Free The Angel in My Arms: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane Page B

and returns the emeralds,” Marlowe replied. “And that means one fewer war on his hands, which many say even Boney could not win.”
    It was plausible, Marcus realized ruefully. “And how many are in French possession?”
    “Six.”
    Marcus nodded. “Any villagers of interest?”
    “Beyond the common smugglers? Not that I’ve found.”
    “Have you met the Honorable Ambrose Dixon?” he asked, taking one last drink then pushing his tankard aside.
    Marlowe smiled. “Not Dixon himself, but I’ve made the acquaintance of some of the female servants.”
    “I’m sure that you have,” Marcus scoffed, remembering Marlowe’s reputation with women. “Do endeavor to remain on friendly terms with them, won’t you? There’s something about Dixon. I can’t put my finger on it just yet.”
    “Always happy to be of help,” Marlowe answered knowingly.
    “Keep me informed,” Marcus said simply, rising.
    “That I’ll do,” Marlowe replied, “that I’ll do.”

Claire Crawford was everything that Sarah was not. Her impeccable style, irreproachable demeanor, and innate ability to charm the horns off a disgruntled ram made her the envy of the entire female population of Dorset.
    Save for Sarah.
    For Claire made Sarah feel just as special, and not because she was kind or thoughtful or any of those things that women are supposed to be.
    Though she was.
    No, Claire treated Sarah as though she were special because Claire believed it to be so.
    “Six events, Sarah, and I’ll not take one less,” Claire insisted, holding a lovely blue gown up for approval.
    “Beautiful. It matches your eyes,” Sarah answered, twisting a lock of stray hair around her finger as she reclined on Claire’s bed. “One event,” she bargained.
    Claire smiled at the compliment, then flung the dress onto the end of the bed and reached for another. “Five. And I’ll not budge.” She held the pale yellow gown up to her body, emphasizing the low neckline that would accentuate her growing bosom with an arching of her eyebrow.
    “Oh yes, please,” Sarah confirmed with a giggle. “Two events, and that’s my limit.”
    The yellow gown joined the blue one in the colorfulpile of silk and lace on the bed. “Really, Sarah, stubbornness is not an attractive quality. Four.”
    “Two.”
    “Three or I’ll …” Claire paused, obviously attempting to conjure the vilest of threats. “Or I’ll … Bad dog!”
    Sarah sat up just in time to see Claire retrieve what was left of a badly chewed pale brown kid boot from Titus’s mouth.
    “Or I’ll banish your beast from my house. Forever!”
    “Really, Claire, it was not the most attractive shoe to begin—”
    “Forever, Sarah!” Claire repeated, running her finger through a hole in the toe of the boot and glaring threateningly at her.
    Sarah gave Titus the most scolding look she could muster, and then flopped back on the bed. “Oh, all right. I will attend three events at your house party, but they will be of my choosing and will most certainly not include dancing. Of any kind,” she emphasized with a severe look. “Agreed?”
    “Agreed,” Claire confirmed with a winning smile before rubbing her lower back and joining Sarah on the bed.
    The mattress suddenly sagged in the middle as Titus hefted himself up onto the cream-curtained bed and thrust himself between the two women. He rested his head on Sarah’s thigh and heaved a huge sigh of contentment.
    “You bribed him, didn’t you?”
    “I most certainly did not!” Claire answered resolutely. “Titus needs little convincing on matters involving destruction, as you well know.”
    The dog lifted his head, looked from Sarah to Claire, then back again, before a leather-scented huff escaped from between his enormous jowls. Then he lowered hishead once more, closed his eyes, and immediately began to snore.
    “Speaking of which, did you ever see fit to reimburse Lord Weston for the dogged demise of his coat?”
    “Oh, Lord