Say Yes to the Marquess: Castles Ever After

“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.

“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’m not going to touch her,” he said. “She’s not mine. She never will be.” “Indeed.” Bruiser rolled his eyes and dusted off his hat. “Definitely no years of pent-up lusting there. Glad we have that sorted.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. “This is bollocks.” Daphne smiled. “This is society.”

“It’s not . . . bad.” She leveled a gaze at him. “I look like I’ve been cast as an angel in the bawdy-house nativity play.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “Someone has to get us sinners to church.”

During the course of the day, she’d found a spare hour to bathe and change out of her cake-smeared clothing. At least the chaos of Ellingworth’s accident had saved her from making explanations for that. All she’d needed to do was raise her hands, and say, “The dog,” and everyone had seemed satisfied.

She thought of his spartan warehouse, with its humble cot and sawdust floor. All those slimy raw eggs. He needed more enjoyment in his life. A home and warm comforts and amusements that didn’t end in bloodshed. To live like a human rather than a beast bred for fighting.

“I don’t read the scandal sheets.” “Perhaps you should. You’re often in them.”

“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