Page 38 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
There had once beenscones? Chris scrubbed one hand over his face and muttered to Phoebe, “Your family is a scourge upon my house. A biblical plague. A—”
“What I meant to say,” the viscount said, “is that perhaps we were all just a bit hasty in our estimation of you, Mr. Moore.”
“I promise you, you were not.”
The viscount sniffed, “While I do not condone violence—”
“I do. Frequently, and with great relish.”
“—I was nonetheless pleased to hear of your fierce defense of my daughter.”
“It was in all the papers,” one of the sisters blurted out with a giddy little wiggle of delight reminiscent of a puppy. Had to be one of the younger ones, then, Chris supposed.
“I have it on good authority that Statham is to be stricken from his club’s roster,” said one of the barons. “I imagine he’ll find himself missing a fair few invitations in the near future. A gentleman does not cast unjust aspersions upon a lady’s character without consequence.”
Well, that was some good news. Chris might still find himselfpersona non gratawithin the best of homes—but so would Statham. There was a certain poetic justice in it; that Statham had earned his own downfall, straight down to the level of social disrepute that Chris had always enjoyed. Even if it didn’t stick, still it produced a sort of satisfaction in him.
As Viscount Toogood chided a few of his more excitable daughters over their persistence in paying altogether too muchattention to scandal rags, various other snippets of conversation began to flow around the table, as if—as if this were not aninvasionof his home so much as a pleasant breakfast taken as a family.
A footman set out a fresh platter of bacon, and Chris dived across the table for it just before his new brother-in-law reached out. “Back off,” he hissed. “You’ve had plenty.”
Laurence’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Phoebe,” he said, “your husband—”
With a sort of patience that could only come of being an elder sister to a whole brood of young siblings, Phoebe snapped, “Laurence, mind your manners. There will be plenty left for you.”
The hell there would! Chris tilted the platter over his plate, determined to claim every last strip for himself—until Phoebe touched his wrist lightly. “Be good,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the racket of so many other voices. “Really, they’re giving you something I don’t imagine you’ve received often in your life.”
“Which is?” he asked with a scowl.
“The benefit of the doubt.”
∞∞∞
“The institution of marriage is fundamentally flawed,” Chris complained as he slouched down upon the couch and splayed out his legs, digging his thumb into the tight, aching muscle of his knee.
“Is that why you have taken refuge here?” Rafe inquired as he meandered toward the sideboard up against the wall of Em’ssitting room and reached for a glass.
“Fuck the glass,” Chris said. “Give me the damned decanter. I’ve had Toogoods trotting all about my house for a week straight. They won’t bloody leave!”
“I’m certain that’s not true,” Rafe said. “Emma and I saw the two youngest at the bookstore yesterday, and then Laurence at the opera.”
“Thought you hated the opera.” Chris scowled down at the glass of whisky that Rafe offered, which was somewhat less than he had requested.
“I do. Emma does not prefer it, either, but she’s got a theatre box that’s been going spare too long. These days, we manage little privacy but what we can find outside of the house.”
Owing, most likely, to the two children that they had taken in as their own; Danny and Kitty. “I swear by all I hold holy, Rafe, if you are telling me that you’ve been debauching my sister in a damned theatre box—”
“I haven’t told you anything of the sort.” But he’d damned well implied it. “And you hold nothing much holy, besides. How, pray tell, is the institution of marriage fundamentally flawed?”
“Have you not been listening? Apparently, a man is obligated to endure the unwelcome presence of his wife’s family. Without complaint, even!”
“Really?” Rafe drew the word out to an unnecessarily sarcastic degree, and his gaze sharpened upon Chris—now his brother by marriage—who had, in fact, come uninvited to lounge upon his couch and partake of his spirits. “Of course, I would have no experience with such a thing.”
“That’s where you ought to thank whichever lucky star you had the good fortune to be born beneath,” Chris said. “There’s but one of me—”
“The world could hardly be expected to bear more.”
“—and there’s damn near fiftyToogoods. Yesterday I wasobliged to snatch up one of the children as the little monster came careening down the stair banister, or else he would’ve crashed head first into a wall.”
