Page 62 of From London, With Love
Adele lifted her head off his chest, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Really?”
“Don’t laugh,” he told her in the most arrogant voice he could summon. “I am the power behind the throne. Blue bloods cower when they hear my name. Mortals quiver at the sight of my house sigil. This is appalling.”
Giggles spilled from her mouth. His lips twitched. Adele had a bad habit of snorting when she was overcome with laughter, and if anyone had told him a year ago that he’d find the sound adorable, he’d have insisted they were due a visit to Bedlam.
“Oh, Auvry.” Straddling his hips, Adele planted her hands on his chest. “How terrible. I’ve ruined your reputation utterly.”
He lifted up onto his elbows, tilting his mouth almost to hers. “Perhaps you should make it up to me?”
“With pleasure,” she purred, then leaned down and captured his mouth in a possessive kiss.
* * *
Hours later,Malloryn made his way downstairs.
“Baby Ivy.” Byrnes’s voice echoed up the stairwell. “And I’m going to be the godfather.”
Malloryn paused. He had babies on the brain. He could have sworn Byrnes had just placed a bet on the sex, name, and godparent of some unfortunate child.
Ava’s confinement was fast approaching, but they’d already debated the matter, and he’d managed to get a glimpse of the betting book that Byrnes was keeping quiet from Kincaid. They wouldn’t be speaking of it again, would they?
“Ivy?” Ingrid asked. “Why Ivy?”
“Because I like it.”
“Who in their right mind would name you as godparent to their child?” Kincaid growled. “Christ. You’d probably give the little bugger a knife for its first birthday.”
Kincaid.
His nostrils flared. Kincaid shouldn’t be here for this conversation if they were speaking of Kincaid’s child.
“You can never start them too early,” Byrnes protested.
“A little boy,” Charlie declared, and the sound of a pair of coins clinked as they landed on the table. “And Gemma will be the godmother.”
Malloryn’s brows drew together in a frown.
The others were all aware he viewed Gemma as some sort of… foster sibling. Surely not. Surely they couldn’t be placing a wager on—
“I’ll take you up on the sex of the baby,” Byrnes said, “but not on the choice of godmother. Gemma’s got it for sure.”
“Unless the duchess chooses her dearest friend,” Ingrid pointed out, “Mrs. Carver.”
Malloryn’s nostrils flared. Hell and bloody ashes.
“And Uncle Charlie is going to be godfather,” Charlie added.
“That,” Byrnes said, pointing at him, “is up for discussion. I’ll take that bet.”
The discussion grew livelier as they all debated the merits of this.
Malloryn had two options at this point.
He could quite thoroughly toss his crumpets and spew invective at the lot of them for presumably planting a listening device in his rooms, or he could ignore the violation and use it to his advantage.
Maybe toy with Byrnes a little, because he knew exactly which Rogue was the only one with the audacity to have planted such a device.
Malloryn sauntered down the stairs, arching his brow. “What on earth makes you think I’m going to allow any of you near my child, let alone name you godparents? Barrons is my closest friend. If I’m going to name anyone godfather, it’s going to be him.”
