Historical Romance Quotes

If queens did not exist, the poets would have had to invent them, so necessary as they are to a nation's glory.

~ Lise Arin

The lass was no damsel. He’d prepared himself for a hard sell, one that might require a few extra knee-weakening smiles, perhaps so much as a seduction, but he’d never in a million years expected the disaster that landed his arms. The disaster named Alison Ross.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

Doona fash, Sam.” Calybrid, spying her scowl, hurried to balm the wound. “Ye’re plenty fair.” “Aye,” Locryn agreed. “With eyes the color of the Alt Dubh Gorm.” “Sure, that too.” “Just… no one will write odes to yer breasts is all.” “On account of ye not having any,” Locryn supplied, rather unnecessarily, in Samantha’s opinion.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

Though her muscles went rigid, her tongue sparred with his, as he might have guessed it would. Each lick and swirl, each plunge and retreat became a point counted for or against. Gavin had never enjoyed a woman’s mouth so much in his entire life.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

This blood feud is a bit too Shakespearean, if ye want the truth. I’m no Montague, and ye’re no Capulet.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

It occurred to Gavin that the first thought a groom had upon spying his bride shouldn’t be to wonder whether or not she wore knickers.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

So does it still count if he doesna kiss the bride?

~ Kerrigan Byrne

If you love no one, no one can hurt you,” she whispered.

~ Kerrigan Byrne

She straightened and crossed her arms. “I can’t sleep with you,” she blurted.… “As you please.”“As you please?” She stepped back, the rough wood of the bench bumping her upper calf. She’d braced herself for a battle and now felt oddly deflated. “You aren’t going to try to talk me into it?”“I need not talk women into lying with me.

~ Angela Quarles

Ah, cariad, finally I have you to myself, with a bed behind me, and what do I do?

~ Angela Quarles

Knowing this was the same man from last night now clad again in his hunky knightly armor was a strange aphrodisiac. Yeah, a hot look, no denying.

~ Angela Quarles

A love so true, so consuming, so good.

~ Melissa Jagears

No man returns from Satan’s fire read to dance a reel.

~ Amy Jarecki

The ruddy chieftain snorted. “You’ve not noticed? I reckon he’s as smitten as a bull in a paddock of heifers in spring.

~ Amy Jarecki

The fairies will work their magic. They always do.

~ Amy Jarecki

She moved her hips, his manhood sliding between her wet thighs, rekindling the hot craving at her very core. “How can I bring you pleasure?

~ Amy Jarecki

I will always find you. You are in my soul.

~ Amy Jarecki

Geordie stepped forward and took her hand. “I hope you’re not tired, because I intend to keep you on my arm until the music stops.

~ Amy Jarecki

I would take the solace of a forest over the hustle of London’s streets any day. Just listen to the silence. My father always said that if the mind is too cluttered, you will never hear your soul’s whispers. –Owen Locke, A Stranger at Fellsworth

~ Sarah E. Ladd

She wished him at her side this very moment. If only to turn it all to rights by doing his very best to turn it all to ruin.

~ Elizabeth Boyle

Let every lady in Camlochlin swoon over a charming smile. She had won the love of a man who shared his most intimate smiles for her alone

~ Paula Quinn

She didn't know how she would survive when every breath stung, every tear burned, and every step took her further from the only man she'd ever loved.

~ Janell Rhiannon

Love is a poison,' her father responded. 'One you grow accustomed to, but does not kill you.

~ Janell Rhiannon

She needed a distraction. “Was that your mother?” The splashing stopped. “Are you going to converse while I bathe?” “Why not?” “Feels rather unseemly.” She laughed, picturing him sitting there, shocked and indignant. “We’re supposed to be married, right?” “You have a point, however I would rather not discuss her right now.” “I think you’re evading me.”“Mayhap. Is it working?

~ Angela Quarles

The scene unfolded before him as though he were a ghost. His mother stood on the raised stump, her body tied to the tall stake behind her. A pile of wood encircled her feet. Only a small crowd had gathered in the courtyard, despite his father’s commands that all should attend. Alasdair sobbed at her feet, calling out to her. The young Alasdair climbed on the pile and clutched her flowing gown. She had been dressed in her finest, not stripped down to her chemise like the handmaid who stood tied to a post beside her. His father had always liked a display. Alasdair’s hands reached and passed over his mother’s large pregnant belly. With that, she sobbed, too. “Oh, Ali, be good for Momma. I’ll see you in the pearly white heaven that God has promised us. Be steadfast, son. Trust your heart.” “Light it,” his father ordered.

~ Jean M. Grant

Did he actually believe in this curse? A curse! He snorted. Deirdre stirred. Impossible. Curses were for witches, spell casters and the weak-minded.

~ Jean M. Grant

A cloud of white death veiled in black…

~ Jean M. Grant

Except I was hoping someday to see you standing on a ship's deck in your shirtsleeves with a cutlass between your teeth.Maybe it can be arranged

~ Melanie Dickerson

He grinned: he’d turned in time to witness her delicate white shoulders dip below the water’s surface. Thankfully, she quickly completed her morning’s ablutions and made a shooing motion with her hands. Back turned again, he waited for her to dress, all the while telling his privy counselor to cease its repeated suggestions.

~ Angela Quarles

You will be the death of me, woman.

~ Angela Quarles

Here, sleep with your back against me. I shall protect you better this way.” She nodded, shuffled closer, and leaned back against him. Her unique womanly scent washed over him, and he fortified his resolve, though having her so close on a bed of furs fired his blood. She dragged her fur up, and he draped his extra across, tucking it in around her shoulders and arms. “I do not fancy having one of them lying next to you. Besides, I wish not for your pinkie to wander.

~ Angela Quarles

Alexandra took the rose and lifted it to her face. The fragrance was intoxicating and the soft petals tickled her lips, as they must have done Benedict’s. It was as if he had kissed her. A shiver of delight caressed her body and she felt the warmth of a blush on her throat and cheeks.

~ Ellen Read

Together they looked skyward. The moonbow was shattering--mere bits of color in the blackness, a sort of bridge between heaven and earth--reminding her that even on the darkest nights there was a glimmer of home, of promise, however hazy.

~ Laura Frantz

In another minute or two, those men would have tossed your skirts in that alley right there... if you were wearing skirts!” You should be thanking me for saving your sorry hide! By my calculations, that’s twice in one day.

~ Melissa Lurquette

A hot romp is timeless ...

~ Sofie Darling

His brothers accepted his fluid nature as something Darian simply was. He had been so all his life; suspended between male and female, one rising, the other ebbing without pattern or reason. The Queen, daughterless and doting, had gladly let her youngest sonwear gowns, bows, and curls far longer than appropriate, until his father had intervened with violent persuasion. At court, he now moved as a man. In private, he never stopped wearing gowns or ribbons when the softer she inside him waxed like the full moon. He allowed her complete rein. In truth, he no longer knew where he ended and she began. They were the same.

~ E.m. Hamill

The pulse visible in the pale column of her neck vibrated faster, her intoxicating scent washed over him, and he was dizzy with lust. Even through his mail and gambeson, he could feel her womanly curves crushed against his hard chest. He uncurled his fingers from her throat and ran the tough leather of his palm’s mitten along her neck and to the enticing curve of her shoulder. He nudged her mantle an inch, exposing skin. He cursed that his hand was covered in mail. How long had he wanted to taste, to touch her precious skin? Unable to resist, he bent and, with his tongue, touched, tasted the heat of the skin on her collarbone. Oh, Christ, she was lovely. She shivered, and satisfaction roared through him.

~ Angela Quarles

His heat, his erotic pull—she could feel it. A weird, pulsing, virtual pull tugging at her skin, her nerve endings. Made her want to…touch. Made her want. The more she resisted the urge, the stronger it became. It would be a relief, really. To just…touch. One little touch. Just one.

~ Angela Quarles

Her pinkie took matters into its own, er, pinkie, and moved oh-so-slightly, grazing his skin. His pinkie, judging by the shape and texture. Blood rushed and pounded through her veins, flushing her skin. This could not, in any way, be explained as an accidental touch. But he could feign sleep if he wasn’t interested. Did she want him to do that? What was she doing? She commanded her pinkie to drop, and thankfully, it obeyed. A jolt shot through her as his finger made a query, and the need clarified. The need represented her desire for some measure of control. Control over her general situation. Control over her attraction. She answered with a gentle finger stroke along his calloused, warm skin. A sharp breath pierced the dark air.

~ Angela Quarles

He leaned his head against the rock. Christ, when was the last time he’d seen the humor in life? And now, of all places, in an enemy camp, with a strange woman who made him burn. Burn with desire. Burn with need. A desire and need not only for her and her body, but for something he couldn’t quite name.

~ Angela Quarles