Page 9 of Winter's Waltz
Uncompromising.
And his presence remained irksome. Tempting. Confusing.
“Not until we complete our first lesson.” He had the audacity to wink at her then. “You do remember I am to teach you, do you not?”
Blast the rotter. Why had she agreed to this nonsensical plot?
“I begin to think there is nothing you can aid me with, lordling. I’m bundling you on a carriage back to Mayfair just as soon as you get the hell out of my chamber.”
“Oh, no, empress. You shan’t be rid of me that easily.” He grinned again.
By God.
The dimples had returned, and her heart refused to cease thudding.
“Yes I shall.”
This time, she took action. Her knee, beneath the bedclothes. Quick. Not quick enough. He rose from the bed, releasing her, laughing.
“Our first lesson is in dressing like a lady,” he informed her, before clapping his hands and calling over his shoulder. “Rose, we are ready for you now.”
The door opened, and a beautiful woman crossed the threshold.
* * *
Max madean absentminded pass over the slice in his shirt as he awaited Miss Genevieve Winter and Rose in the hall outside her chamber. Cozening the sought-after modiste to assist him in his plans had not been easy, but Rose was loyal. She had not forgotten the patronage of his mistresses, which had helped to establish her in London.
The latest wound Miss Winter had given him still stung. He could only hope she was not assaulting poor Rose over the notion she would be wearing skirts. It was a minor miracle he had persuaded the famed Madame Derosiers to visit a would-be gaming hell on the outskirts of the East End with a case of garments. If she left here with a broken nose on his account…
The door opened.
Max nearly swallowed his tongue at the vision standing on the threshold. Ivory silk hugged her lush curves. The wicked decolletage of her gown put her bosom on display. And what a display it was—creamy skin, perfect handfuls, he had no doubt. He had known Gen Winter was beautiful. But dressed as she was, in one of Rose’s confections, she could easily pass for a duchess.
“I’ll not be going about dressed as a ladybird,” she declared mulishly, quite dispelling the effect.
The moment Miss Winter opened her mouth, there was no mistaking her for a lady.
Max would be lying if he claimed that was not one of her most intriguing qualities. There was something about the brash female that was riveting. Alluring. Seeing her in bed this morning, her golden hair unbound, her bare arms, the hint of her pink nipples beneath that shift… It had done strange things to him.
And he was here to keep himself from trouble, not to fashion more of it. All the more reason to accomplish this Herculean task and carry on with the business of mending his relationship with his father. His new strategy was to make as much a lady of Miss Genevieve Winter as he could. With as much haste as possible.
“You look nothing like a ladybird, mademoiselle,” Rose was reassuring her, thankfully taking no insult at Miss Winter’s words. “You areélégante.Très belle.”
“I ain’t wearing this sort of nonsense,” growled his reluctant hostess. “Trousers are ever so much more comfortable than the contraption beneath this gown.”
A surly thing, Miss Genevieve Winter. Stubborn, bloodthirsty, and irritable.
But if there was one thing Max excelled at—admittedly, it wasnotgambling—it was charming the fairer sex. Wooing, seducing, persuading: these were the skills he could claim as his own. Mayhap the only ones, aside from disappointing his family and becoming beholden to the wrong people.
Such as the Suttons and the Winters.
“Thecontraption, as you say, is a corset, Mademoiselle Winter,nécessairefor the proper shape. Lord Sundenbury, the corset is important for the silhouette,n’est-ce pas? Help me,s’il vous plait.” Rose was frowning at him.
Dark-haired and chocolate-eyed, she was a true Gallic beauty. But even so, it was Miss Winter who stole all his attention. Rose had worked her hair into a clever chignon, which left burnished curls free to frame her face. There was a vulnerability in her countenance which had been absent before, and Max found himself drawn to this side of her. The side that was uncertain. Hesitant.
Their stares met and held, and he rubbed over the stinging flesh wound she had delivered to his chest.
“My lord?” Rose prodded.
