Page 13 of Winter's Waltz
She stayed seated, refusing to budge. “Go bedevil some ladybirds.”
“I do not know any ladybirds.”
She snorted. “Your lying skills are as poor as your gambling skills, Blunderbury.”
“You know, I am almost becoming fond of your sobriquet for me.”
His flirtatious air had returned.
So had the sizzle in the air.
“I shall have to think of a worse one,” she told him.
Her mind instantly went to work with possibilities.
Sundenbunny?
Sundenflurry?
Dunderbury?
“I doubt you could.” His smile was once more in place. A lordly smile.
One that made her feel things.
Dreadful things.
“Lord Dunderhead,” she decided, reminding herself to remain impervious.
He pursed his lips. “Unkind of you, empress. I thought we were friends.”
“We are most definitelynotfriends.” Outrage had her shooting from her chair. Arthur rose as well, rising on his three paws and glancing between his mistress and the interloper he had become so fond of.
“Nonsense. Wearefriends. Look at our ease with one another.”
Ease. Was the man addlepated?
“We are not. I punched you in the nose and pricked you with my dagger. I don’t like you.”
“I think you do like me, Miss Winter.” The marquess stepped nearer, crowding her with his tall frame.
With his scent.
With his handsome face.
She poked his chest with her forefinger. “You’re touched in the head, you are.”
Blast the man, but his warmth and the solid muscles lurking beneath his waistcoat and coat were both alarmingly alluring.
He caught her finger. “Careful now, empress. You may upset the last wound you dealt me, and it was just beginning to heal.”
She would give him one to match. Blacken his eye.
Kiss him.
What the devil?
No. She would not kiss him. Not now. Not ever.
