Page 1 of Winter's Waltz
London, February 1815
The Marquess of Sundenbury was not going to last more than ten minutes in the East End. Genevieve Winter was never more certain of it than when she found him seated inherchair atherdesk at Lady Fortune, his polished boots propped uponherledgers, grinning like the stupid, handsome fiend he was.
He was not going to last because she was going to murder him.
Poison, she decided. He was too pretty to suffer the agony of gunshot or the blade. Mayhap she could slip hemlock into his tea.
“Miss Winter,” he said, not bothering to rise.
The omission suited her perfectly fine, she told herself. Gen did not prefer to be treated as a lady. She wore breeches, shirt, cravat, and boots this morning. It was ever so much more comfortable than stays and gowns. Why did chaps get to claim the best garments for themselves?
“What the hell are you doing in my office, you spoony twat?” she demanded.
He winced, as if her vulgar words caused him physical pain. Gen hoped they did.
“Is that any way to greet the man who will be your companion—indeed, your saving grace—for the next month?”
“Saving grace?” She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and pinning him with a glare. “Pain in my arse, more like.”
What the devil had she been thinking when she had agreed to this bloody addlepated idea of her half brothers’ wives? Lady Addy and Lady Evie, twins who were married to her half brothers Dom and Devil, had suggested the plan to her after their brother’s last embarrassment.
Having been banished from The Devil’s Spawn thanks to his inability to control his gambling, he had somehow wormed his way into the rival gaming hell owned by the Suttons. And he had promptly gotten tap-hackled and lost ten thousand pounds.
He had also had his purse strings cut by his father the duke.
Fitting, in her opinion. The old duke ought to have boxed his ears and sent him to Elba with Boney while he was at it.
Sundenbury quirked a brow at her, and then the blighter lifted a cigar to his lips, giving it a puff and sending a cloud of smoke in her direction. “You have a fine arse, Miss Winter. I would hate to cause it any pain.”
He sounded so polite, with those crisp, aristocratic accents of his. And yet he looked thoroughly dissolute. His cravat was undone, and he was down to his shirtsleeves. His wavy, dark hair was ruffled, as if some obliging wench had recently run her fingers through it.
She probably had. Gen would make her next order of business a trip to the ladies employed by The Devil’s Spawn. Her unwanted charge was not to be cozying up with ladybirds. He was supposed to be staying out of trouble. No gambling. No whoring. No drinking.
No to any of the things an empty-headed, gorgeous-faced lord like Sundenbury ordinarily did. And why did he have to be so handsome, anyway, curse him? Gen governed herself with stern rules. When she had been younger and stupider, she had almost found herself at the mercy of a handsome scoundrel. Never again.
Good thing men like the marquess had no effect upon her.
She stalked forward and plucked the cigar from Sundenbury’s long, elegant fingers. “No smoking in my office. It bloody well stinks, and I’ll not have it. And if you dare to say another word about my arse, I’ll break your fingers.”
“No need for such anger, pet.” He gave her the sort of grin she was sure made every other lady melt.
Not Gen. She tossed his cigar into the fire, then turned back to the intruder still seated at her desk. “Do not call mepet.”
“Or what? You shall break my fingers?” he asked, grin deepening.
For some reason, she found herself staring at his lips. They were wide and full. The sort of lips a man should not possess. The sudden warmth blossoming inside her was as traitorous as it was unwanted. Ruthlessly, she quashed it.
“No,” she told him calmly. “If you call mepetagain, I will break your nose. Don’t suppose you’d have all the ladies begging to drop to their knees if you had a crooked beak.”
“When the ladies are on their knees for me, they aren’t looking at my nose, Miss Winter.”
For some reason, the insinuation in his words made her cheeks go hot. Which was impossible. She had been surrounded by males from the time she had been a tiny girl. First her brother Gavin, then her half brothers Demon, Blade, Dom, and Devil. Nothing could embarrass her.
Irritation sliced through Gen. This silly lordling would not best her at her own game.
“Hmm,” she said. “They are probably looking for your prick, unable to find it on account of it being sosmall.”
“There is nothing about my cock that is small, pet,” he purred.
