Page 28 of Winter's Waltz
“Should you not have already had the thing out?” Blade asked. “If it was truly soot you were after, that is.”
“Whose idea was it to allow this bloody fop to weasel his way into Lady Fortune, anyhow?” Demon Winter demanded, looking surly. And deadly.
Max took exception to the slur. He stepped forward, chin raised. “I may be many things, but I can assure you I am no fop, Mr. Winter.”
Gavin Winter cracked his knuckles. The prizefighter possessed massive, meaty fists, which had decimated many an opponent. “Fop or not, if you harm a hair on Gen’s head, you’ll be getting a call from me. And you aren’t going to like it, Sundenbury.”
He had no intention of harming Gen Winter. All he wanted was to bed her. But he was not about to admit that to these surly Winter men. Some of whom appeared to want to introduce him to their fists at the moment. Even so, he felt strangely powerful. This woman was worth fighting for.
He stepped forward. “I have been threatened and beaten regularly over the last year. I am afraid your threats do not concern me, Mr. Winter.”
This did not please Gavin Winter. Not in the slightest.
The prizefighter stalked closer. “They ought to concern you. I can give you a nap with one hand tied behind my bloody back.”
Miss Winter dashed in front of him then, her golden hair bound with a thong at her nape that left the rest of the silken locks free to cascade down her back. He regretted not running his fingers through those tempting tresses when he had the chance. Soon, he promised himself.
“Settle yourself, Gav,” she warned her brother in a stern, commanding voice. “No one is going to give anyone a nap. No fists, no blades. I’ve enough on my shoulders without having to worry about two chaps trying to play rooster. Someone set fire to my kitchens last night.”
“We know,” Dominic Winter said, his expression harsh, his voice hard. “That is why we are all here. No one sets fire to our sister’s hell and lives to tell the tale. Whoever was behind this is going to pay.”
Max supposed he should not be surprised by the appearance of so many Winters. As the illegitimate faction of the hideously wealthy Winter family who had earned their fortune in trade, they were notoriously protective of each other. Their ranks were tight.
“If anything, you ought to offer Sundenbury your thanks as I have done,” Gen was telling her brothers. “If he hadn’t heard the breaking glass and come to check upon its source, we may have never noticed there was a fire until it was too late. I was asleep when it happened.”
“Right helpful of him,” Gavin Winter said, still glaring at Max as if he intended to slide a blade between his ribs at the earliest available opportunity. “Fancy that, a cove hearing breaking glass and rushing to the aid of everyone. A bloody hero, he is.”
The sarcasm was not lost upon Max, and nor was it upon Gen. She spoke before Max could defend himself.
“Gav, he did not set it himself,” she chastised.
“My aim is to keep from trouble,” he added. “I am helping Miss Winter. I would never dream of hurting her or hindering her hell in anyway. I wish to see her succeed.”
And he did, with a ferocity that took him by surprise. He could not recall the last time he had been touched so strongly by anything but the need to make his next wager. The desolation in Genevieve Winter’s face when he had entered the kitchens earlier—the tears shimmering in her vibrant blue eyes—had cut him as surely as any blade. He hated watching her in pain. Such a strong, proud, capable woman.
He had never admired another more.
“Hmm,” was all Gavin Winter said, his expression suggesting he remained decidedly unconvinced by both his sister’s and Max’s attempts at explanation.
“Did you see anyone last night?” Dominic Winter asked next, steering their dialogue back to the important question of who was responsible for this act of unspeakable destruction.
Max shook his head. “I wish I had. I heard breaking glass. By the time I realized its source, the kitchens were already ablaze. I roused Peter, so that he could assemble a force to fight the fire, and then I raced to get Miss Winter herself and see to her safety.”
Wisely, he refrained from mentioning Miss Winter had been naked before him for a few moments as she donned trousers and shirt. No good could come of such a revelation.
Dom, who was married to Max’s other sister, Addy, nodded, his expression still stark and lined with concern. He was a man who cared deeply for his family, but he was also a ruthless man, and an enemy no one would ever wish to make.
Which made one wonder why anyone would dare to attack his sister’s gaming hell in such flagrant fashion.
“Who do you think would have set fire to my hell?” Gen asked. “Jasper Sutton, that son of a whore?”
Her language was blistering. Max was going to have to work on that. A future lesson was decidedly in order. Even if the ladies she intended to attract to her gaming hell were of the fast and wild set, which they would need to be, she would have to bring a more polished version of Genevieve Winter to the floor if she wanted to succeed.
And since she hadn’t any competition, the odds were decidedly in her favor.
There were women who loved to gamble. Women who embraced all things wicked.Hell.He had neglected to ask her if she intended to have entertainments for the ladies at her establishment. The notion of having a cicisbeo or three at the ready for her clientele…
A surge of jealousy that was swift and potent hit him. Jealousy he had no right to feel, he reminded himself. All he had done was kiss her.
