Say Yes to the Marquess: Castles Ever After

“You should have the best. Always.”

“Wheeee!” The faint cry came from behind the closed door of Mr. Montague’s room. It was promptly followed by a springy sort of thud. The kind of sound that one might expect to result when a man leapt into the air and dropped his weight onto a mattress. Followed by more bouncy noises. And something that sounded like a chortle of glee. Clio tilted he

“This is magical.” Bruiser dabbed a tear from his eye. “I couldn’t have planned it any better.”

Rafe had always been such a source of fascination to her. In the middle of their polite, manicured garden square of a society, there had grown this wild, rebellious vine that refused to be tamed. She wanted to understand him. She wanted to know why he’d walked away from that world, and where he’d gone, and whether he was happy there.

She’s donned her share of pretty frocks.” “Not like these. I’m telling you, she won’t be able to resist. Cor, I’m tempted to wear them myself.”

“Item number eighteen on the list of wedding preparations. Education in your marital duties.” Clio exchanged a desperate glance with Daphne, who showed no indication of having known of this beforehand. “Don’t look at me,” she mouthed.

“I’m going to give him what he’s got coming.” The man’s face paled in a most satisfying fashion.

“Rafe, these rooms are unbelievable. You have to see this chamber pot. I’ve eaten from plates that weren’t this clean.” “Montague . . .” “I’m in earnest. I’d lick this.” He turned the glazed pot over in his hands. “Dare me to?” “No.” “Because I’ll do it.” “Don’t.” Rafe and Clio spoke the word in unison. A mutual, primal cry of desperation.

“I did ask for it. And at the time, I was happy to go. You know how it is. When you’ve been denied something long enough, you start telling yourself you didn’t want it anyway.”