Do you have nicknames for any of your other brothers?"The youngster squinted his dark gray eyes in concentration. "Well, Tristan is Dare, and sometimes he's Tris; and Bradshaw is Shaw; and sometimes we call Andrew, Drew, but he doesn't like that very much.""Why not?""He says it's a girls' name, and then Shaw calls him Drusilla.

Do you have nicknames for any of your other brothers?"The youngster squinted his dark gray eyes in concentration. "Well, Tristan is Dare, and sometimes he's Tris; and Bradshaw is Shaw; and sometimes we call Andrew, Drew, but he doesn't like that very much.""Why not?""He says it's a girls' name, and then Shaw calls him Drusilla.

Suzanne Enoch
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Do you have nicknames for any of your other brothers?"The youngster squinted his dark gray eyes in concentration. "Well, Tristan is Dare, and sometimes he's Tris; and Bradshaw is Shaw; and sometimes we call Andrew, Drew, but he doesn't like that very much.""Why not?""He says it's a girls' name, and then Shaw calls him Drusilla.

Suzanne Enoch, The Rake
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Has anyone ever told you that you're unbearably rude?" she returned, facing him again."Why, yes. You have on several occasions, as I recall. If you care to apologize for that, however, I'll be happy to escort you wherever you wish to go."A flush crept up her cheeks, coloring her delicate, ivory skin. "I will never apologize to you," she snapped. "And you may go straight to Hades."He hadn't expected her to apologize, yet he couldn't help suggesting it every so often. "Very well. Upstairs, first door on the left. I'll be in Hades, if you should require my services.

Suzanne Enoch, The Rake
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He lowered his head toward her, so she could feel his breath warm againsther skin, their mouths only inches apart. “You’re panting for it, aren’t you,Princess?” he murmured.

Suzanne Enoch, Sins of a Duke
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Reg: Furth's in London. And yes, I know, it's my fault. But as long as I'ver roused the lion, I was going to ask you to speak to him on my behalf.Alex: You wish me to speak to Furth.Reg: Well, yes. He's always like you. Just tell him what a noble, upright fellow I am, and how I have always upheld my position with dignity and respect.Alex: Lie, you mean.REg: Whatever it takes.

Suzanne Enoch, Lady Rogue
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Everton" (Francis)Alex turned his head to view a rainbow peacock mask bobbing toward him. "Good Lord, Francis, you are replendent," he said admiringly.The peacock stopped beside him. "Dash it, Everton, how'd you know it was me?"You're still wearing your faux ruby ring.

Suzanne Enoch, Lady Rogue
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Reg: Speaking of blunt, dinner is on my bill tonight, mes amis.Alex: What's the occasion?Augustus: Lady Caroline's agreed to venture out on a picnic with out intrepid hero. Kit: I don't know why you keep insisting she's smitten with me. I've barely spoken five sentences to her.Augustus: It's very simple. Reg has thrown his entire being into pleasing Caroline. She knows every nuance of his thought and character. You, however, are a mystery to be explored, solved, and resolved.

Suzanne Enoch, Lady Rogue
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If he needed an answer about how much he'd changed, that provided it. He didn't want Fatima Hynes or any other nameless female with vacant eyes and an ample bosom. He didn't want anyone else, ever. He wanted Evelyn Marie Ruddick—and he'd be damned if he was going to let Neckcloth Alvington have her without a fight. And if there was one thing he knew how to do better than anyone else in London, it was how to fight dirty

Suzanne Enoch, London's Perfect Scoundrel
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For a long moment the butler sat in silence, his jaw hanging open. “I . . . my lord, I simply don't feel qualified to advise you about such matters.”“Don't tell me that,” Saint protested. “Tell me whether you can imagine me as a married man or not.”To his surprise, the butler set aside his brandy snifter and sat forward. “My lord, I do not wish to overstep my bounds, but I have noticed a change in your demeanor of late. The question of whether anyone can imagine you married or not, however, is one I believe must be answered by you. And the lady, of course.”Saint frowned. “Coward.”“There is that, as well.

Suzanne Enoch, London's Perfect Scoundrel
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