Page 24 of Winter's Waltz
“He’s a beast.”
As am I when it comes to you, my dear Miss Winter.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, Max smiled his most charming smile, the one that showed his dimples to perfection. He did not think even Miss Genevieve Winter was impervious.
“A beast who understood you were under siege this evening, Miss Winter. He led me to you. He trusts me. You should as well.”
Well, mayhap not as mindlessly as her hound, but Max kept that bit to himself. Instead, he held his breath, awaiting her response.
Her eyes narrowed in that suspicious glare of hers he had come to recognize. “Arthur is too trusting.”
“Arthur saved you,” he countered.
“One could argue you did. You already know where my rooms are. You didn’t need him to guide you.”
She was not wrong. And her words were a beacon of light when he least expected it. Interesting. Promising, as well? He dared to entertain the hope.
“I was acting on behalf of your hound,” he said modestly. “But now, I am acting on behalf of myself and everyone else beneath this roof. We want to make certain you are safe. Someone is trying to destroy your lady’s gaming hell before it has even opened its doors. That someone has proven himself deuced dangerous this evening. I cannot, as a gentleman, leave you here in good conscience. So you see? You must agree, else I shall be heartbroken. Arthur as well. Is that not right, old chap?”
He issued the last question to her dog, who offered a bark of acquiescence.
“I have a blade,” Miss Winter said. “More than one. I also have a brace of pistols. I can maim or kill a cove in the blink of an eye.”
He had no doubt she could. Or that she did. Indeed, had she proclaimed she possessed a full arsenal of cannon and infantrymen and cavalry as well, he would not have been surprised in the least. It seemed the sort of thing Miss Genevieve Winter would have and do.
But he met her gaze, unwavering. “To hell with your blade and pistols. Let me be your guard. If anyone should bluster his way in here, he will deal with me first and give you time to protect yourself.”
She cocked her head, considering him. “Not a bad point, Marquess. The floor, you say?”
He bit back an exuberant surge of glee at her capitulation. This woman did not lower her defenses with ease, and he knew it. And appreciated it, and her, too. “The floor. With Arthur. The both of us will protect you.”
“Arthur does not prefer to sleep here,” she countered.
“He does tonight.” He lowered his gaze to the dog in question. “Do you not, lad?”
Arthur stared up at him.
“Lad?”
Arthur barked.
Max grinned at Miss Winter. “You see? Even the hound agrees.”
She sniffed. “Very well. If you must. But I meant what I said. No blanket hornpipe, Dunderhead.”
Blanket hornpipe?
Christ.
Max nodded, swallowing down his laughter and objections both. “Fair enough.”
