Page 52 of Winter's Waltz
“He cares for you.”
“I care for him, too. I’ve known him for years.” Since before Gregory. Peter had been another child of the streets. “After Gav and I set out on our own, we banded together with a group of other lads. It was safer in numbers. Peter was one of them. That group was how we found Demon and realized we were family…”
She shuddered at the painful memories of that time, when she had been desperate for warmth and food, when they had picked pockets and shared their spoils to keep each other from the workhouse, or worse.
“Come,” Max said, opening his arms to her.
For an embrace.
Part of her balked. Told her to run. She was strong enough on her own. She didn’t need his comfort. Didn’t want his sympathy. But the continued disasters at Lady Fortune had left her feeling closer to the scared urchin she had once been. And there was something undeniably appealing about being in the Marquess of Sundenbury’s arms.
She went, wrapping her arms around his lean waist, pressing her cheek to the muscled strength of his chest. And his arms came around her as well, holding her tight, his warmth seeping into her. She had not realized she was cold until now. Nor had she realized just how much she wanted his comfort.
Arthur sidled nearer and sat on her booted foot, as was often his way when he was attempting to protect her. Max’s heart was a steady, reassuring thump. His hands traveled up and down her back in soothing motions.
“I am sorry about what happened last night,” he said, breaking the silence.
She tipped her head back, searching his face. “Sorry about what we did?”
His smile was wry. “Never that. Sorry about what we didn’t do, yes. But sorry about the miscreants who seem hell-bent on causing you mischief—I am sorry beyond words about that, Gen. I wish there was something I could do, some way I could find the bastards responsible and thrash them to within an inch of their lives.”
Relief washed over her. She did not want him to regret what they had shared.
“None of what has happened is your fault,” she said, though there was a small sliver of doubt which remained, persistent as a splinter.
“Do you believe that?” He searched her gaze, knowing too much, seeing too much, as always. “Your man seems to believe otherwise, thanks to our little note.”
“I told him he hasn’t a right to question you or what is between us.”
His hands stilled in their caresses. “And whatisbetween us, Gen?”
What a question to ask. She did not have the answer to it. At least, not the right answer. Not the one she wanted.
“We are friends,” she said, lacking for a better descriptor, “are we not?”
He stiffened. “Like you and Peter are brother and sister?”
“No,” she hastened to say. “It is different. It is…more. Much more.”
His gaze plumbed hers, searching, seeking. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you didn’t answer my question. The note, Gen. The thefts and destruction. They have only begun happening since my presence here.”
Both his observations were true, and she could not deny it.
“The attacks on Lady Fortune have only begun following your presence here,” she said. “I can’t deny the note which was found, or what it says. Seemingly, there is a connection but I haven’t an inkling what. I do not believe you are responsible, if that is what you are asking. Never.”
“But neither do you believe me when I tell you I haven’t any new debt?” he pressed. “When I tell you I have not played at the tables or made so much as a wager since the last, before I came here to you?”
Gen stared at him, wondering how she could answer. Struggling with her own turbulent emotions. She was tired and confused and on the edge of losing everything she had saved and worked for these last few years. Lady Fortune had been all she had wanted for as long as she could recall. But suddenly, it did not feel as if it were enough.
She wanted more. But she was afraid to trust anyone completely, outside of her family, and especially a man who had gambled his way through his privileged life. The Marquess of Sundenbury had never gone hungry, she was sure. He had never slept huddled with other urchins on the streets in the cold rain, trying in vain to keep warm. He had never had to worry about where his next meal would come from. Never had to fear what would happen if he were caught filching from some cove who’d wandered into the East End in search of vice.
He shook his head slowly, his expression turning mournful. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Did she?
Shouldshe?
“I don’t know what to believe,” she confessed. “I want to believe you. But what has been happening here…and now the note. For weeks before your arrival, there was no trouble here. It seems an odd coincidence.”
