Page 12 of Winter's Waltz
She had a blade tucked into her boot, and she would use it if necessary. Arthur trotted back to her side and curled up at her feet with a sound of canine contentment. If only the little beggar could discern how much danger the fiend sitting upon her kitchen table presented.
One ear scratch, and he was smitten. But here was where she and her dog were decidedly different. Gen had no intention of allowing this cur to scratch her ears. Or anywhere else.
“Chairs are meant for arses,” she informed Blunderbury. “If you are this confused about furniture, no wonder you are terrible at games of chance.”
His grin faded, but he remained where he was, posed indolently on the table, elbow on one knee, long legs dangling. “Who says I am terrible?”
“Your debts.”
He winced. “Lady Fortune abandoned me.”
She raised a brow. “Your common sense abandoned your upper works, more like. Evidence: you are still seated upon a table.”
“There is only one chair in sight, and you are in it. Would you have me sit on your lap, empress?” There was a lightness in his tone once more. A note of flirtation.
“You would crush me.” She sniffed, which proved a grievous error as it brought his scent to her.
Why could he not smell terrible? And for that matter, why could he not be bracket-faced?
“Mayhap you would care to sit on my lap instead?” he suggested.
He was indeed flirting with her.
She scowled, as much at his wicked words as the reaction they prompted within her. A strange and decidedly unwanted burst of longing burned to life.
“This chair will do fine.”
“Pity.” He glanced down at her ledgers. “What is this?”
“Work.” She crossed her arms over her chest, regretting the motion as it made her aware of her breasts in a way she ordinarily was not. “Something with which you are unfamiliar.”
“Au contraire, Miss Winter. Look at me now. I am working off my debt and improving my reputation.”
“Not too bloody well. All you’ve accomplished is annoying me and making one of your ladybirds give me some gowns and contraptions I have no intention of wearing.”
“Madame Derosiers is not one of my ladybirds,” he denied. “Jealous, empress?”
Of the dark-haired French beauty who owed him a favor? Disappointingly, yes.
“Never.” She tipped up her chin. “You are keeping me from my work, Blunderbury. These ledgers won’t tally themselves. I’ve more supplies to purchase for the opening of my gaming hell, and I need to be certain I have sufficient funds remaining. Not all of us spend more than we have, you see.”
He tensed at her jab, and she knew a moment of regret at taunting him for his gambling failures.
“Not terribly sporting of you, Miss Winter. Behold: I am a new man. I have not attended the green baize since my last disastrous attempt at turning my luck around. Nor have I indulged in a sip of spirits.”
Ah.That made sense. Gen had spent years at The Devil’s Spawn, aiding her half brothers in running the gaming hell. Long enough to know the worst gamblers were the tap-hackled ones. The more they imbibed, the greater their losses. And that was why the poison was always freely flowing at every gaming establishment.
“Am I meant to give you applause?” she drawled, aware of how cutting she was being.
It was necessary to maintain a distance between them, however she could. Rudeness ordinarily proved a great success for her whenever she strove to keep a gentleman at bay. Wearing trousers and binding her breasts helped, too. Dressing as a lad had kept her safe when she and Gavin had been young, living on the streets of the rookery. It had done the same when she had required it to keep the patrons of The Devil’s Spawn at a distance.
“I have a feeling there is nothing I could do—no feat I could possibly perform—that you would consider worthy of your applause.” He slid from the table, landing effortlessly on his feet. “But I have sought you out for a different reason entirely.”
Back to these lessons of his, were they?
“I am too busy for more of your nonsense today, my lord.” She gestured toward the ledgers, which he was keeping her from. “Lessons can wait.”
But he did not take his leave as she had hoped. Instead, he remained where he was. “I am afraid this particular lesson, more so than all the rest, cannot.”
