“There can be no harm in searching for some small measure of comfort,” Octavia pressed. “It is nothing less than you deserve. Indeed, it is what you havealwaysdeserved. Stanhope was a heartless arse.”
“He was a duke.” It was hardly a defense, and Mirabel knew it. Moreover, the argument was one her own mother had wielded against her often during her contentious marriage to Stanhope.
Unhappiness had not perturbed Mama. Nor had abuse. Lack of an excellent marriage, however, did. Which was why she had been more than pleased to cast Octavia off upon Mirabel.
“Dukes are arses as well as untitled gentlemen,” her sister countered.
And she was not wrong, curse her. Octavia had always been wise beyond her years. It was likely why she had never married herself. There had been many days when Mirabel had wished she herself had not. But her children had rendered her every sacrifice and misery as Stanhope’s wife worthwhile.
“I should not have gone running to him yesterday,” Mirabel said anyway, more guilt making her stomach knot. “If I had not gone, I would have been here. Indeed, if I had not gone there, and if I had not insisted upon bringing Davy here, Gideon never would have heard such vulgar language. Nor would he have repeated it. This entire situation could have been avoided if I had only been content to be proper and circumspect and to do my duty.”
“Now you sound like our mother,” Octavia accused, frowning mightily. “I wholeheartedly disapprove. There is nothing wrong with seeking happiness, Mirabel. The only thing which is truly wrong is believing yourself unworthy of it.”
“I am not worthy of it when it is detrimental to my children.” Tears were pricking her eyes. She blinked them away. “This is just as I feared. A terrible mistake.”
“Mirabel—”
“No,” she interrupted her sister sternly. “It is true. I have made a dreadful muddle of things, and I must rectify it.”
But first, she needed to remove Walters from her position and find a suitable replacement.
Chapter 9
The evening rush would come soon enough to Lady Fortune, and Demon had no end of problems facing him, none of which were aided one whit by the aching in his skull. Hugo’s murderer had cracked him over the crown with something deuced vicious. All things considered, he was lucky to be alive. The memory of the wine merchant’s body sprawled in the alley would forever haunt him.
Hugo was not a friend or acquaintance, but he was someone Demon had dealt with at regular intervals. And to think he would be no more…to think of the violence which had beset him prior to his end…
A shiver went down Demon’s spine.
Seated at the desk in his sister’s office, Demon dropped his head to his hands, rubbing his temples. His inquiries with the charleys, who were in his brother Dom’s pay, had led him nowhere. Hugo had paid his creditors. There did not appear to be any customers in turn who owed him enough funds to answer them with murder. Nor had there been any word of the previous day’s proceedings in any of the usual haunts. Everyone was silent. No one had seen what had happened to Demon or the wine merchant. If Davy had not come looking for him when he had, Demon might have cocked up his toes as well.
But more than the mystery of what the hell had happened the day before—and why—Demon was haunted by one thing. One person.
Mira.
She had spent the night in his bed. For the first time, he had risen with a woman in his arms. And he had liked it far, far too much. Had liked it enough to risk another ferocious blow to the head if it meant the chance for one more such night.
“Christ,” he muttered to himself. “I didn’t even fuck her.”
“You didn’t fuck ’er?”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Demon’s head shot up, sending more pain slicing through him. The door to Gen’s office stood open without his having heard it. Davy was on the threshold, hair disheveled, rascal’s grin on his lips.
“Here now, scamp.” He frowned, which required more effort than his aching head appreciated at the moment. “You aren’t to repeat such words. Am I understood?”
“If I ain’t to say ’em, why does you?” Davy countered, grinning and revealing his missing top tooth.
“Whydoyou?” Demon corrected grimly, knowing he should teach the lad better.
Hell, if Davy ever wanted to make more of himself than a pickpocket, he wouldneedto know better.
“Don’t know, yournabs. Cause you prefers ’em?” Davy shrugged.
“No, Davy. That is not what I was asking. I was attempting to show you the correct way to ask your question.” He sighed. “The proper way to say it is as follows, lad. Listen closely. If I am not to say them, then why do you?”
Davy grinned. “But I just ’eard you say ’em.”
Something occurred to Demon then, above the thumping in his aching head. “Are you bamboozling me, scamp?”
