There Were Rules Among Friends, Commandments, Really,

Stirlings Of Old Had Been So Damned Besotted With Their Newfound Earldom That They Couldn't Think To Put Any Other Name On Anything...it Was A Wonder He Didn't Drink Kilmartin Tea And Sit On A Kilmartin-style Chair. In Fact, He Probably Would Be Doing Just That If His Grandmother Had Found A Way To Manage It Without Actually Taking The Family Into Trade.

It Was Heaven. Forget Angels, Forget St. Peter And Glittering Harpsichords. Heaven Was A Dance In The Arms Of One's True Love.

This Thing Between Them, This Bond—it Wasn’t Just Passion, And It Wasn’t Wicked. It Was Love, And It Was Divine.

Blake Took A Small Roll From The Tray On The Table, Then Put It Back In Favor Of A Larger One. And Maybe A Little Butter. It Certainly Couldn't Hurt. And Jam...no, He Drew The Line At Jam. She Was A Spy, After All.

This Has To Be The Most Self-centered Thing I've Ever Said, But No, I Think You Just Wanted To Vex Me.