Just Like Heaven (Smythe-Smith Quartet #1)(89)

He gave her a supercilious look, brow quirked and all.

“You’re never going to get it right,” she pronounced. “I must say, between this and your boots, I am revising my opinion on the impracticalities of couture, male versus female.”

“Really?”

Her gaze dropped to his boots, polished to a perfect shine. “No one has ever had to take a knife to my footwear.”

“I wear nothing that buttons up the back,” he countered.

“True, but I may choose a dress that buttons in the front, whereas you cannot go out and about without a neckcloth.”

“I can at Fensmore,” he muttered, his fingers still trying to work with the increasingly wrinkled cloth.

“But we’re not at Fensmore,” she reminded him with a grin.

“I surrender,” he said, yanking the cravat off entirely. He stuffed it into his pocket, shaking his head as he said, “It’s for the best, really. Even if I did get this blasted thing tied right, it would make no sense for me to return to the musicale. I’m sure everyone thinks I’ve gone home.” He paused, then added, “If they’ve thought of me at all.”

As there were several unmarried young ladies in attendance, and perhaps more to the point, several mothers of unmarried young ladies, Honoria was fairly certain that his absence had been noted.

But still, his plan was a good one, and together they sneaked down the back stairs. Honoria’s plan was to cut through several rooms to the rehearsal space near the musicale, while Marcus was going to slip outside through the servants’ entrance. At the spot where they needed to part ways, Marcus looked down at her, gently touching her cheek with his hand.

She smiled. She had far too much happiness bursting within her to keep it inside.

“I will call upon you tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded. And then, because she could not stop herself, she whispered, “Kiss me good-bye?”

He needed no further urging, and he leaned down, taking her face in his hands as he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. Honoria felt herself burning, then melting, then quite positively evaporating. She almost laughed with joy, and she rose to her tiptoes, trying to get closer and then—

He was gone.

There was a terrible cry, and Marcus went flying across the small space of the hallway, slamming against the opposite wall.

Honoria let out a shriek and ran forward. An intruder had got into the house, and he had Marcus by the throat. She didn’t even have time to be terrified. Without thinking, she hurled herself at the intruder, jumping onto his back. “Let go,” she ground out, trying to grab his arm to stop him from punching Marcus again.

“For the love of God,” the man snapped. “Get off me, Bug.”

Bug?

She went slack. “Daniel?”

“Who the bloody hell else would it be?”

Honoria could think of quite a few answers to that, considering that he’d been out of the country for over three years. Never mind that he’d written that he planned to return; he hadn’t seen fit to tell anyone when.

“Daniel,” she said again, and she jumped off his back. She took a step away and just stared at him. He looked older, which of course he was, but he looked older in more than just years. Maybe more tired, maybe more world-weary. Or maybe it was just his recent travels. He was still dusty and windblown; anyone would look tired and world-weary after the long journey from Italy to London.

“You’re back,” she said stupidly.

“Indeed,” he said sharply, “and what the devil is going on?”

“I—”

Daniel put up a hand. “Stay out of it, Honoria.”

Hadn’t he just asked her a question?

“Dear God, Daniel,” Marcus said, coming to his feet. He was wobbling a bit, rubbing the back of his head where it had connected with the wall. “Next time, consider telling us—”

“You bastard,” Daniel hissed, and he slammed his fist into Marcus’s cheek.

“Daniel!” Honoria shrieked. She jumped again onto his back, or rather she tried to; he shook her off like—

Well, like a bug, annoying as that was.

She tried to scramble back to her feet in time to stop him again, but Daniel had always been agile, and right now he was furious. Before she could even get herself upright, he’d punched Marcus again.

“I don’t want to fight you, Daniel,” Marcus said, wiping blood from his chin with his sleeve.

“What the hell were you doing with my sister?”

“You’re—”

Euf!

“—insane,” Marcus grunted, his voice seemingly swallowed up by the force of Daniel’s fist in his belly.

“I asked you to watch over her,” Daniel ground out, punctuating each word with a vicious blow to Marcus’s midsection. “To watch. Over. Her.”

“Daniel, stop!” Honoria pleaded.

“She’s my sister,” Daniel spat.

“I know,” Marcus growled back. He appeared to be regaining his equilibrium, and he drew back his arm and slammed his fist into Daniel’s jaw. “And you—”

But Daniel wasn’t interested in talking, at least not unless Marcus was answering his very specific questions. Before Marcus could finish his sentence, Daniel got him by the neck and pinned him to the wall. “What,” he hissed again, “were you doing to my sister?”