Page 30 of Winter's Waltz
Chapter 6
“Where are you going?”
Gen jumped, emitting an embarrassing squeal as she waited for her curricle in the rear of Lady Fortune. Hand to her heart, she turned to find the marquess bearing down on her. He was dressed as if he intended to make a call, from his impeccable hat to his shiny boots.
“Damn it, Sundenbury, stop sneaking about like a cracksman searching for the silver in a fancy house while everyone is asleep,” she chastised.
In truth, her irritation should have been directed toward herself.
Ever since he had kissed her in the kitchens the day before, she had been on edge. All too aware of the handsome lord. When he was in a room, he seemed to steal all the air from it. When he was not in a room, he clouded her thoughts just as if he were there. She had done her utmost to keep her distance from him after her brothers had finally left.
Last night, he had insisted on sleeping on her floor, but she had refused. Being alone in a room with him was not something she intended to do any time soon. She had far greater concerns on her mind just now. There was a war being waged against her, and she was determined to find out who was behind it and why. Lady Fortune had to come first, before everything and everyone.
That was simply the way of it.
“Forgive me, empress,” he said with that easy charm of his and another deadly grin. “It was not my intention to startle you.”
His dimples mocked her.
“You didn’t startle me,” she said with a sniff. Which was a lie, of course. “Sometimes, a woman wants to be alone with her thoughts while she waits for her curricle.”
“Understood.” He nodded, stopping distressingly near to her. His scent carried to her on the breeze, far more alluring than the ordinary stink of the streets. “Which brings us back to my initial question, the one you failed to answer. Where are you going?”
“Wherever I direct my curricle, Marquess.”
Young Davy, who was a pickpocket her brother Dom had taken under his wing in Oxfordshire a year ago, arrived with the curricle, pulling it to a stop. Davy, while still reluctant to curtail his pickpocketing, was keen to learn more. Gen had decided to bring him to Lady Fortune in hopes he would find a role that suited him. Thus far, he had been doing an admirable job of tending to the stables.
“Here you be, miss,” Davy called down.
“Thank you, lad.” She turned back to the marquess, narrowing her gaze at him. “Where areyougoing?”
The cursed grin deepened. “Wherever you are going, of course.”
“No, you aren’t.” She stepped up into the curricle, accepting the reins from Davy, who brushed against her coat in the process.
He tipped his hat to her as the glint of metal disappeared into his coat.
The little shite.
She caught his arm. “Lad, if you thieve my blade, I’ll make you clean the chamber pots for a fortnight.”
Davy’s horror was reflected on his face as he hastily withdrew the blade and held it out for Gen’s retrieval. “Christ. Here you are, miss.”
She took it. “Thank you. No more filching, lad.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced. “Aye, Miss Winter.”
Davy leapt from the curricle with the grace of a cat, but before she could be on her way, someone was taking his place on the box. A tall, wickedly handsome someone.
Was it wrong of her to take a moment to admire the way his trousers molded to his legs as he sat at her side? Was it sinful to take pleasure in his thigh brushing against hers, in the heat he exuded? In his nearness?
Yes.
Also, she did not give a damn.
“What are you doing in my curricle, Sundenbury?” she demanded.
He appeared unaffected by the sharpness in her voice. Instead, he lounged on the box in an indolent pose, as if it were where he belonged. “I told you, I am going wherever you are.”
