"His house was a sweeping estate with immaculate lawns and high perimeter hedges. With its eighteenth-century-style architecture, it looked like it was built while Spade had been human. Inside, there were long, grand hallways. Ornate woodwork along the walls. Painted ceilings. Crystal chandeliers. Handwoven tapestries and antique furnishings. A fireplace you could hold a meeting in.
“Where’s the queen?” I muttered irreverently after a doorman had let us in.

“Not your taste, luv?” Bones asked with a knowing look

Not nearly. I’d been brought up in rural Ohio, where my Sunday best would have been a dishrag in comparison to the fabric on the settee we just passed. “Everything is so perfect. I’d feel like I was desecrating something if I sat on it.”
“Then perhaps I should rethink your bedchamber, see if we have something more comfortable in the stables,” a voice teased.

Spade appeared, his dark, spiky hair tousled as if he’d recently been in bed.
Open mouth, insert foot. “Your home is lovely,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll get manners when pigs fly.”"