A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel (The Doomsday Books, #2)

by K.J. Charles

It transformed his appearance from a surprised owl to a tall surprised owl.

No wonder the study looked like a library had rutted with a law office and littered, if they kept the last fourteen years’ worth of accounts to hand.

“I like order and organisation.” Odo’s eyes rounded as though he’d said I like sharp spikes and mantraps.

“Why bother? It would be like putting ear-bobs on a wild boar.

It took two days, at the end of which the study looked like it belonged to a rational person, and Odo was speaking in complete sentences.

(Rufus had asked how the devil he managed that. “I didn’t shout at him,” Doomsday said, “and I let him tell me all about the family history while we worked, in full detail. I think we reached the reign of Queen Anne.” Rufus had not pressed further: he could see when a man’s eyes held pain.)

“Madam, your eyes are as brown as, uh. I don’t know. Bread?” Doomsday’s downswept eyes swept right back up. “Bread?” “I couldn’t think of anything else brown. Hot chocolate? A good beef stew?” “Stop talking now,” Doomsday said, extracting his hand.

Factions had formed. Several of the upper servants weren’t speaking to one another. Luke lived for it.

Rufus didn’t lust where he didn’t like. But he liked Luke Doomsday so very much, and now lust was flooding him in a way he’d never experienced in his life.

“If I wanted accurate historical detail I’d fuck Mr. Odo, and don’t ever make me have that thought again.”

Mithras was a sun god, which makes very little sense to me given they worshipped him underground, but there we are.

You’ll never fall in love in your life, one of his partners had told him. That or you’ll do it once and once only, and God help you if it’s a mistake because you’ll be stuck with it.

Joss was normally a measured, even-tempered sort of man. But he loved Gareth deeply, he protected his family, and he always knew what was going on. Those were the three pillars of his life and Luke had struck at all of them at once.

“How much are we talking about, out of interest? I’d like to know what sum’s worth killing and lying for.” “Ten thousand guineas.” The shepherdess shattered on the hearth. “How much? Ten thousand?! Are you serious? Ten thousand guineas?” “Don’t shout,” Luke hissed. “Jesus Christ almighty! Why didn’t you tell me? Mother of God! You don’t do things by halves, do you? So where is it?”

Rufus dressed, aware of a desire to look his best, and accordingly making sure he took even less care than usual, and went downstairs.

Rufus met Fulk’s eyes. Fulk casually let his hand drift across his neck in a throat-cutting motion which economically conveyed that the evening was, once again, doomed.

“I want to get married.” That landed with the thud of a mortar. Rufus, Conrad, and Matilda all gaped, silenced by shock. Fulk said, “Does she know you?”

Of course Mr. and Mrs. Conrad weren’t suggesting three in a bed, though he was going to need a drink to deal with the idea they had been.

Luke nodded with his most sincere face on, and counted in his head until it was over. He got to eleven hundred and sixty-two.

If, on the other hand, he climbed into the altar… Luke took a moment to reflect on how little he wanted to do that. Then he reminded himself that this was not a real altar and Mithras not a real god, and also that being trapped in stone sarcophagi was a thing that happened in Melmoth the Wanderer rather than Romney Marsh in 1823.