Page 70 of Winter's Waltz
And then Max himself appeared on the threshold. Arthur trotted to him with a gleeful bound, as if they had not just seen each other that morning, as if it had been a century since they’d parted.
It felt like a bloody century. Being without him was terrible. Awful. How had she ever supposed she could manage it?
He gave Arthur a thorough ear scratch, but his gaze never wavered from Gen. “Empress.”
“Well then,” Lady Emilia said crisply. “I do believe the ladies and I shall head to the floor. I trust there shall be no scandals emerging from this evening?”
“None,” Max confirmed, grinning.
Dimples, curse the man.
“Do not go,” she said weakly.
But no one was paying her any heed. Her half sisters and sisters-in-law disappeared from her office one by one, until no one remained save the marquess and Arthur.
Both her loves.
Damn it.She would not turn on the waterworks again. She would not.
* * *
“You came back for me,”Gen said softly.
Max had been hovering near the door with Arthur following the departure of the ladies Winter, uncertain of the welcome he would receive. But there was a vulnerability in her lovely countenance and in her voice that filled him with hope.
He started toward her. “I shall always come back for you. Chase me away as many times as you like, but it will not change my love for you. Nor, I hope, will it change yours for me.”
She eyed him warily. He had not failed to note she was dressed this evening in the gown Madame Derosiers had given her. She was all ivory silk and sinful curves and utter perfection. He itched to touch her. To kiss her.
First, he had to convince her to marry him.
“Who said I love you, Marquess?” she demanded, chin tipping up, shoulders squaring as she emitted the same Genevieve Winter bravado he had come to know so well.
He stopped before her, their proximity intoxicating. “Do you not?”
She swallowed. Without the shield of her customary cravat, he spied the evidence of her discomfiture with ease.
“Sundenbury,” she began.
“No Dunderhead?” he teased.
“No.”
“Not even a Blunderbury?”
Her lips twitched. “Max.”
“Better.” His grin deepened.
“Bloody damned dimples.”
This time, he had not misheard her. “What of them?”
“They make me mad,” she admitted, glaring at him. “You’re too handsome and charming.”
He winked. “Tell me more, empress.”
“And there you go again, calling me empress. You’ll not find a lady much further from that lofty title than Genevieve Winter,” she said.
