The Secret Service of Tea and Treason (Dangerous Damsels #3)

by India Holton

He disliked Cornelius Snodgrass for no better reason than instinct, which was not a good reason at all, but he could not seem to argue himself out of it.

“I say, Mrs. Kew told me all about your assignment. Terrifying business, what?” “I would call marriage more aggravating than terrifying,” Alice replied coolly. The man’s mouth wavered. “Er, I meant about the house filled with pirates.”

“Forgive me, sir,” she said, glancing at him. “But you do understand we are not in fact married?” “I do,” he said, ironically enough.

A.U.N.T. never promoted anyone with family to their elite force. The risk of emotional conflict, blackmail threats, or people wanting to take Christmas holidays was simply too great.

“Reading is not a hobby,” she said. “It is a way of life.”

“No, because you are dressed inconveniently for self-defense. Your bustle is too small to suffocate a man, your dress lacks enough layers to tangle someone up, and you do not have even one ribbon to employ as a garrote.”

“It was a joke, Miss Dearlove. A tactic to ease your nerves.” “I don’t have nerves.” “That’s all right, I don’t have a sense of humor. Well, I’d better get us up.”

“How long have you been married?” Mrs. Rotunder asked. “Three years,” Alice replied. “Three months,” Daniel said at the same time. They frowned with bemusement at each other. “Are you sure?” Daniel said. “Of course I’m sure,” Alice told him, affronted. “It is written clearly in the—” She stopped, recollecting their audience, who were watching with fascination. “Er, in the wedding album. Three years this coming January.” “Oh yes. It only feels like three months due to the profusion of romance.” “A veritable excess of romance,” Alice agreed. Daniel reached out to pat her arm again and she sidestepped before he could do so.

“Quick,” Daniel whispered, turning to Alice and angling himself so the door’s lock was hidden. “Act married!” Someone appeared around the nearby corridor . . . Daniel reached for her . . . “And furthermore,” Alice said in a strident voice, slapping his hand away and shoving her fists against her hips. “When you take off your shirt at the end of the day, you should leave it in the hamper, not on the floor!”

Daniel had spent his entire life devoted to duty. Literally. Raised in one of A.U.N.T.’s feeder orphanages, he had been selected for Elite Force training after he corrected the headmistress’s caning technique in the middle of her punishing him.

“Blood!” Cranshaw said with dismay. “Blood!” Veronica said with delight. “Or perhaps only cherry juice,” Alice countered. “A good agent does not jump to conclusions.” Touching a fingertip to the knife, then to her tongue, she grimaced. “Blood. Ugh. Ugh.” She rubbed the heel of her hand against her tongue. “Can someone get me a glass of water? Ugh!”

“How rude! Edwina Ogden, I demand you apologize!” There followed the sharp sound of a sword being drawn. “I’m a widow,” Mrs. Ogden replied. “That means I never need to apologize again!”

“Ridiculous name, though,” opined Millie (short for Verisimilitude).

“You know when you open a new book and realize it’s going to be perfect?” he whispered. “Yes,” Alice said. “That’s how I feel when I look at you.”

Ned did not smirk, but his whole demeanor exuded such a smirkful attitude,

Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Now Ned was the one to jolt as the handkerchief began screeching. But Evangeline giggled and flapped the cloth. Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Beeeeep! Ned whipped a deadly look at Alice, who gazed back with the placid ignorance of everyone who gives a noisy present to a small child.

“After I talked,” Daniel was saying, “they kindly let me scrub their floors and wash their dishes, which helped most of all.