Page 102 of The Dueling Duchess

“Good boy.” Cat scratched behind his ears and George gave her a deliriously happy canine smile.

Blade came out from behind the screen, wearing one of the gray wool dresses many of the women seemed to favor, and handed the black gown to Marie.

“I’ll have it back by the end of the week,” the Frenchwoman said, leaving the small room.

Blade looked at her bird and gave the slightest of nods. For all that Angus had to weigh at least a third of a stone and was a good two feet tall, he moved quickly and soundlessly, landing on Blade’s shoulder in a soft flurry of feathers.

Blade sat in a chair in front of one of the mirrors. “Come closer,” she said to Cat. “He won’t peck you.”

Cat didn’t look convinced, but she went toward the huge bird, which was easily half as tall as she. Angus seemed to realize it was a time for gentleness because he stood still, his feathers tight and his posture unthreatening.

“He’s a common raven,” Blade said, reaching up and scratching the bird below the chin, as Guy had seen her do countless times.

Angus immediately melted, his feathers fluffing to allow her fingers better purchase. “He likes being petted right here—it is his hackles. You can pet him if you like.”

Cat’s small body was tense, but she was a fearless little thing and she reached for him. No doubt a bird wasn’t half as terrifying as living on the streets for the last few years.

She laughed when her fingers touched his feathers. “He’s so soft.”

Blade smiled—the first Guy had ever seen on her, and he’d known her over a year—the expression transforming her strangely featureless face and making her look pretty and almost girlish. “That’s his body down.”

“Like a goose,” Cat said, her expression trancelike as she stared at the bird.

“Yes, the same idea.”

“I’ve never seen a bird like him before. He’s so big!”

“There used to be many ravens, and they were very helpful to farmers. But perhaps a hundred years or so ago, people decided they were pests, so they hunted them to near extinction. I haven’t seen a single raven in Britain although I understand a few still live here.”

“Where did you get him?” Cat asked, the tension leaking from her small frame as it became obvious the bird wasn’t going to hurt her.

“He found me,” Blade said simply. “Where did you get your dog?”

“We found each other,” Cat said, and then laughed when Angus purred. “He’s purring like a cat!”

“Cat,” Angus echoed.

Guy, Angus, Blade, and possibly George, too, all winced at Cat’s high-pitched squeal. “He talks!”

“He does,” Blade said, turning to the bird. “What’s the weather like today, Angus?”

“It’s a pea souper,” he said in his strange voice, which sounded like a slightly raspier version of Blade’s.

They all laughed.

“What do you want for supper, Angus?”

“Pork pie and peas.”

Cat laughed so hard it was a joy to watch.

Guy narrowed his eyes at the bird. “He also steals.”

Angus snapped his beak at Guy and cut him a filthy look.

“Does he really?” Cat asked.

Blade nodded. “Don’t leave anything of value around because Angus likes pretty things. Or even just things.”