Page 101 of Devil in Her Details

Reaper still didn’t let up. “If I’m the fool, it’s only because I’m surrounded by fools.”

Saint gave a soft snort.

Reaper jabbed Dagger’s arm. “See? Saint always finds the most useful response. I aspire to that.”

“You aspire to nothing,” Dagger said.

“I aspire to many things.” Reaper argued, leaning back into his chair. “Peace for England. Good wine. The occasional act of genuine chaos. And, as previously established, a nephew or niece.” He held up a finger before Dagger could speak. “Named after me, of course.”

The arse actually meant it. “Why don’t you bother the men who are actually married?”

Reaper shrugged. “Because they’re actually married, and I still want use of my limbs.”

Dagger scowled at his brother. Was this fool . . . encouraging . . . courtship? “Don’t bloody meddle.”

“Who’s meddling?” Reaper protested. “I find it endearing is all. You staring at her and when you glance away, she stares at you. It’s all very sweet.”

Dagger’s head whipped back to Lilly.

Their eyes locked.

This time, she didn’t glance away instantly. Her lips first curved, then she broke her gaze. Dagger didn’t like this. She was acting more reserved with him now that Calliope and Violet were present. More subtle than she usually would have. He had a sinking feeling that a cold night awaited him.

One without a wall of pillows.

One without her.

Damn it. He was going to carry her off again.

He moved to rise, but a hand instantly clamped down on his shoulder.

“Not happening, frère. You’re staying right here.”

Saint grunted in agreement.

Reaper instantly lifted his hands at Dagger’s look. “Let the cat have some time with our sisters-in-law. Who knows, perhaps she’ll gain enlightenment about Brighton’s finest resources and decide to stay.”

Dagger paused. Decide to stay? That sounded so damn absurd he wanted to punch his brother. As if Calliope and Violet—two women who had, admittedly, survived considerable odds to end up exactly where they were and nothing had left to lose—could convince Lilly, who had a whole life back in London and everything to lose, to stay. Staying also implied other things. More permanent things. But even pushing those things aside, there was still the matter of who he was. What he was. A man with no name worth giving, no world that looked anything like hers, and a past that would make any sensible woman run.

And Lilly was, beneath all that lovely rashness, a sensible woman.

He’d have to be a fool to think otherwise.

“What the bloody hell do you know?” Dagger snapped in a hiss. “I told you not to meddle.”

Reaper shrugged. “Can’t help myself, frère.”

“Try,” Dagger growled.

“You try, too,” Reaper countered. “Try to be open to new possibilities. Worse fates exist.”

Dagger sought out Lilly.

She laughed again.

He picked up his drink and knocked it back.

Worse fates, indeed.