Page 33 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“Well, you insisted on a bath this morning, didn’t you.”
“You enjoy baths. And I enjoy watching you take them.”
She melted against him then stiffened and sat up straighter. Like a glamour abruptly dissipating. Or one slamming into place. “Have you ever considered marrying?”
“I’ve dedicated this entire year to it. My brother-in-law—I’ve mentioned him before, Sir Nicholas Bowen—has introduced me to innumerable alchemist daughters. His connections are the only reason I allowed my sister to marry him.” He sniffed.
She laughed. “That is a story I would like to hear. I am quite sure, for some reason, that your opinion wasn’t particularly respected on the subject.”
“Not as much as it should have been.”
She gave another laugh. “I thought so. I suspect any sister of yours has a backbone. And I also suspect any man to gain her hand is a fighter.”
“Among other things.” He was grumbling. And grumbling showed weakness. But he didn’t mind. Showing weakness around Persephone didn’t feel weak. He hadn’t shared this much about his life with anyone, most certainly not the alchemist daughters he’d been courting this year. “Tell me, was your husband truly named Percy?”
“Ye-es… Why?” The little groove between her brows was too adorable.
He swiped a thumb through it. “Did he call you Persy, Persephone?”
Her mouth dropped open. The corners of it twitched.
“I can see it now. ‘How are you today darling, Percy?’ ‘Wonderful now you’re here, my perfect Persy.’”
She laughed, loud and long, and the sound ricocheted off the sky and struck him like an arrow to the chest. He rubbed the invisible wound.
“Oh,” she said between howls and tears, “thank Juno he never did.”
“Don’t worry, dearest, darling-est Persy. I’ll make up for lost time.”
She slugged him in the arm. “Don’t you dare.” With a final little laugh, she stared down the road where orange-bright foliage like cloudy paint strokes crowded the sky. “Tell me their names. The women you’ve been courting. I might know them. Before my marriage, I had quite the social standing.”
It explained the educated tenor of her voice. It explained how she held herself, her confidence. “I might be able to remember a name or two.”
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Of course you can’t remember their names. You’re an?—”
“Arse.”
“Precisely.” She grinned.
“If I had not known that about myself before I met you, I would know it well by now. You remind me so often.”
“After only three days of acquaintance, you can be so thoroughly educated?”
“You can know a lot in three days.” He wasn’t teasing anymore. He spoke truth, and as uncomfortable as it was, he couldn’t deny it. He cleared his throat. “One of the women Bowen introduced me to was Miss Smith.
She frowned. “Which one?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Of course not. And who else?”
“Miss Smith.”
“And I suppose you cannot remember this Miss Smith’s given name either?”
“Perhaps you can tell me how many Miss Smiths there might be in alchemist society. Because I met five of them. Six? I can’t be sure. They all sort of blurred together.”
“There is an abundance of Miss Smiths. My favorite was Miss Petunia Smith. She was very tall. Almost as tall you, and she is the least likely to be married.”
