She climbed the stairs, the dogs weaving back and forth in front of her. When she reached the landing, she faced her mother. “Your dogs are trying to kill me.” The marchioness nodded, allowing the change of topic. “It’s possible. They’re very clever.”

A red brow rose. “Not Ewan.” His brow furrowed. “Who? Who do we know who is good enough for her?” Grace smiled then, full and open and uncalculated. She looked to Whit. “Who, indeed.” “Beast?” Devil thought he might lose his mind at the idea of his brother touching Felicity. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Whit growled. “You just might have the intelligence

“It’s yours?” Pride lit in his eyes, and something tightened in her chest. “It is.” “It’s magnificent.”

“You. Fucking. Fools.” Devil turned toward the words. “Excellent.” He looked to Nik. “Leave while you still can.”

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.

“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?”

They should be proud of it because you’ve got the future in your hands every time you hold a hairpin.”

She tasted like a promise.

“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.”