Page 12 of The Countess Caper

She would break her neck before the month was out. It filled him with an icy fury. She should have footmen to open doors and maids to bring tea and workmen to fix the bloody floorboards. He cast about for something suitably heavy, settling on an iron poker by the fireplace. He used it to force the nail back down into the floorboard. “This house is a disaster.”

Her face immediately pinched in response. Her eyes narrowed; her mouth turned grim.

He’d clearly said the wrong thing.

Again.

There was a perfectly good reason he kept his mouth shut most of the time. He wasn’t good at being charming, at throwaway compliments, small chatter. Lies. And it almost always ended like this. With a beautiful woman staring daggers at him.

Summer shook her head. “Oh, you’ve done it now, Dartmoor.” She took a large bite of an apple and sat back, as if waiting for fireworks.

He frowned. Surely the fact that the house was in shambles was not a surprise.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he clarified.

Mollified, Tessa looked less likely to murder him. Bodily harm was still clearly on the agenda, but he could deal with that. She was the size of a mouse.

On the other hand, he might like to arouse her temper.

Poor choice of words. Because he most certainly wanted to arouse her.

He shifted uncomfortably.

Tessa watched them both. She widened her eyes at Roarke. She very much thought she was communicating something. Trouble was, he had no idea what it was. He raised an eyebrow. She motioned her head toward Summer. Twice. As if that cleared things up.

She huffed a sigh. “Did you ask her?” she finally mouthed as Summer turned away to pour lemonade into cups.

“Ask her what?” he said.

She closed her eyes briefly. “I was trying to be subtle.”

Summer laughed. “Tessa, you are many wonderful things, but subtle is not one of them.”

“Oh, very well,” Tessa muttered. “Are you betrothed, then?”

Roarke stared at her blankly. Summer spilled her drink. “What’s this now?”

“I’m not here to marry Summer,” Roarke said. He grimaced at the thought.

“Hey!” she protested at this expression, mostly because she liked protesting.

“Apologies, cousin.” He turned to Tessa. “I came to marry you.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Three more times. He was about to ask her if she was having some kind of reaction to the dust around the place, then thought better of it.

“I invited him,” Summer rushed to add, as if that would make a difference. “You can trust him. He’s a good egg.”

A good egg.

He nearly growled again.

“If a bit reclusive,” Summer added. “And maybe a bit rough around the edges? Some women like that.”

He was going to strangle her.

“I was sure I’d misheard you,” Tessa finally said. “In the carriage.”

“Not at all.”