Page 20 of The Countess Caper

It filled her with what was no doubt wicked joy to do it. It was so rare that justice could be seized. She had not yet managed to seize it for herself, but she would damn sure seize it for others.

For Deirdre.

Never again. Not if she had to steal every snuffbox, brooch, and necklace from here to the Thames. Mayfair would pay its debts.

She reminded herself that Marigold was safe. Iris was happy. And Tessa was baring her teeth at the dinner table. She adjusted her expression again. Ate a forkful of roasted potatoes. Laughed at someone’s jest. At least, she hoped it was a jest.

She fought the melancholy. It was self-indulgent. Unhelpful.

She was going to miss her new friend. As her oldest friend, Summer knew exactly what she was feeling. And she was a great believer in distraction and misdirection.

“So shall you marry Lord Dartmoor?” she asked.

Loudly.

Roarke was certainly a distraction.

As were the many pairs of eyes suddenly turned her way.

“You’ll pay for that,” Tessa muttered.

Summer just grinned and popped her chin on her hand, waiting.

“Tessa!” Holly gasped. “You’re betrothed?”

“I am not.”

“But she could be,” Summer said.

“Roarke is right—you are extremely unhelpful.”

“Roarke, is it?”

“Stop it.”

“Shan’t.”

Tessa groaned. Glances were being exchanged, whipping past her nose like hail in a storm. “But he did propose?” Iris prodded.

“In a way.”

Holly sighed. “Was it terribly romantic?”

Tessa snorted.

“I guess not,” Rue said. “Good.”

“Good?” Holly echoed. “How can you say so?”

Rue shrugged. “Keeps things tidy, doesn’t it? A contract is a contract. No need for flowery promises.”

Summer rolled her eyes. “This house needs a poet.”

Rue snorted as well. Loudly. “Poets got us into this mess.”

“So will you accept?” Iris prodded.

“I don’t know,” Tessa admitted.