She rolled her eyes. ‘I already said that. Details, Grey. Start noticing the details,’ she hissed before turning and walking down the cobblestone path to her front gate.
Thomas sat at his at his sister’s dining table and, for the 879th time, wished he had never kissed Miss Clio Blair. It was impossible to watch her delicately sample the soup from a silver spoon, nibble the poached turbot, savour the venison, or practically make love to the trifle without remembering every erotic moment they’d shared in his bloody carriage. Tasting her unique flavour was a cataclysmic event in his life upon which everything would be measured as before or after.
The viscount’s murder happenedbeforemy entire life was turned inside out by the lips of a woman who might also be a witch, and dinner at my sister’s happenedaftermy entire life was turned inside out by the lips of a woman who might also be a witch.
Conversely, and infuriatingly, she seemed completely unaffected. She barely even acknowledged his presence throughoutdinner. Any time he spoke, she kept her eyes elsewhere. He should have been relieved. The very last thing he needed was a romantic entanglement. He could not walk down that path with any woman, and certainly not with Miss Blair. Yet each time she avoided him, he only became more determined to capture her attention.
‘I’m sorry Lord Burrows wasn’t able to join us. He had pressing business at his club.’ Cynthia’s smile was bright as ever, but there was a tension around her eyes. She was upset. And he had been so focused on forcing Miss Blair to look at him, it had taken him nearly all of dinner to notice. He couldn’t very well ask her what was wrong in front of Clio, but when they were alone, he would press her to be honest with him. Something he feared she had not been for quite some time when it came to her marriage.
‘I can’t think of any business important enough to keep me away from this dessert.’ Clio’s pink tongue darted out, and she licked her spoon clean.
Thomas shifted as his cock, an appendage he was usually able to keep under strict control, hardened.
‘The first thing we’ll need to work on if you’re going to pass as part of the peerage is your table manners, Miss Blair. One does not lick cutlery in public.’ His words were harsh, and his glare was no doubt harsher. But really. A man could only endure so much.
‘Thomas! Clio’s behaviour is far better than yours. A gentleman never speaks so rudely to a lady.’
Clio’s cheeks grew pink. She carefully placed her spoon on the dessert plate. Her bloody raven, who had been given his own chair at the table, glared at Thomas.
‘Lick my cutlery!’ The raven knocked his spoon to the floor with his beak.
Cynthia let out a startled laugh.
‘Perhaps this is a terrible mistake.’ Clio’s low voice stalled something in the vicinity of his chest. ‘I could come as your lady’s maidinstead of your cousin. I’m fairly decent at dressing hair.’ Clio bit her lip. Thomas hated that he put the glimmer of uncertainty in her golden eyes. She was confident in everything she did, but pretending to be a peer was rattling her, and Thomas was making it worse. Because she aroused him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. So he was being cruel. Which was unacceptable. He might be a broken man, but despite the raven’s opinion, he was not a bastard.
‘My apologies, Miss Blair. I did not mean to imply you were not capable of playing your part.’
Clio finally deigned to look at him. The sharpness of her gaze could have cut through the table. ‘Of course you did. But I am used to being underestimated by fools.’
Cynthia covered her mouth to hide her smile.
Thank you for your loyalty, sister.
Coughing, she took a sip of her wine. ‘Cousin Clio. You must start calling her that, Thomas, or you’ll slip up at Lady Langley’s and then we’ll be in quite the pickle.’
He shot his sister a glare, then turned back to Clio. ‘My apologies, Cousin Clio,’ he ground out her name.
‘Much better. And you can’t possibly be my maid, Clio. Don’t be ridiculous. You are our dear third cousin twice removed from the northern countryside, and we are thrilled to introduce you to London’s best society. It’s the perfect story because we won’t be expected to know much of each other.’
The remainder of dinner and port thereafter in the sitting room was spent planning their trip, which was to commence only three days hence. When the clock struck midnight, Clio rose and tapped her shoulder for Sir Robin, who had been happily hopping around the edges of the sitting room, exploring.
‘Perhaps Grey could walk me out to my carriage. It is awfully late, and one never knows who could be lurking in the shadows.’Clio blinked innocently at his sister, but Thomas’ body tightened. The woman might be an enigma, but one thing was certain: she had no fear of the dark. What was she playing at? She couldn’t possibly be planning an assignation with him. She made her thoughts on that perfectly clear the day before. Much to Thomas’ chagrin. That didn’t stop his imagination from painting a wild image of him pressing her body against the side of her cabriolet, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Testing her heat and seeing if they could set the spindly wheels of her carriage alight. Because, though it defied logic, he suspected the singed curtain in his carriage was directly related to their kiss.
Only one way to test my theory.
Damn his heart for speeding up at the thought. And damn his cock for growing even harder.
He held out his arm for her, on the opposite side of where her raven perched for fear the bird might try to peck out his eyes if Sir Robin caught him looking where he shouldn’t.
Clio’s dress was another daring ensemble blending masculine and feminine styles. The skirt and bodice were the colour of ripe cherries with black pinstripes reminiscent of a suit but cut to highlight her feminine curves. She wore a cherry cravat tied intricately around her neck, barring any glimpse of skin and begging Thomas to untie her like a present. If only he were so bold.
Cynthia walked with them to the door and leaned in to kiss Clio’s cheek before bidding them both goodnight. Thomas paused in the entrance to collect his coat from the butler and, after Sir Robin hopped to the ground, helped Clio into her own sharply tailored jacket made entirely of black leather.
‘You certainly don’t shy away from rather risqué fashion, dear cousin,’ he murmured near her ear as he helped pull the coat up her arms and settled it onto her shoulders. The scent of leatherblending with rosemary and bergamot only further heated his blood.
She stepped away from him, and Sir Robin resumed his place on her shoulder. ‘I don’t shy away from much, Grey.’
The butler opened the door, waiting dutifully for them to exit.
