Page 69 of Winter's Waltz
“Besides,” her sister-in-law Addy said, “the most intriguing rumors are swirling about the owner of Lady Fortune. We must be there to witness it.”
“A rumor?” Gen frowned. “But I’ve yet to go below. No one knows who owns Lady Fortune.”
And she had kept it that way intentionally, in an effort to summon additional interest in her hell. An element of secrecy always appealed to everyone; she was sure lords and ladies were no different. But she would reveal herself soon enough.
“What if the owner of Lady Fortune were to remain a mystery?” asked her sister-in-law Evie, tilting her head as she considered Gen with a shrewd glance. “Do you not think it would add to the appeal of your establishment?”
“Whilst also allowing you to keep your involvement to yourself,” suggested her half sister Bea.
“And enabling our matchmaking efforts to come to fruition,” her half sister Eugie offered.
Pru, yet another half sister and the eldest of the legitimate female branch of Winters, smiled. “We were all pleased to hear the news.”
News? Matchmaking? Gen felt suddenly as if her head had been filled with air, and that she was floating at the ceiling, like an ascension balloon attempting to make its way into the sky.
“What everyone is trying to say, with remarkable attempts at eloquence, is that you should marry Sundenbury. Keeping your identity as the owner of Lady Fortune a family secret will remove the chief impediment to your nuptials,” said her half sister Grace, ever the forthright one.
Gen blinked, still trying to make sense of the sea of faces staring at her expectantly and all the information which had just been delivered. “Your matchmaking efforts, you say?”
“Max needed a second chance,” Addy said softly, “and you needed love. From what I understand, you have both found that. All you need to do is seize it.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Here now, listen to this, the lot of you. I don’t like being manipulated, and I ain’t about to marry anyone, least of all the marquess.”
“There was no manipulation,” said Lady Emilia, the picture of calm, lovely and feminine almost to a fault.
Two things Gen would never be.
“What do you call asking me to take on your troublesome brother?” Gen asked Addy.
Addy gave her a delicate shrug. “You did not have to accept.”
No, she hadn’t had to, had she? Nor had she been made to fall beneath the charming spell of the man and his dimples and his teaching her to waltz and winning over Arthur and kissing her so sweetly, and any of the hundreds of wondrous things he had said and done during his time at Lady Fortune.
No, curse them all.
Max had won her over well enough on his own. Sundenbury, she reminded herself.
“I won’t marry him,” she announced. “He will realize the terrible mistake I saved him from later.”
“Love is never a terrible mistake,” Evie countered.
“Who says I love him?” Gen grumbled.
Even though she did. She loved Max, the Marquess of Sundenbury, heir to the Duke of Linross, completely mismatched for her in every way.
Except for his kisses.
His touches.
The way he adored Arthur.
His laughter.
Those goddamn dimples…
“Your face does, darling,” observed Christabella.
“Hell,” she swore.
