And Kit would see that she did.
There was a noose swinging in the wind with his name on it—one fashioned by Superintendent Aloysius Hammerhead. Jackson tugged at his collar as he trotted up the few steps to home. He’d endured quite a bloody tongue-lashing from his superior today and, worse, suffered it in front of Harvey, Baggett, and Doyle. It would take time to rebuild the respect he’d surely lost from those men. Even more time to regain the confidence of Hammerhead.
Oy. What a day.
He unlocked the door and stepped into a dark entryway, immediately hitting his shin against the console table leg. Blast! Why hadn’t Kit left the sconce on? Granted, it was late, but she always kept the light turned to dim whenever he worked long hours.
After a good rubdown of the offense, he hung up his hat to the sound of claws skritching along the floorboards. Kit and Bella may be a’bed but leave it to good ol’ Brooks to greet him. Crouching, Jackson patted the armadillo on his rock-hard head.
“There’s a good fellow.”
He had hardly finished praising the animal before Brooks continued on his way, snuffling about the baseboards for any tasty spiders or other unsuspecting insects. Not a very conventional pet, but better than the tiger kit they’d rescued from an unscrupulous exotic animal dealer in Africa last year. Naturally the big cat was more at home in the London Zoo than in their modest town house, but he’d have preferred to trade the tiger for a Persian or a Pekingese instead of an elderly armadillo. He’d learned, however, to carefully choose which battles to fight to the teeth with Kit and which to let go.
He loosened his collar as he bumped his way along the shadowy corridor. Two steps later, he stubbed his toe on a bucket of coal that had not yet made its way to the sitting room. Blast! Stifling a groan, he steadied himself against the wall, his gaze landing on a crooked picture frame. He straightened the thing with a smirk. Kit had many virtues, but housekeeping did not make the list.
Near the end of the passageway, pale yellow light eased softly out the dining room door. Odd, that. Instantly on alert, he covered his gun, ready for a draw as he crept down the carpet runner, listening intently. Brooks’ claws clicked in the dark behind him. Outside, a horse clip-clopped by. But there was no sound whatsoever in the dining room. Jackson peered around the doorframe.
Then dropped his jaw.
Candlelight painted Kit in a golden glow where she sat across a table laden with platters of food. Her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders—bare shoulders, at that. A scandalous dressing gown hugged her curves in all the right places and the gleam in her eye made his mouth go dry. Sweet heavens. Was it warm in here? How could a woman he’d seen every day for the past two years still look so heart-stopping gorgeous?
And that’s when it hit him. Those painted lips and blushing cheeks weren’t just accidentally tempting. The little schemer. Either his wife had done something very bad or she wanted something.
He strolled into the room, his stomach growling at the scent of roast beef and buttered potatoes. “So, did you forget to pay the gas bill?”
She arched a brow. “You know, most husbands would say, ‘Oh darling! How thoughtful of you to prepare a candlelit dinner.’”
He bent to give her a greeting kiss, but Lord have mercy! The moment their lips touched, she snaked her hand behind his head and kissed him senseless. Ahh, but he’d never tire of this woman’s passion.
“Darling,” he whispered, his mouth trailing down the arch of her neck. “How thoughtful of you to—”
Pulling away, she put a finger on his lips. “Let’s just leave it at a kiss, shall we?”
He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to her wrist. “You, madam, are an enchantress.”
“I haven’t even tried yet.” A mischievous twinkle gleamed in her eye. “But first, you must be famished. How about we eat before…?”
“Mmm. I like the sound of that.” Waggling his eyebrows, he sat opposite her and shook out his napkin, marveling that for once there was not only a napkin but a full set of flatware beside a clean plate. He glanced at Kit as he served up heaps of meat, potatoes, bread, and even a perfectly moulded Gâteau de Pommes. How could she have possibly whipped up this much food? “I presume Bella is asleep?”
“Soundly.” Kit licked one of her fingers.
Jackson leaned over his full plate and took a moment to inhale the savory scent. It smelled like heaven, looked like it too, but would the taste live up to his expectations? He took a tentative bite, chewed thoughtfully, then leaned back in his chair and eyed Kit. “All right, who are you and what have you done with my wife?”
“Very funny.” She angled her head. “How was your first day as chief inspector?”
He shoved in another bite of beef before giving her a tight smile. Definitely a topic he’d rather not think about until tomorrow. “How about you tell me of your day, it being the grand opening and all. Did things go well for you and your father?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She pushed a potato around the plate with her fork. “So far no clients, which is a bit disappointing.”
“You know what they say, Rome wasn’t—”
“Built in a day.” She narrowed her eyes. “Which seems a case of gross mismanagement, if you ask me.”
He grinned. No doubt had Kit been there, those men in togas would have fallen over themselves to do her bidding. He sopped his bread through a puddle of brown gravy and filled his mouth. “This is really very good,” he mumbled between bites.
“Thank you. Speaking of Bella…”
His fork paused midway to his mouth. “Were we?”
