Page 6 of Devil in Her Details

A blinding grin met his answer. “Don’t back out of your word, frère.”

Back out of his word? Dagger Fury did not back out of his word. His word was his law. Even unto himself. Once he gave it, the matter was done. “When have I ever?”

Reaper flipped his coin into the air again, practically beaming. Dagger had the distinct impression he had just agreed to something he would absolutely regret.

Ah, well.

Just another day in hell.

Chapter Two

Lilly glowered through her shop window at the carriage that had once again taken a spot a few meters down the road across from her shop. There was not a doubt in her mind that the man occupying that vehicle was the rotten blackguard, Calvington.

She had underestimated his gumption.

But she also didn’t believe the marquess had fallen madly in love with her as he claimed. Such possessive, or rather obsessive, behavior could only be described as disturbing. A fine line existed between the two, though neither trait was particularly appealing. Well, a few exceptions could be made, such as Allie and Leo. However, Allie’s husband’s case could be said to be more of a fierce protectiveness born from almost losing his wife once. Calvington . . . the man’s head was simply not attached properly.

Which made him dangerous.

But dangerous or not, Lilly would not hide away in her house. Oh, no. She would give him no satisfaction. She picked at a ribbon in distraction, wishing she could pick that madman apart. What was his game, anyway? He made no attempt to hide or be discreet. The cad wanted her to know of his presence. Fine. She knew. Now what? Did he mean to scare her into becoming a distressed damsel? That would never happen. Granted, to say she didn’t feel a smidgeon of fear would be a lie. His arrogance made him unpredictable, and she was still simply a woman alone.

I should send word to Carlisle.

Sure, her brother would come rushing, but that might take days.

Allie and Leo?

A sigh left her.

How could she drag her friends into this mess? They would surely help, but Lilly refused, in good conscience, to place her friends in the crossfire of this wretched marquess. Would it be like pitting a sly crocodile against an overprotective bear? The bear should be able to win, depending on the environment, but how big would the losses in such a battle be?

This was one of the reasons she’d retired to Brighton.

Even her brother, a duke—or a majestic African lion, as she liked to think of him—would win or lose with deep, unnecessary battle scars. She would hate for any of her loved ones to scar themselves for her. No, when forced to deal with the thick hide of such a reptilian creature, one must seek other ways. Unfortunately, she hadn’t figured out the answer yet. She considered herself a fierce feline—ahem—if perhaps a bit lacking in physical strength.

Lilly snorted.

To butcher Shakespeare, there were more things in heaven and earth than strength.

She was, she acknowledged, having an argument with herself about a crocodile while a marquess sat in a carriage across the road waiting to ruin her life. This was either remarkably sensible of her or deeply unhinged. She preferred to think of it as the former. Panic had never solved a single problem in the history of human experience, whereas thinking clearly had solved rather a lot of them.

She was simply thinking clearly.

Extremely clearly.

About crocodiles.

“I’ll just have to be smarter than that ruffian.” Which was why she had decided to boldly open her shop for a few hours and lounge around in front. She had the nerve. He, on the other hand, had some nerve, but not enough, apparently, or he would have already found an excuse to make his presence more known.

Well, crocodiles did tend to stay underwater as they approached their prey.

Her gaze caught on a tall man walking past her shop. Normally, passersby wouldn’t catch her attention, but this man was tall. Very tall. And he did not look like a male specimen who belonged to any civilized part of any town. In fact, a long black coat draped the length of him, emphasizing his impressive height.

Her gaze caught on his boots.

She’d made enough clothing for enough men to know the difference between boots purchased for appearance and boots purchased for purpose. His were the latter. Everything about him was the latter, she realized as she moved her gaze upward. Such a man should have big feet, shouldn’t he? And big hands? Big everything.

The thought came too unbidden.