“Cheadle,” Devil said, as though he understood.
He didn’t. Whit barely understood why he was here in Mayfair, in formalwear, watching Hattie’s father. Not that he’d admit that. “I told you I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did. Are you here for the father or the son? You know you cannot knife them in a Mayfair ballroom, don’t you?”
“Don’t see why not,” Whit responded.
Devil grinned wide and tapped his walking stick against his boot. “You should have told me you were planning a show; I would have searched out formalwear, as well.”
- Brazen and the Beast by Sarah MacLean













