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385 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published June 28, 2011
He smiled at her: he simply couldn't help himself. He was so glad she'd wandered into his house to kill him. (p108)
"You interest me," he said, and his tone suggested this fact itself surprised him, meant something more to him than perhaps it should: a man surprised by being interested was living a piss-poor facsimile of life, in her view. (p137)
Etiquette teacher: "'When in doubt, whenever possible, one uses a fork. The spoon is somewhat vulgar, the knife definitely so."
Nell: Then what in bloody hell was it doing on the table? (p197)
His smile faded a little, growing softer, more intimate, like the look he'd showed her in bed this morning. "You haven't learned yet when to lie." Slowly, as if the words were being dragged from him, he added: "I confess, Nell, I hope you never learn." She found herself staring at him. Unsteadying thought: there was something hot in his eyes that wasn't purely want. It was too tender, too ... affectionate. (p271)
Until coming here, until learning what it meant to be privileged, she’d not understood how far down St. Maur’s kind had to look in order to see hers. But here, in his own words, was the philosophy that made his lot comfortable with never bothering to look down at all.
“Money’s no virtue. It shouldn’t be an end in itself.” She gave a dry little laugh. “And neither should pleasure. If you knew any gin addicts, you’d realise that.”
Loving him would not be easy. It would mean never again completely belonging anywhere – save with him. But she would belong with him. He would be her home, she thought.