Page 19 of Devil in Her Details

They set off at a brisk pace, keeping to the shadows of the road as much as possible as the carriage rolled through Brighton’s plodding traffic. Staying close required little more than a slight jog. The carriage slowed and pulled to a stop before a townhouse.

Not caution whatsoever.

Dagger motioned to his brother with two fingers.

Reaper peeled off immediately, heading toward the driver with casual purpose, while he moved straight for the carriage door.

Time to get you gone.

He yanked it open and struck before the man could even look up, his fist driving hard into the man throat. The marquess collapsed backward onto the seat, choking, his breath crushed from him before he could call out.

Dagger entered and closed the door, settling into the seat, scrutinizing the man coldly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess.”

The man glared at him, still clutching his throat.

“Ah, yes, it will probably take a moment to regain your voice.” He let his gaze rake over the man, slow and unblinking. A useful tactic. Silence had a way of making people feel ill at ease. The marquess was doing his best to recover his composure, which was interesting. Most men in his position would have instantly sputtered with rage. This one calculated first. That made him marginally less of a fool than he’d appeared on the street, which also made him marginally more dangerous.

The man’s eyes flashed with coldness.

“You must be wondering who I am.” Dagger cocked his head. “Who am I . . .?” He flashed the man a taunting grin. “I’m the worst trouble you could find.”

The man’s glare turned venomous.

The carriage suddenly lurched forward, and Dagger reached out and snatched the man’s hand—the same one the fool had used to grab Lilly.

The marquess’s eyes widened, darting to the curtained window before snapping back to Dagger. “What did you do to my driver?” he demanded, finally finding his voice and trying to wrench his hand free.

Dagger tightened his grip. “Replaced him with mine.”

The poor nob’s face turned comical. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded. “If you did, you would let me go this instant!”

What an arse. “I know who you are, Calsington.”

“Calvington,” the man gritted out. “And you just made a gravest mistake of your life.”

“Me?” Dagger sneered. “I don’t believe I made any mistake.”

“Wait a bloody moment.” Calvington straightened, his face suddenly darkening. “You’re Lilly’s client. The man who left her shop earlier.”

Dagger scowled at the use of Lilly’s pretty name on this cad’s filthy tongue. “You finally recognize me. So slow. But good. We can get to the point. Stay away from the milliner.”

Calvington barked out a laugh. “Milliner? She’s the daughter of a duke playing at being a milliner in a fit of pique. I’m here to take her home.”

Dagger’s gaze sharpened, absorbing the words.

Duke’s daughter . . .

Home.

Something cold slid through his chest. He’d expected that she might be aristocratic. The way she moved, the way she spoke. He’d known she wasn’t any ordinary woman. But a daughter of a duke? Here? In Brighton? Acting as a milliner?

Not important right now.

Indeed. The important part was that this man talked about home as if Lilly were his wayward wife. A damn pest.

A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth. “Interesting. From what I’ve heard and seen, the lady very much protests your presence.”

“Her defiance is charming, but it will pass.”