Page 6 of Winter's Waltz
Chapter 2
Gen jolted awake at dawn to the certainty of a presence in her chamber. She was in bed, the counterpane to her chin. She did not stretch. Did not rise. Took care to maintain the even breaths of sleep, to keep from alerting the interloper that she was awake.
Danger was nothing new to her. She had cut her teeth in the roughest rookeries of the East End, where it was understood that safety was a falsehood invented by those who had never experienced a moment of peril. But danger in her own territory—in this new fortress she had built where she ruled as king and queen both—was not something she had expected.
The Winter family had attracted notice and, subsequently, jealousy. That was the way of it in the East End. Do better, and everyone hates you. Do worse, everyone still hates you, and they’ll stick a knife in your back just the same, but they won’t hate you nearly as much.
Someone in her chamber? She had not expected that here. Not now. Her business had yet to even begin.Hell, there was every possibility she would fail, and that no fancy ladies would enter her establishment at all. But never mind that. If some bastard was keen on gutting her like a fish, she had a lesson for him. And it began withdon’t try to cross Genevieve Winter.
Slowly, she reached for the blade she kept beneath her pillow. Footsteps sounded on the floorboards. Not so damn subtle, this intruder. Her fingers found the cold metal, curving around the hilt.
Another creak sounded.
He was coming closer.
Nearer still.
In another step, he would be at her bedside. But she was prepared to do her worst. She gripped her weapon tighter, ready to pounce.
“Snoring, pet? I confess, I did not expect to hear it from you.”
Pet?
That voice.
Sundenbury, curse his rotten, irritating, meddlesome, infuriating hide.
Her eyes flew open. “What the bloody fu—”
He pressed a finger over her lips. “Not now, empress. Oaths are ill becoming of a proper lady.”
Empress, was it? Hardly better thanpet. Had she thought to kill him with poison? Too lengthy a demise. Drowning would suffice. Or, even better, a blade between the ribs.
Glaring, she pulled her knife from beneath the pillow, holding it between herself and the marquess. “Get out of my room,” she growled in warning.
But Blunderberry was unaffected by her threat. He flashed her his most charming smile, the one that showed off his bleeding dimples. His nose was slightly swollen this morning, but unfortunately, that imperfection did nothing to detract from his looks.
“No,” he said pleasantly, as if she had issued a suggestion rather than a decree.
“You want your blood spilled today?” she demanded.
“Murderous wench. I ought to be granted additional pay for the damage to my person.” His finger remained where it was, pressed over her lips, far too possessive and warm.
Like a brand, that damned touch.
With her free hand, she grasped his wrist, wresting him away. “You are not receiving pay, you arse. Because you have spent every ha’penny you possessed and then some. It is my goodwill that keeps you from the Suttons, and yet here you are, intruding on my privacy.”
“Earning my keep, as it happens.”
Was it wrong of her to notice how sinfully handsome the jackanapes was? Undoubtedly. Gen had one weakness, and it was the well-oiled charm of a gorgeous cove. But that did not mean she was unaware of her vulnerability.
“Difficult to earn your keep when you’re a dead man.”
“First, you broke my nose, and then you threatened my life. You are a Bedlamite, woman.”
She glowered at his declaration. “Have to be one to agree to this stupid scheme. And your nose don’t look broken, Blunderbury.”
“Does not, pet.” His grin deepened. “If you want to pretend you are a lady, you will have to take better care with your speech.”
