Page 90 of Devil in Her Details

“Never said you were, frère, but we have to work with what we know.”

Maxen grunted his agreement, just raising Dagger’s hackles more.

“And what is it you bloody know?” he demanded darkly.

“That whenever one of us meets a woman and attaches ourselves to them,” Maxen said slowly, “madness ensues.”

Bloody hell.

Not untrue.

And coming directly from one of the very men who’d attached himself and gone mad. If he could remain calm with his wife inside that shop, so could Dagger.

“Fine. But we’re snatching the arse up.”

“Agreed,” Maxen said solemnly. “He brought this circus to Brighton. He has to pay.”

“My day just got brighter,” Reaper said. “What’s the plan?”

“We pay off the driver,” Dagger said with a cold look at the man’s back.

“Will it work again?” Reaper wondered. If the last time taught him a lesson, it would be to be on guard against men absconding with him.

“Hence bringing this entourage,” Dagger said. “They are his protection.” Did the arse really believe this display would keep him safe? Laughable. And testament to the fact that he had no damn clue who he was dealing with.

“Fool,” Maxen muttered.

Exactly.

Apparently, the marquess thought himself untouchable. Even after he’d broken his damn fingers, the man had still returned. Dagger couldn’t fathom this sort of arrogance. He had stared Calvington in the eye while he snapped his bones. Had made himself abundantly, unambiguously clear. Most men only needed that lesson once. He’d given the marquess two. Only rare men needed such a lesson a third time.

And yet here stood the marquess.

Bloody smiling.

Either the arse was too desperate to be deterred, or too delusional to understand what Dagger was capable of. Neither spoke well for his immediate future.

“We wait,” Maxen said before Dagger could lift a boot.

Damn it. “Why?”

“He came here to see her,” Maxen pointed out, eyes still on Calvington, who had now positioned himself near the shop entrance. “To watch her face when she realized what he’d done. When she doesn’t appear . . .”

“He’ll direct them to her house,” Dagger muttered, then cursed. “He probably has scouts all over. Arrogant shite.”

“If he’s determined to see this through, yes,” Maxen confirmed. “He’ll also grow impatient.”

“And when he’s all frustrated and stomping his fish feet,” Reaper said darkly, the coin reappearing, “he’ll be ours for the snatching. I’ll commandeer his carriage while you wait.”

Dagger gritted his teeth but nodded, watching with reluctance as his brother slipped away. The plan was sound, but it was also going to require waiting on the street watching that fool smile for however long it took the man’s patience to run out, which, given that his own patience had already abandoned him approximately thirty seconds after the first carriage arrived, was going to be a particular kind of hell.

Maxen stood like a statue beside him.

Which didn’t bloody help.

“She’ll be fine,” Dagger tried to reassure himself, eyes never leaving the shop door. Behind which Lilly was feeling God only knew what. Calliope was in there with her, he reminded himself. Saint was in there, too, equipped to manage whatever the situation required. Nothing would happen.

But knowing all that didn’t stop the sensation of ants crawling up his legs.