Page 98 of Morally Black Betrothal

“Why does he live here?”

“His wing is permanently damaged, and he can’t fly more than a few feet. He wouldn’t last a week in the wild, so he is Pyotr’s now. Watch.”

Fitzgerald hopped to the edge of the cage, and Pyotr put a finger out. The dove hopped onto it, and Pyotr lifted it to his shoulder, which the bird happily jumped onto. I couldn’t help but smile when the bird snuggled its beak against Pyotr’s cheek.

“What can I say? He loves me,” Pyotr said with a shrug.

“Couldn’t be the birdseed in your pocket,” Brendan said dryly.

With a chuckle, Pyotr took out said seed and offered it to the pigeon. “You keep treats for those you love, they will come back to you every time.”

Brendan glanced down at me. “What kind of treats do you need, angel? Birdseed? Diamonds?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to think you don’t have to bribe me to love you, sir.”

We were joking, of course. Playing a part. But was the doubt that washed through Brendan’s expression part of the act too?

“You can pet him if you want,” Pyotr offered, holding out the hand where the bird was still perched.

I set a careful finger to the dove’s head. It was soft and silky and smooth, just as I imagined it would be. “Very nice. Aren’t you a good boy? The most handsome boy ever.”

“Easy there. You’ll give him a big head.”

Brendan was watching me with an expression that looked like stars breaking through a bank of clouds.

“You aren’t actually jealous of a bird, are you?”

“Maybe I just want my fiancée’s affection too.” That smirk reappeared.

He was joking again, obviously. But I loved it, which was probably why I allowed myself to enjoy being tugged back and against his body.

“Good boy,” I cooed. “Aren’t you the best boy ever? The handsomest, most perfect boy in the world.” I petted his shoulder, then reached up to stroke his hair around his ear, in a spot that was somehow as soft as the bird’s feathery down.

Brendan offered me a sharkish grin, then pretended to bite my finger as I took my hand back. “You’re joking, but you can’t possibly know how gorgeous you look praising my birds. And then me.”

With a knowing grin, Pyotr put Fitzgerald back in his cage and made himself busy feeding another bird.

I chuckled. “Does someone have a little bit of a praise kink, Mr. Black?”

The hand at my waist tightened as he leaned down. His breath, heated and sweet, tickled my ear as his lips brushed my cheek. “I’m starting to think everything about you is my kink, angel.”

It’s just an act, I told myself.Just an act. Just an act. He’s not looking at you like he wants to devour you because it’s real. It’s because you have an audience in this room. Don’t give in. Don’t lean in to kiss him. Stop brushing your nose to his that way. Don’t even think about popping up onto your toes and?—

“Brendan!” called Pyotr from the other side of the room. “We have a new hawk. Just arrived yesterday. Did you want to see her?”

Brendan stepped away, the tip of his nose reddened, his breathing somewhat labored. He managed to tear his gaze from mine and straightened as he nodded toward Pyotr. “Absolutely.”

Together, Fitzgerald and I watched Brendan interact with other birds. He cautiously fed a few others, generally demonstrating a caring, careful side that I had a feeling only thepeople in this room had ever seen. Certainly, the press hadn’t. Nor the members of his immediate family.

It made him that much more attractive.

And, I realized, that much more off-limits, if it was something he kept so secret.

I turned to the dove, who tipped his head to the side, as if to say, “What’s going on?”

I sighed. “You might have a broken wing, buddy, but at least you know who loves you.”

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