Page 29 of A Scandal for the Beastly Earl

"It's another way of saying I don't quite know what to do with you."

"You could try talking to me. Actually talking, not just exchanging barbed observations."

"I'm not good at talking."

"You're doing fine so far."

"This isn't talking. This is... I don't know what this is."

"It's a start," Arabella said. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

Before he could respond, a tremendous crash came from somewhere below, followed by barking and what sounded like several people shouting.

"Your dog," Lord Blackthorn said resignedly.

"Our dog," Arabella corrected. "We're married now. Joint property and all that."

"I don't recall agreeing to joint ownership of chaos."

"It was in the vows. 'For better or worse, in theft and in destruction.'"

"I must have missed that part."

"You were distracted by my beauty."

"I was distracted by wondering if I'd gone insane."

Another crash, this one followed by what was definitely Cookie's voice raised in either fury or laughter but it was hard to tell which.

"We should probably investigate," Arabella suggested.

"Must we?"

"Unless you want to find out tomorrow that he's reorganized your entire household according to his own mysterious system."

"Heaven help us." He rose, offering her his hand. "Come on then. Let's go save my kitchen from your criminal."

"Our criminal."

"I'm never going to win this argument, am I?"

"Probably not. I'm very persistent."

"I'm beginning to notice that."

They found Thistle in the kitchen, covered in flour and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. Cookie was standing in the middle of what appeared to be a flour explosion, also covered in white powder but laughing helplessly.

"I'm so sorry, my lord," she managed between giggles. "But he was trying to help knead the bread, and then..."

"He helped," Lord Blackthorn finished dryly. "Yes, I can see that."

Thistle, spotting his people, headed towards them, leaving floury paw prints across the floor and transferring a generous amount of flour to both their evening clothes.

"This," Lord Blackthorn observed, looking down at his now-decorated black coat, "is my life now."

"It could be worse," Arabella offered, trying to brush flour from her skirts and only succeeding in spreading it around.

"How exactly?"