Chapter Twenty-Seven
Turned out beingthe luckiest of men didn’t mean the luckiest man’s wife wasn’t still angry he’d used her family to terrorize the staff.
Percy should’ve known he’d been called to task when his wife had met him at the top of the stairs and escorted him to dinner in the most distractingly low-cut gown in carnal red.
Sodistracting, it had taken him a matter of thirty whole seconds to register the vile smell wafting from the covered platters lining the sideboard, like earthy roots steeped in bog water.
Danny personally uncovered each dish and proceeded to stack mounds on his plate, each more rancid than the next: baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, fried potatoes... Percy swallowed as a footman placed a tureen filled with white broth in front of him.
“Soup?” he asked, not bothering to hope.
Danny’s smile confirmed his most unappetizing fear. “Potato vichyssoise.”
“Ah,” he said. Because what was worse than a steaming pile of shit? A cold puddle of it.
The very Devil had made this evening’s menu, and that Devil happened to share his name. He’d admit his stance to keep Danny out of harm’s way had nearly cost them all their lives. And perhaps siccing his in-laws on their devoted staff had beenunnecessarily cruel. He’d even admit he deserved punishment, but this was maniacal.
Frankly, he’d have preferred to eat the actual crow.
Danny took her seat beside him and sipped at her wine, a wicked smile on her lips. “Something the matter, dearest?”
The Goddess of Justice is a twisted beauty.
“Not at all.” He managed his first bite with little gagging, a copious amount of wine chasing the dry taste of wet cotton down his throat. By the second bite, he’d have given his three favorite fingers for another pardon.
“Had enough?” Danny asked.
Wiping his mouth with his linen napkin, he threw his white flag down in surrender. “Yes.”
“Good. Then I’ll tell Cook to hold off on the frittata and shepherd’s pie.”
Di-a-bol-i-cal.
“Thank you,” he said.
“If you have any other mortal enemies, tell me now,” Danny said, smugness gone in seriousness. “I never want to fear for your safety like that again.”
He stood and wrapped his arms around her when she stood to meet him halfway. “You have my word. No more life-and-death situations unless you vet them first.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “That’s all I ask.”
“You ask too little.” He smiled, remembering he had a surprise of his own. “Speaking of vetting dangerous activities, an old connection mentioned he needed assistance with his business. I thought now that we’re lacking enemies, we might put those superior conning skills of yours to use.”
“I can’t see you sitting at a desk.” She scrunched her nose, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of business requires conning people?”
He winked. “The fun kind.”
She laughed. “Tell me.”
“In good time.” He captured her mouth and tasted the sweet notes of cherries from the wine. His growing arousal strained against his stays, wishing to feed its own hunger. Her gasp when his teeth nipped her ear set his blood to boil.
“I’m famished, sweetheart,” he growled.
“I can imagine.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, her smile coy. “Might I interest you in atitillatingspot of ‘chicken’?”
His cock jumped at ‘titillating.’ “God, I love that word.”
Lifting her to sit on the edge of the table, he pressed between her skirts and kissed her soundly, forgetting all about the appalling scene of vegetable carnage until he stuck his hand directly into a scalding plate of mash.
