Chapter Twenty-Seven

T urned out being the 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.

So distracting, 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 been unnecessarily 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 a titillating spot 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.

"Ahh!" Percy broke their kiss and flung chunks of potato across the tablecloth, his stomach rolling in revulsion.

Danny's giggles gave way to a most unladylike—and supremely enticing—snort.

He smiled despite the need to amputate his hand.

"I'm never crossing you again." Not when he had a horrible suspicion if the classic potato dishes didn't suffice, she'd have concocted her own.

The sideboard strained under the weight of thirteen varieties of potato preparation, a veritable line of fodder for the bin. Not even his aversion to wasting food could make the awful setting appetizing.

He sighed. "Perhaps the pigs are hungry."

"No need for that."

Percy raised a brow in question when he heard voices in the hall.

The doors to the dining hall opened and two sets of ducal couples stepped inside.

Fussing with the skirts of her blush dress, the Duchess of Lux said, "Apologies for our tardiness." She shot a dirty look at the man standing next to her. " Someone decided it was a good idea to cram four normal-sized people into a dollhouse coach."

The Duke of Camine smirked at his sister.

The Duchess of Camine, on her husband's arm, looked radiant in fitted trousers and an open golden jacket over a red blouse that offered a full view of her increasing belly. "I found it quite cozy."

Camille rolled her eyes at her sister-in-law. "Pregnancy has addled your brain."

Danny smiled at the group. "You're right on time, actually." She inclined her head towards the dishes. "Help yourself. There's no use standing on ceremony."

The Duke of Lux grew animated at the back of the group, his coattails flapping behind him in his haste to fill a plate. "Don't mind if I do."

Percy could've kissed his wife's feet when a footman brought out a separate dish of roasted lamb and mixed greens, not a chip in sight.

When they'd all filled their plates and taken their seats, Danny lifted her glass.

"To friends."

"Bah," the Duchess of Camine said, lifting her own glass of water. "To family."

"To family!"

Toasted harmony settled over the group in a beautiful cacophony of clinking crystal, and Percy gazed at the faces of his friends, an alarming sensation of gratitude leaving his chest tight.

Family.

Reformed dukes and revolutionary duchesses: What a bunch of misfits made up theirs. His.

Percy laced his fingers with Danny's under the table, unable to keep the emotion from his voice for the woman who'd given him everything. "I don't deserve you."

Her fingers tightened as if she were preparing to argue.

"But," he said, raising their hands and kissing each of her fingertips until they relaxed, "I'm honored to have the rest of my life to prove I'm worth the trouble."

Her eyes were glassy when her gaze lifted to his.

"I love you," she said.

"And I love you."

She offered a smile worth every bite of putrid potato in the room and glanced at their friends and family across the table. Gaze straying to Charlotte, she squeezed his hand and said quietly, "I'll be right back."

Percy squeezed back and offered encouragement for his own sake. "She'll understand."

Danny nodded, her expression radiant and confident. "I know."

*

Charlotte pounced the moment the library door closed. "Are you pregnant already?"

Danny laughed. "Not as far as I know."

Pouting, Charlotte dropped a hand to her swollen stomach. "A shame. I was hoping little Ella would have a playmate close to her age."

Danny smiled. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"The same way I know you have something hard to say to me or else you would have spoken in front of the rest of our party."

Fighting nerves, Danny indicated the settee. "Perhaps we should sit."

"Good gracious, that sounds ominous." Charlotte arranged herself on the cushions and let out a long sigh. "This is beyond comfortable. Everything at home is either hard enough to break my back or soft enough I can't roll to my feet without assistance from every maid, footman, and cook in the house."

Danny could only imagine. Her friend, while as beautiful as always, did resemble a salmon roe. "I'll have Percy send the settee in our carriage after dinner so you may have someplace to sit until the end of your confinement."

Charlotte's grateful expression slid into a narrow-eyed perfunctory sweep of her person. "This must be dire if you've sunk to bribery. Out with it, then."

Danny dragged the breath into her lungs, held it for one last second of inner peace, and said, "I like knives."

A moment passed.

"And?"

Danny's mouth made a series of syllable shapes, but no sound came out.

Charlotte didn't wait long to admit, "I prefer guns myself. Rifles are preferable but pushback isn't good for the baby. But recently, I found double barrel pistols with a short trigger are just as satisfying."

Danny blinked. Somehow, in all her acquaintance with her brazen, wild friend, she hadn't quite expected that . She envisioned Charlotte brandishing dueling pistols in each hand, her blonde hair flung behind her, belly round and heavy, her very essence screaming of a fertile and fierce goddess. The most hardened general would waive the white flag against Charlotte's unconquerable spirit.

Danny sat tall and trusted that very spirit to accept her secret. "I like blades," she tried again, swallowing. "Smoothed across my... person."

A second passed. Two. Charlotte tilted her head. "Sexually?"

Danny coughed, then couldn't stop. Leaning forward, it was all she could do to breathe. She felt Charlotte rub soothing circles on her back until the coughs subsided.

"Forgive me," Charlotte said. "I forget how people react when I state things so bluntly." She smiled at what Danny imagined had to be cheeks the color of wild primrose and leaned forward. "Any particular place on your person ?"

Danny's shock didn't leave room for embarrassment. "You're not offended?"

Charlotte sat back, voice incredulous. "Whatever for? Because you like metal against your skin? I've tried it myself before—not a blade, mind you—but chains, shields, a particularly large plaque in Parliament." The last she said with a touch of a smile. "The texture was not unpleasant. I assume you enjoy blades for the added danger?"

Danny nodded and stared. She'd thought she'd known most everything there was to know about the Duchess of Camine, but the lady was more than fierce and kind—she was shameless.

Danny threw her arms around her friend and squeezed. "I'm so glad. I thought no one would understand, but of course you would. You are wonderful!"

Charlotte laughed as she returned the embrace awkwardly around her belly. "Go on."

Danny pulled back, her heart light enough to float out of her chest. "I mean it. I've hidden my"—she cleared her throat—" preferences for so long, knowing if someone found out, I'd be ruined."

Charlotte snorted. "Don't get me started on society's prudishness and the very large stick shoved up its arse." She froze. "Wait! Did someone scold you? Was it Percy?" Her gaze went dark. "If he so much as flinched at your desire, I'll use a blade on him , the pointy end."

"No." Danny bit her lip, her heated cheeks having nothing to do with embarrassment this time. "He is more than willing to... accommodate me."

Charlotte cocked a brow. "Guess he's good for something, then." Her gaze softened. "This has weighed on you, hasn't it?"

"Deeply." Nerves sparking again, she told herself, in for a penny... "There's more to my preference, and it isn't nearly as easy to digest."

Charlotte reached out and squeezed her hand. "Then tell me, my friend. I am here to listen."

Danny swallowed the emotion clogging her throat and told her friend everything about her father, the abduction, and her past. With every detail that passed through her lips, Danny felt each sliver of shame and regret burn away into smoke.

When she'd finished her story, Danny knew a moment of peace. Whatever Charlotte's reaction, kind and compassionate or loyal and angry—Danny expected the latter—the wounds inside continued their journey of healing, until only the faintest of scars was left.

Scars she'd accept because they were now a part of her.

And by her husband's words, there wasn't a piece of her that wasn't beautiful.