Page 73 of Winter's Waltz
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Epilogue
Aknock sounded on Gen’s office door.
“Enter,” she called, looking up from her ledgers.
Lady Fortune had been open for two months, and already, she had recouped her entire investment, earning a profit atop that. London’s ladies were flocking to the novelty of an elite, anonymous gaming hell just for them. Best of all, her brother Demon had offered to take on the role of running the gaming floor. In the wake of her marriage to Max and her need for circumspection, it was the perfect balance. She was free to run her hell and to be with the man she loved, without fear of causing him scandal.
The portal opened and the same man she loved—her husband, the Marquess of Sundenbury, sauntered over the threshold, a basket slung on each arm. He was smiling, his dimples on full display, dressed to perfection, and handsome as sin.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced.
“I hope at least one of the gifts is something I can eat,” she said, rising and crossing the chamber to reach him.
They had been married for one month, and they had settled into a pleasant routine. They spent their mornings and evenings together, and her afternoons were at Lady Fortune, balancing ledgers, overseeing the replenishment of their various stores, learning from Demon what had happened the night before.
“Hungry, my love?” he asked.
Her stomach growled. She was ravenous. But now, her sudden hunger pangs had a reason. One she would tell him soon enough. When she gathered the courage and the moment seemed right.
“Always,” she quipped, reaching for the basket nearest her. “Tell me you brought honey cakes.”
“Patience, darling,” he cautioned with mock severity, refusing to relinquish the basket.
A sound emerged from the wicker. One that sounded suspiciously canine.
Arthur rose from his bed and trotted forward, ears pointed and alert.
“What is in the basket?” she asked.
“One of my lady’s gifts, of course.”
Max was being his most charming.
But when wasn’t he?
The last time he had been this charming, however…
“Have you been giving Arthur sausages again?” she demanded.
Arthur barked.
“You furred traitor,” Max said to their beloved companion in mock outrage. “How dare you tell your mama that I have been giving you sausage? It was to be our secret.”
Arthur cocked his head.
Gen compressed her lips to keep from smiling. “Is that the reason for the gifts? You are guilty, Marquess?”
“We are husband and wife. You may call me Max or husband, you know.”
“Yes.” She could not contain her grin. “I may. But needling you is great fun. Almost as much fun as two-handed put.”
Her husband’s cheeks turned pink. “Is that a new euphemism for lovemaking?”
“Aye.” She grinned. “Not particularly new, however.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat, looking sweetly ruffled. “I, too, enjoy two-handed put. Along with making the beast with two backs. Or whatever it is you wish to call it.”
