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March 13 - March 23, 2024
He went on. “That, and all of London is watching, and you are not the least emotive person I have ever met.” It wasn’t all of London, though. It was a tiny fraction of London, and one she was finding less and less tolerable.
Instead, she took a step back, putting distance between them, and the nearest couples slowed, craning their necks to see. They did not have to crane when she let her hand fly, nor did they have to strain to hear the wicked crack of her palm against his cheek. He took the blow without a word, and the entire room felt its ripple.
And his love, his beautiful, spinster, wallflower lockpick, she did not cry. Instead she lifted her chin and said, calm as a queen, “You deserve the darkness.” And she left him to it.
“And I agreed to obey! But I am rather through with doing that, I’ll tell you, Arthur.” Devil’s brows rose. The lady was not happy.
“We are either partners in life or we are not. I do not care if we are poor as church mice. I don’t care if all of London refuses us entry to their homes. I don’t care if we’re never invited to another ball as long as we live, so long as we are together in it.”
“I love you,” the countess said, quietly. “I’ve loved you since we were children. I’ve loved you rich. And now I love you poor. Do you love me?”
“I heard she clocked him.” Whit paused. “Felicity Faircloth, name like a storybook princess, right hook like a prizefighter.”
Devil looked to his brother, letting his fury into his gaze. “I’ve already saved the girl.” Whit’s brows rose in silent question. “You don’t see her anywhere near the Garden, do you? Now get the fuck out.”
“Of course not. Besides, once they hear she decked Marwick in front of the Duchess of Northumberland, they’ll love her even more.” “Even more?” Whit’s eyes darkened. “There are whispers that she makes you happy, bruv.”
The words enraged Devil. Felicity was more than convenient. She was more than a pawn. “How dare you manipulate her to get to me.” Ewan raised a blond brow in his direction. “Say that again. This time, more slowly.”
Unable to sleep, Felicity rose at the crack of dawn and went to her brother’s home, letting herself in through the kitchens and up into the family’s quarters, opening the door to his bedchamber to discover him still abed, kissing his wife. She immediately turned her back and raised a hand to her eyes, crying out, “Ahh! Why?”
“He seems quite important, if you ask me,” Pru interjected. No one asked you, Pru.
“He said a number of things, as a matter of fact.” Arthur looked to Pru. “Introduced himself all polite—despite the fact that he’d climbed a tree and broken in.” “He does that,” Felicity said. “Does he?” Pru asked, as though they were discussing Devil’s penchant for riding.
“I think he might feel guilty because of the other thing he said while he was here, Arthur.” Arthur sighed, and Felicity looked to Pru, who looked like the cat that got the cream. “What was it?” “How did he put it?” Pru asked with a smile that gave Felicity the keen sense that her sister-in-law had committed whatever Devil had said to memory. “Ah. Yes. He loves you.”
“I love you,” he whispered again. “I love you. You’re my future.”
“I need you, first,” he said. “What?” He was mad. “You came back for me.” “Of course I did. I love you, you imbecile.”
He stole her lips in a wicked kiss that left them both breathless, and Whit grumbled, “Find a bed, will you?”
Arthur had been there, of course, and Pru, along with a collection of tarnished aristocrats who had taken Felicity, Devil, and the whole of the Faircloth family under their collective wing—after all, the Duchess of Haven had pointed out at the wedding breakfast that morning—scandals must stick together.
