Page 88 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Ethan raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“Please don’t murder my very honorable earl of a betrothed,” she had to laugh.

“Your betrothed?” His dark eyes narrowed. “Who? Which bloody earl?”

“Coventry,” she replied.

“That do-gooder?” He shrugged. “He could use an adventure.” He winked. “But if he needs murdering, you let me know.”

“I can see where your loyalties lie, Swansea,” Aidan said drily, coming in from the garden door. His hair was tousled and his shirt looked much the worse for wear. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or spectacles.

“Coventry,” Ethan said easily. “Morning. I walked right in here unaccosted, just so you know.”

“You were spotted a hundred yards from the gate.”

“Well, that’s all right, then. Thought you’d lost your touch.”

“Miss Foxglove. Miss Cavendish.” Aidan poured the dregs of the tea into a cup and drained it before glancing down at Sorcha. “Why are you plotting my early demise?”

“I wasn’t,” she mumbled. “Yet.” She didn’t know where he had been all night so she was reserving judgment. She frowned. “Wait. Who noticed Ethan a hundred yards from the gate?”

“Simon, Tavish. Lorcan, who is currently up an oak tree.”

She blinked. “That’s an awful lot of wolves roaming about.”

“You’re an awful lot of mischief.”

“You’ve the right of it there.” Ethan grinned. “Speaking of mischief, here’s that item you wanted, Red.”

Sorcha caught the small, wrapped bundle he tossed her. “Thank you!”

Aidan frowned, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes,” Ethan replied, just as Sorcha smiled brightly with a cheerful “No!”

Aidan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should know better than to ask questions when I do not want the answer.”

“You really should,” Sorcha agreed without a twinge of remorse. She would take down the Collector and witches of his ilk by fair means or foul.

“And the Thieves’ Vinegar,” Ethan added, pulling a bottle from his pocket.

“Thieves’ Vinegar?” Briar asked. “I could have made that for you.”

“This one has actual thief in it,” Sorcha replied.

Aidan turned toward her slowly.

“No need to fuss,” she said. “This particular thief died over a hundred years ago.”

“Grave robbing does not make this better,” Aidan pointed out.

Ethan passed her the bottle with a shrug. Iron Crows were not known for remorse or following the witching laws. Any laws, really. The silver ring he wore on his thumb glinted.

So did the one on his ring finger.

Pippa pointed at Ethan and Briar accusingly. “You’ve gotten married!”

Sorcha whipped around to stare at Briar, who blushed. Ethan just smirked, a smug Irish mountain of muscles and scars.