even to be thought of, especially for her, the cuckoo.
Housekeepers, and indeed servants of any kind, weren't allowed pets. Sometimes a cat might be kept to catch mice in the kitchens, but it was a working animal. Dogs were dirty things and required food and space that, technically, she didn't own.
Bridget stood and frowned down at the dog. "Shoo now."
The dog sat and slowly wagged his tail, sweeping the bricks. One of his triangular ears stood up while the other lay down.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“His azure eyes suddenly dropped to pin her, hard and merciless, and she lost her breath as she fell into his predator's stare. It was like looking into the eyes of something inhuman, almost otherworldly. Her chest ached as she stared at him, the air still locked within her, but at the same time the place between her legs ached as well. She was suddenly made very aware that beneath the starch of her apron, the wool of her dress, and the bone of her stays, she had soft nipples that had tightened into points.
Then she inhaled, filling her lungs with sweet air, as he watched her still, his eyes half-lidded, and she felt an odd exhilaration, as if a gauntlet had been thrown down. As if they were adversaries, equal on the field.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“As she pulled the covers over her cold nose, Bridget wondered sleepily why she hadn't simply agreed to help the Duke of Kyle in whatever way she could. He was obviously working for good and Montgomery... well, he worked only for himself, didn't he? He was on the side of evil. Why hadn't she betrayed him when she was given the opportunity? She thought about the way he'd touched her- the way it had made her feel like a woman. Had she sold her own honor for a handful of kisses, a bite, and a lick?
Or was it because of his gaze when he'd told her to fuck the rules, when he'd turned aside from threatening Kyle at her touch, when he'd called her a ridiculous, exotic name?
When he'd looked at her and seen her as a person, not just a servant?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Now, had he the dressing of her- and why should he not?- he would put her in reds- rose and scarlet and deep, sensual crimson. Those dark inquisitor's eyes would burn from a foil of crimson cloth, mysterious, feminine. Beautiful.
He was startled at the thought. Plain Mrs. Crumb beautiful? Well, most might not think her so, but oh, if she burned-”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“You are a brave woman." Miss Royle shook her head. "And he is truly a wicked man."
"Yes, he is," Bridget replied. Unfortunately, Val's wickedness no longer seemed to be a deterrent to her.
Probably that should concern her.
She made her farewells and departed the carriage as circumspectly as she'd entered it, but as she made her way back to Hermes House, Pip by her side, she finally acknowledged it to herself.
Wicked or not, vain or not, outrageous or not, she was falling in love with the Duke of Montgomery.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“When I was a little older, about twelve, I went to work at a nearby house. It was owned by old Mrs. Cromby and oh, I was so homesick! I cried myself to sleep for a fortnight it seemed, until it was my day off and I could go home to see Mam."
He frowned at this, not liking to think of his infant housekeeper in tears. "Why did they send you then if you were so upset?"
She gave him a look. "Because I needed to learn a trade, naturally. And it was a good position. Mrs. Cromby was very strict but I learned so much from her and her housekeeper, Mrs. Little. How to keep records and how to make wood polish and brass polish and silver polish. When to turn linen and how to store cheese. What cuts of beef are the cheapest and how to bargain down the butcher. How to judge when a fish is fresh and when to buy shellfish and when not to. How to keep moths from woolen and mice from the pantry. How to get wine stains out of white linen and how to dye faded cloth black again. All that and so much more."
She drew breath and he looked at her, deeply appalled. "That all sounds frightfully boring."
"And yet without that knowledge you'd live in dirty, messy, vermin-infested chaos," she said sweetly.
"Mm.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“That story I told you as we arrived? About the man who killed the former master of this castle and raped his wife? Did you think it a fairy tale? No, his blood runs in my veins. I was bred to do what I am doing now. Don't fault the viper for striking. It's what snakes do."
Her lips trembled, but her eyes were dry, as if she'd already given up hope of persuading him and he did not mourn at all. Not at all. "The blood of that woman who was raped is in your veins, too, isn't it?"
Oh, she knew where to hit. "Naturally. But I think it's less apparent, don't you? The story says she was dark and small."
She shook her head. "So all that talk of right and wrong- that doesn't matter in the end to you at all?"
He hesitated- just for the smallest fraction of a second- because he had always found the question of right and wrong rather fascinating.
But then he smiled at her. "Only in the abstract.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“But worse- much, much worse- she'd run away herself.
That was unpardonable, unforgivable, unjustifiable.
Hit him, shame him, spit at him- anything but turn her back on him. She couldn't simply quit their game. That, that was not allowed.
And when he'd realized that she was out there on the stormy night moor, alone save an aristocratic lady and a goddamned bloody pony...
He growled beneath his breath.
She stilled against him, like a rabbit under a hound's jaws, her heart beating rapidly, and he was glad. She ought to be afraid of him. He was a very bad man and she was completely under his power. He could do anything to her.
Anything at all, really.
Time she learned that.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She was just ordinary. From her horse's-mane hair to her sturdy, practical feet, she'd never turned men's heads. Oh, she wasn't ill-favored- her features were regular enough- but she knew, too, that she wasn't the sort of woman whom men flirted with. Whom men stared at. She'd had a few admirers in the past, but they hadn't been a multitude.
She was unremarkable.
The Duke of Montgomery was anything but.
Perhaps, then, that was what drew him to her- her very normality. Val was just quixotic enough to become fascinated- for a short time- by the prosaic.
That was quite a depressing thought, but Bridget faced it practically. She knew that whatever else happened they were not meant to be together for any length of time.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin