him in a beautiful palace Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
whose nursery would be filled with happy children. Sarah would also marry a prince, and live with her happy children in the castle next door.
In the real, grown-up world, unicorns were more plentiful than Prince Charmings.
In the real world, a duke—the next best thing to a prince—couldn't be bothered to take the wickedest of witches to the dungeon where she belonged.
In the real world, no kiss could turn a confirmed spinster back into a dreamy-eyed girl. Especially not that kiss, which was obviously a substitute for the punch in the mouth His Grace would have given her if she'd been a man.
In any case, Lydia told herself, she had far more important issues to consider, namely, Miss Prideaux. Who was probably weeping into her pillow at this very moment, poor dear. Her clothes could be replaced, along with the spectacles, if they couldn't be repaired. And she wasn't alone and friendless, because she'd stay with Lydia.
But the jewelry, the precious keepsakes… oh, that loss must pain the child deeply.
If only that dolt of a duke had taken the bawd to Bow Street, they would have had an excellent chance of retrieving the girl's things. Obviously the thieves had been working for Coralie, because she'd played this game before. Several of her girls were adept pickpockets, and the bawd's bully boys had no scruples about assaulting defenseless girls.
But Ainswood hadn't been interested in Miss Prideaux's problems because he wasn't a noble and chivalrous hero. He only looked like Prince Charming, and a dissolute wreck of one at that.
If there were any justice in the world, Lydia told herself, he would have turned into the toad he was the instant his wicked mouth touched hers.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
It would have soothed Miss Grenville's troubled spirit had she known that Lord Ainswood suffered worse indignities than turning into a toad.
He was used to causing talk. Being a born troublemaker, he was almost constantly at the center of one spectacle or scandal or another. Since he'd come into the title, the world—and especially the newspapers—followed his doings more avidly than before.
His contretemps with Dain on the latter's wedding night, an episode featuring Beelzebub's bastard son a week later, and a debacle of a carriage race in June had used up miles of paper and tons of ink. Vere's acquaintances had roasted him unmercifully as well.
The published satires and caricatures, along with the private jokes at his expense, had rolled off him as easily as he rolled off an endless series of harlots, and were as easily forgotten immediately afterward.
But on previous occasions, Vere's opponents had been men, and the affairs were conducted according to manly, sporting rules.
This time, his opponent had been a woman.
And now Vere didn't know which was worse: that he'd stooped to arguing with a female—when everyone knew they were the most irrational creatures on God's earth—or that he'd fallen, literally, for one of the oldest fighting tricks in history.
What Lady Grendel had done was the same as playing dead, and he—who'd been scrapping since he was a toddler—had dropped his guard.
He was soon wishing he'd dropped her , right on her obstinate little head. That might have made up in some small way for the chaffing he endured in the following days.
Everywhere he went, his fellows couldn't resist exercising their limited wit upon him.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
When he took Trent to the Fives Court in St. Martin's Street, for instance, someone had to ask why Vere hadn't brought Miss Grenville as sparring partner.
At which every would-be pugilist in the place fell down laughing.
Everywhere Vere went, some sapskull wanted to know when the next match would be, or if His Grace's jaw had healed enough to allow him to eat soft foods, or if he reckoned so-and-so's grandmother was up to his weight.
Meanwhile, all the illustrators in London
whose nursery would be filled with happy children. Sarah would also marry a prince, and live with her happy children in the castle next door.
In the real, grown-up world, unicorns were more plentiful than Prince Charmings.
In the real world, a duke—the next best thing to a prince—couldn't be bothered to take the wickedest of witches to the dungeon where she belonged.
In the real world, no kiss could turn a confirmed spinster back into a dreamy-eyed girl. Especially not that kiss, which was obviously a substitute for the punch in the mouth His Grace would have given her if she'd been a man.
In any case, Lydia told herself, she had far more important issues to consider, namely, Miss Prideaux. Who was probably weeping into her pillow at this very moment, poor dear. Her clothes could be replaced, along with the spectacles, if they couldn't be repaired. And she wasn't alone and friendless, because she'd stay with Lydia.
But the jewelry, the precious keepsakes… oh, that loss must pain the child deeply.
If only that dolt of a duke had taken the bawd to Bow Street, they would have had an excellent chance of retrieving the girl's things. Obviously the thieves had been working for Coralie, because she'd played this game before. Several of her girls were adept pickpockets, and the bawd's bully boys had no scruples about assaulting defenseless girls.
But Ainswood hadn't been interested in Miss Prideaux's problems because he wasn't a noble and chivalrous hero. He only looked like Prince Charming, and a dissolute wreck of one at that.
If there were any justice in the world, Lydia told herself, he would have turned into the toad he was the instant his wicked mouth touched hers.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
It would have soothed Miss Grenville's troubled spirit had she known that Lord Ainswood suffered worse indignities than turning into a toad.
He was used to causing talk. Being a born troublemaker, he was almost constantly at the center of one spectacle or scandal or another. Since he'd come into the title, the world—and especially the newspapers—followed his doings more avidly than before.
His contretemps with Dain on the latter's wedding night, an episode featuring Beelzebub's bastard son a week later, and a debacle of a carriage race in June had used up miles of paper and tons of ink. Vere's acquaintances had roasted him unmercifully as well.
The published satires and caricatures, along with the private jokes at his expense, had rolled off him as easily as he rolled off an endless series of harlots, and were as easily forgotten immediately afterward.
But on previous occasions, Vere's opponents had been men, and the affairs were conducted according to manly, sporting rules.
This time, his opponent had been a woman.
And now Vere didn't know which was worse: that he'd stooped to arguing with a female—when everyone knew they were the most irrational creatures on God's earth—or that he'd fallen, literally, for one of the oldest fighting tricks in history.
What Lady Grendel had done was the same as playing dead, and he—who'd been scrapping since he was a toddler—had dropped his guard.
He was soon wishing he'd dropped her , right on her obstinate little head. That might have made up in some small way for the chaffing he endured in the following days.
Everywhere he went, his fellows couldn't resist exercising their limited wit upon him.
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
When he took Trent to the Fives Court in St. Martin's Street, for instance, someone had to ask why Vere hadn't brought Miss Grenville as sparring partner.
At which every would-be pugilist in the place fell down laughing.
Everywhere Vere went, some sapskull wanted to know when the next match would be, or if His Grace's jaw had healed enough to allow him to eat soft foods, or if he reckoned so-and-so's grandmother was up to his weight.
Meanwhile, all the illustrators in London
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