with an invisible model, then dusted his hands. “Out of his way, presumably. Is that accurate, Stanley?”
The viscount’s blush looked to be seeping into his actual hair.
“I let her go,” he said quietly.
“Ah. Like fishing, then? You took the hook from her mouth, so to speak, and put her back in the water.” North could not help but laugh at Harcourt’s miming skills.
“Can she swim, do you suppose?” Ash’s usual sobriety fled. He dissolved into laughter at his own jest, as did they all—except poor Stanley of course.
The viscount stood straighter, if possible. “You know perfectly well what I mean. I ended our affair. I told her she was free to do as she pleased.”
North nodded and composed himself. “And you paid her a nice settlement, of course.”
“Actually, she would not take it. She was not at all happy that I offered it.”
A giggling Harcourt bent over and dove onto the couch like a man run through the gut with a saber.
Ash rubbed a hand over his face then stiffened. “That has to be it! Ursula found The Scarlet Plumiere and had you punished. Severely punished, it appears; if night follows day, and things play out the way The Plumiere has predicted, you, my dear Viscount F, are about to be released from your engagement.”
“But that’s why I let her go, you see? It would be poor form to keep one’s mistress while one is preparing for marriage, and honeymoon, and fatherhood, and…”
“And death.” Having solved the mystery, Ash’s nose was back in the book.
“Yes, that too. If Irene Goodfellow breaks it off, Mother will have me fed to the fish, and even though she is doddering, she will find a way to bear another son to replace me.”
“It is unsettling the way that woman tosses that threat about,” North admitted. “Love her as I do, it fairly gives me nightmares thinking about it.”
“Well, thinking about it put me off seeing Ursula,” Stan mumbled.
“Quite so. Quite so.” North nodded, thinking. The mystery was solved, but what were they to do about it?
“It would be best to have her put down, Stanley. For your own good,” Harcourt mumbled against a cushion. With all his antics, his gold-brown hair was coming loose from its tether.
“Who? The Scarlet Plumiere? I cannot have a woman murdered, even if she has essentially ruined my life with her blasted article, using my very blood for her ink, as it were. Why, I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing.”
“Oh, not her, man. Your mother.” Harcourt rolled onto his back and spoke to the ceiling. “Have your mother put down and enjoy the reprieve. Marry in another ten years.”
“Put down my mo...you are mad!”
“No. Actually, it is not a bad idea a ‘tall.” Ash closed his book again and tossed it onto the side table.
“All right. You are both mad. I will not be having my mother put down, for God’s sake.”
“Oh, Stanley. Do keep up.” Ash folded his hands and unexpectedly grinned. He must have had a grand idea; he did not smile easily. “I mean The Plumiere, of course, not your dear mother.”
“You mean it? You can stand here in front of God and good whisky and say such things? Good lord, man. Perhaps I do not know you at all. Perhaps you could actually do the deed yourself!” Stanley straightened his waistcoat as if preparing to leave in a huff.
“Oh, I would rather not do the deed myself, of course.” Ashmoore frowned and scrubbed a finger back and forth across his mouth.
North could take it no more. He tossed up his hands. “I surrender as well, Ash. What are you thinking? You cannot be talking about having The Scarlet Plumiere murdered.”
“Not murdered. Put down. Removed from power—or The Capital Journal at least.” Ash leaned in and lowered his voice. “The only way to control a woman these days, gentlemen, is to marry her off.”
Harcourt rolled back onto his face and mumbled, “I’d rather plan a murder than a wedding.”
Callister stepped into the library with a small white box tied with crimson ribbon. North nodded his butler over and reached for the package, but the old man shook his head.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but this just arrived for Viscount Forsgreen.”
Something yawned and stretched inside North’s breast, something that had been sleeping for two years. Usually, when it woke, he drugged it with brandy until it slept again. He was not sure, but it might have been his soul. And with some sort of premonition which he had never been known to possess, he suspected that thing within him would somehow be affected by Stanley’s box.
He watched, as did they all, while Stanley slowly pulled a crimson tail, as if he expected a cat to jump out.
The ribbon fell away. Nothing happened. Stanley sat the box upon the table, lifted the lid, and set it to one side. He frowned, looked at North, then reached into its depths. He pulled out a pair of spectacles...and a bubble burst in North’s chest.
He laughed.
Stanley did not seem to understand.
“Who knew about this meeting, Viscount F?” Ash had to raise his voice to be heard.
North laughed harder. Watching Stanley’s face as realization dawned, struck him as particularly amusing.
“Untrustworthy eyes.” Harcourt’s grin widened further than the confines of his face. “I say, she is a clever minx.”
North agreed. The Scarlet Plumiere was clever. And had he a heart, she might have just won it over with her wit alone.
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Blood For Ink
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. Like most authors, she is constantly searching for, or borrowing pens. She manages her characters in a waiting room in her head where fights often break out over whose story should be next in line.
If you like her books leave a review—all the Muir Witches will be most appreciative.
She loves to hear from readers. You can reach her through her website—
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Excerpt from GOING BACK FOR ROMEO
Excerpt from BLOOD FOR INK
About the Author
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Excerpt from GOING BACK FOR ROMEO
Excerpt from BLOOD FOR INK
About the Author
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Excerpt from GOING BACK FOR ROMEO
Excerpt from BLOOD FOR INK
About the Author