“I’m not sure I’ll get used to that,” her mother muttered.
Daffodil didn’t answer. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hello, my love.” Rex held his hand out to her and she took it, easily stepping out of the carriage and into his embrace.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” She grinned knowing that they were already married. “You might be getting stuck with the most useless Chase.”
His eyes darkened as he looked down at her. “Your talents are the immeasurable kind. The kind that are too valuable to be held up to a ruler.”
Warmth spread through her. “I can measure yours. Ever
y time we’re together my body temperature rises.”
His deep, masculine laugh filled her heart even as he wrapped an arm about her waist. “I’m the luckiest of all men.”
Placing her cheek on his chest, Daffodil squeezed him back. “We’ll have to debate who is luckier later. I would argue that it is I who would win such an argument. I love you, Rex.”
“I love you too, my little flower.”
How to Reform a Rake
By Tammy Andresen
It began at a brothel…
No, that wasn’t entirely true. When Maximillian Ableman, the Duke of Longley, reflected upon that time, he realized that the misadventure began earlier than that at the London Gentleman’s Club, in the wee hours of the morning.
It was all Clearwater’s fault, really. Sirius Renwall, the Earl of Clearwater, was widely considered to be the most wholesome among their set, which really wasn’t saying much at all. He’d been just as inebriated as the rest of them when he’d stood in front of Max and their three other friends and declared that it was blasphemy to spend such a blessed event alone.
And that was how they had all agreed to spend the Christmastide holiday at Clearwater’s estate in Dover. Drunk, of course. That detail was of particular importance.
It had seemed like a fine idea at the time. They’d raised their cups and loudly cheered.
The next morning, however, it appeared far less appealing as Max had climbed into Si’s carriage. Crammed into the tiny space with four other men, he let out a not-so-subtle groan.
“You don’t get to moan.” Rex shot him a dark glare. “We’ve been waiting for you for over a quarter hour.”
Max pressed his palms into the sockets of his eyes. “Why didn’t you come inside?”
“We thought you’d be right out.” Si swayed in his seat. “Stop the carriage.”
“It is stopped,” Chase chuckled. He had an amazing constitution when it came to liquor. “But all the same, Your Grace,” he winked over at Max, “let’s take a second carriage. We’ll divide up by men least likely to lose their liquor from last night. Those will go in Max’s carriage.”
“So you and Max,” Rex growled, his heavy brow dropping even lower as he ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. He kept it quite long, though it was normally artfully tied back. This morning it looked about as kept as a wet kitchen mop. “Actually, what do I care? The only thing better might be to cancel this trip to Dover.”
Si might have protested but he had his head between his knees.
Kenneth Marksburg, Earl of Kissinger, but known to them as Key, thumped the roof of the carriage. His blond hair fell in his bloodshot blue eyes. It startled all of them and Max gave him his best glower. He’d perfected it over years of telling people to piss off with his eyes. Key ignored the glance. “Onward, gentlemen. Dover awaits.”
It took another half hour to ready the second team, but in that time the men walked a bit and Max’s cook, Mrs. Pastrel, filled their stomachs. He had to be honest, he wasn’t sure if food made some of the men more or less likely to toss the contents of their stomachs and he was glad to be sharing a carriage with Chase.
It was near ten by the time they left his home. As he stretched his legs, Chase lay on the seat facing him and promptly fell asleep. Bastard.
The scenery slipped by, pretty farms dotting the landscape as they made their way through Rochester and then Faversham. By nightfall, he had a splitting headache. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands, he let out a breath in the frigid carriage. A cloud of breath filled the cabin, thick and moist. The air was changing.
Sure enough, as he parted the curtain again, he watched as fat snowflakes fell to the ground. “Bloody hell,” he gritted out.
“What’s wrong?” Chase called from the other seat, finally rousing.