Chapter 6 #3
"I thought women loved mysterious men."
"In novels, perhaps. In real life, they're exhausting."
Another of those rusty laughs. "You really are extraordinary."
"Is that another way of saying strange?"
"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?"
"He could have gotten into the wine cellar."
"Don't give him ideas."
"I think he has plenty of his own."
Cookie had recovered herself enough to curtsey, sending up another small cloud of flour. "I'll have this cleaned up in no time, my lord. And the bread will still be ready for morning."
"Despite Thistle's help?"
"Perhaps because of it, my lord. He's got a good technique for kneading. Very enthusiastic."
"That's one word for it."
They retreated from the kitchen, leaving Cookie and her assistants to deal with the flour disaster. Thistle trotted along beside them, occasionally shaking himself and creating small flour storms.
"He needs a bath," Lord Blackthorn observed.
"He hates baths."
"How unfortunate for him."
"You're not going to..."
"I'm going to have the footmen handle it. I'm not wrestling a flour-covered dog into a tub. I have some dignity left."
"Not much, though," Arabella observed, pointing to a particularly large flour print on him.
He looked at it, then at her, and for a moment she thought he might be angry. Then his mouth twitched.
"This is your fault," he said.
"How is this my fault?"
"You fell into that lake. Everything since then has been a direct result of that moment."
"You could have let me drown."
"Don't tempt me to regret my decision."
They stood in the hallway, both covered in flour, while Thistle sat between them looking remarkably pleased with his evening's work.
"I should take him to my rooms," Arabella said. "Before he finds something else to destroy."
"Probably wise." Lord Blackthorn hesitated, then added, "the footmen can bring up a hip bath if you want to attempt bathing him yourself."
"You don't trust them with him?"
"I don't trust him with them. He seems to have a gift for corrupting my staff."
"He's very charming."
"He's a threat."
"The two aren't mutually exclusive."
"Apparently not." He paused again, seeming to wrestle with something. "About dinner..."
"Yes?"
"Perhaps we could...If you're amenable... we could continue dining together. Despite the complications."
"I'd like that."
"Even though I'm depressing?"
"Especially because you're depressing. Someone needs to work on that."
"And you've appointed yourself to the task?"
"Someone has to. Your staff seems to have given up."
"They know better than to try to change me."
"Well," Arabella said, gathering Thistle's collar to lead him away, "I've never been accused of knowing better."
"No," he agreed. "Thank Heavens for that."
It wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs that she realized what he'd said, and by then it was too late to ask what he meant.