“And I bid you a good morning, my lady Felicity,” he returned. “The day is young. Do think about what I said, will you not?”
She knew without bothering to ask exactly what he meant.
Why not enjoy yourself before you sell your body and soul to save your sisters?
She raced from the chamber, leaving the temptation of Mr. Blade Winter behind.
For now.
“It was terribly wicked of you to ask Lady Felicity to retrieve The Tale of Love from the yellow salon, darling.”
Grace smiled at her handsome husband Rand, Viscount Aylesford, as they prepared for dinner that evening. “I thought you did not mind when I am wicked.”
His gaze heated. “You know I do not.” He drew her to him, kissing her soundly. “When it is the two of us, you may be as wicked as you choose. But that book is not the sort of literature one ought to put into the hands of an innocent.”
“My sisters and I all read it before we were wed,” she pointed out, then pulled his handsome head back to hers for another meeting of lips.
Her husband’s gaze was on her lips. “Yes, but you are all Winter ladies.”
She raised a brow. “And what does that mean, Lord Aylesford, Winter ladies?”
He kissed the tip of her nose affectionately, melting any irritation she may have felt. “Only that you are originals. Lady Felicity, I daresay, has not all your forward-thinking natures.”
Mayhap, but Grace rather liked Lady Felicity Hughes. There was something about her that was earnest, vulnerable, and yet also an underlying hint of an independent nature Grace could wholeheartedly applaud. Besides, now that she was happily married herself, she could not resist the urge to play matchmaker.
She nuzzled Rand’s cheek with hers, inhaling deeply of his delectable scent. “I like her for Blade.”
“Blade Winter?” Her husband’s mouth traveled to her throat, finding a place that drove her mad.
That was one of the excellent things about reforming an arrogant rake—he knew how to bring her to her knees. And as a husband, he was loyal to a fault. He loved her unconditionally, and he loved her family as well. Even the bastards who had so recently appeared, fresh from the East End and speaking in flash. She loved him for his open heart all the more.
Belatedly, she recalled Rand had asked her a question. “Do you know any other gentlemen named Blade?”
Rand nibbled on her collarbone. “Mmm. Cannot be his Christian name, do you think?”
Her fingers explored the broad expanse of her husband’s shoulders through his coat. “If it is not, I shall fully expect Lady Felicity to divulge the truth when they marry. You should have seen the way he held our sweet little angel. There is far more to him than meets the eye, and Lady Felicity is stronger than she seems, with all her pale gowns.”
Her husband’s tongue flicked over the hollow where her pulse pounded, giving away the effect he had upon her. “Bold of you, darling. They appear quite opposite. An ominous scoundrel with a penchant for knives and a name to match, coupled with a diamond of the first water?”
“Nobility and commoners can get on together quite well; one need only to look at the two of us to see that,” she said, gasping as he deftly tugged down her bodice, making her nipples pop free. “My lord, we must attend dinner.”
“Must we?” He kissed his way down the slope of her breast. “I am famished, it is true, but only for you.”
When his knowing mouth found her nipple and lapped at the tender bud, she could not stifle her moan of appreciation. “Perhaps we could cry off dinner after all.”
Chapter Six
“If you ask me, Dom expecting us all to wallow in the monkery is spoony,” Gavin grumbled. “I could have won two prizefights in the time it took us to rumble here in a carriage. How the hell am I to keep up with my sparring?”
“Especially with the Winters and all the other nibs.” Genevieve tilted her head, eying the trunk of the tree where she intended to throw her blade from beneath the brim of her hat. “At least we can throw knives here. Damned difficult to do at The Devil’s Spawn without some drunken shite wandering past and taking a blade to the ear.”
It had happened once. Gen had sliced a portion of Lord Hildebrand’s earlobe when he had inadvertently wandered into one of their knife-tossing competitions. A surprising amount of blood had ensued for a small wound. To say nothing of the manner in which old Lord Hildebrand had pissed in his breeches…
“You are taking too long, Gen,” Demon complained. “It’s sodding cold out here. My fingers will freeze before you make your throw.”
“Aye, and then how will you lift all the ladies’ skirts?” Gavin chortled.
Blade watched his siblings, gathered beneath a copse of winter-barren trees, a familiar sense of belonging sliding through him. They had arrived that morning. Thank bloody fuck, because Blade could ill afford to go about kissing Lady Felicity Hughes senseless in the yellow salon for the second day in a row.
The thought of Lady Felicity—and her sweet lips—sent heat flaring through him in direct opposition to the frigid December day.
“Mayhap I’ll just make all the birds hold their skirts,” Demon suggested with a rakehell’s grin. “Ready access to whatever I need, and they do all the work for me. Fair enough with all the pleasure I give them.”
“Spare us the disgusting particulars before I retch.” Gen snorted. “Don’t know why they’re all so eager for you to trick them out of their petticoats and fleece them.”
“They aren’t,” Blade added his voice to the good-natured banter. It was better than wallowing in unwanted thoughts about Lady Felicity. “He has to get them tap-hackled first.”
“Eh, if we need advice on how not to impress a lady, we will ask you,” Gavin told him. “Fought any duels since you arrived?”
“Run bare-arsed down the halls to escape an angry husband?” Gen asked, snickering.
“Lady Penhurst sends her love,” Demon offered.
Well, bloody hell. He supposed he deserved that. But the reminder of his folly nettled. Had he expected any less from his siblings? No. Demon, Genevieve, and Gavin were a cutthroat trio if ever there was one.
“Throw the damned blade, Gen,” he growled at his sister.
His siblings laughed. But just as Gen was about to throw her dagger at last, Demon issued a feigned sneeze that was loud enough to be overheard back in East London.
The weapon flew from her fingers, missing the tree trunk she had been aiming for and hurtling wide, catapulting into the thick forest. A cry rose, almost instantly. Feminine.
Familiar.
Lady Felicity.
Blade’s mouth went dry. His booted feet were moving before his mind could make sense of what had just happened. He was tearing through the sticks and thin winter undergrowth, racing to where the sound of her cry had emerged. Downhill, as it turned out. He and his siblings had been on a ridge that was quite deceptive, given the subtle flare of the land and the sheer number of trees.
He slid and slipped on a mixture of snow and ice that blanketed the ground as he spotted a felled form. Dark hair, pastel skirts, and a pale cloak trimmed with fur caught his attention.
Good God, it was her.
And she was lying on the ground.
Terror crept into his heart. Had Gen’s blade hit her?
“Lady Felicity!” he called, his voice hoarse with fear.
Dimly, he was aware of the sound of his siblings chasing after him down the embankment, following him through the snow. He sank to his knees at her side when he reached her, not giving a damn about the cold and wet seeping through the knees of his trousers, biting into his shins.
She was alert, though her face was pale. Shock? Pain?
“My lady,” he said, cupping her face with his gloved hands. “Are you injured? Tell me where.”
“Mr. Winter?” Her brow furrowed. “I… What are you doing here?”
“I heard your cry, and I came to investigate.” Impatiently, he released
her face, shucking his gloves to run his hands over her person, searching for wounds.
His hands found her stocking-clad calves, skimming to her knees.
“What are you doing, Mr. Winter?” she demanded.
“Indeed, brother. What are you doing?” Gen asked as she reached them. “She is perfectly hale. No need for you to be tossing up the lady’s petticoats.”
“She has fallen,” he bit out. “Your blade flung wide of the tree. She could have been hit.”
Gavin and Demon arrived next.
“Speaking of ladies’ skirts,” Demon said.
“Giving you some competition, it would seem,” Gavin added in a whisper that was not a whisper at all. “Let’s hope this bird doesn’t have an angry husband who challenges him to a duel.”
“Shut your gobs,” he demanded. “All of you. Except for you, Lady Felicity. Do you have pain anywhere?”
Her eyes were wide, those hazel orbs unexpectedly vibrant with the backdrop of the white snow. Gray, green, and cinnamon blended. He had never seen eyes quite like hers. Why, there were flecks of gold hidden within their depths.
But what the hell ailed him, mooning over her eyes when she could have been struck by Gen’s blade?
“The only thing that pains me is my pride,” she said, wincing. “I was walking, and then something flew toward me. It sliced through my skirts, but did not strike me. In my haste to escape, I tripped over my hems and fell.”
He flipped down her skirts, not wanting his arsehole brothers to see her lovely limbs. And that was when he found the clean cut through the fabric of her gown. One long tear, straight through her petticoats.
Relief washed over him.
“You tripped,” he repeated.
She nodded, her tongue darting out to wet that succulent lower lip he wanted to nip with his teeth again so badly, it was a persistent, steady ache. “It appears to be a common occurrence of late.”
“You going to help her up or force the poor girl to lie in the snow?” Gen demanded rudely.
In true Genevieve fashion.
Lady Felicity’s brow furrowed as she took in Blade’s sister. He knew what she was seeing—Gen was an ethereal blonde woman. But she refused to wear a gown and petticoats. She was dressed in trousers, an overcoat, men’s boots she’d had commissioned to accommodate her dainty feet, and a man’s hat.
“Oh,” Lady Felicity said. “Forgive me.”
“Thought I was a cove, eh?” Gen grinned. “Don’t care for dresses. Never did. They get in the way. Give a pair of trousers a try and see if you do not agree.”
His sister held out a hand and Lady Felicity took it. Although Gen was willowy, she was also stronger than some men. She pulled Lady Felicity to her feet with ease, leaving Blade grinding his molars, irritated he had not been the one to act first.
“Thank you,” Lady Felicity said, still looking dazed and sounding confused. Her gaze traveled between Blade and Gen.
Christ. Introductions. He was not a nib. Slipped his mind. Fucking polite society, which was not nearly as polite as it pretended. Spare him the theatrics.
“Lady Felicity, this is my sister, Miss Genevieve Winter,” he said. “And my brothers, Mr. Gavin Winter and Mr. Demon Winter.”
Her dark brows rose subtly as he mentioned Demon’s name. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintances.”
And then she dipped into a perfect curtsy, sodden, torn skirts and all.
Blade did not know why the sight of her, so elegant and proud even after she had just taken an undignified fall into the snow and narrowly avoided getting stuck by Gen’s dagger, affected him so profoundly. But it did. He wanted to…touch her. To draw her to his side. To proudly proclaim her as his.
Or to haul her over his shoulder and carry her off so he could have his wicked way with her.
None of these thoughts were helping, and the cold did nothing to stymie the sudden snugness of his trousers. Now that he knew she was uninjured, his body had deemed itself free to carry on with his rakehell status.
He was barely aware of the murmurings of his siblings offering Lady Felicity equal polite greetings.
“You know Blade,” Gen observed, her tone rife with meaning.
Meaning he detected and could not like. Meaning that suggested Lady Felicity knew him. Which she did not. At least, not well enough. Yet.
No. That could never damn well happen. She was not for him, he reminded himself. The trouble was, his cock had never listened to his mind. And his cock almost always won every argument betwixt the two.
Color crept into Lady Felicity’s cheeks for the first time. “I scarcely know Mr. Winter at all.”
Scarcely?
He clenched his jaw. His tongue had been in her mouth. He had bared her breasts and sucked her nipples. Just yesterday. And yet she claimed to scarcely know him. The outrageous set of petticoats.
“Lady Felicity has been making a habit of following me about since I have arrived,” he announced then, like a complete and utter arse.
Yes, he was being a churl. He knew it. Could not help himself. The woman drove him to distraction.
What else was he to do?
He had never known another lady like her. And he knew, somehow, instinctively, that he never would again.
Predictably, Lady Felicity’s response was instant and outraged. “Following you about? If anything, you are the one who has been following me, Mr. Winter. Need I remind you of yesterday in the yellow salon?”
The moment she asked the last question, her color heightened. Her eyes widened. He could read her so easily. She had allowed her emotions to get the best of her, and she had never intended to reveal such details to their audience. Although his siblings knew nothing of what had occurred in the salon the day before, her reaction was as telling as anything.
Still, he could not resist taunting her. Their gazes were locked. “I find my memory rather dull at the moment. Mayhap you should remind me, my lady. What of the yellow salon?”
Her eyes narrowed. She had been caught.
Fuck, he wanted to kiss her.
And bed her.
But he could not do either of those things, not now and not ever. Especially not with his damned siblings looking on as a rapt audience. Christ, he would never hear the end of this.
“You were seeking sewing, I believe,” she said sweetly. “It is not as if you knew I would be within and invented an excuse to go there. I am sure you go about fetching sewing quite regularly, do you not? Only, there was no sewing in the room in question.”
Well fuck him. She could give, Lady Felicity Hughes. She was made of sterner stuff than he had supposed. And it made him admire her—and want her—even more.
“And what if I did lie just to be alone with you, Lady Felicity?” he countered, ignoring the fact his siblings were listening eagerly to his every word. Knowing they would needle him for this later. Not caring.
He wanted to best her. To watch that lovely flush creep over her high, aristocratic cheekbones.
And there it was, as if on cue. Brilliant patches of pink on her pale cheeks. “Did you?”
He leaned nearer. “What would you do if I said yes?”
“Enough of this nonsense,” Gen interrupted. “I need to find my dagger. It is my favorite. Please accept my apologies, Lady Felicity. We were having a knife throw, and then one of my arsehole brothers made me lose my aim. I fear it was my knife that sailed past you and tore your gown.”
Curse his sister. She had a deplorable sense of timing. Could she not have waited another minute to speak her piece? Better yet, could she and Gavin and Demon not have sodded off so he could speak with Lady Felicity alone for a few moments?
“A…knife throw?” Lady Felicity repeated, her flawless brow furrowed, as if she could not make sense of the words Gen had just spoken.
And aye, Gen could be rough and crude, but she did not rely upon flash as much as Blade and his brothers. In her efforts to open a gaming hell for ladies, she had begun correcting her spe
ech. Her comportment—that was another matter. She was a hellion. She did what she pleased and made no apologies.
Blade admired her.
Not that he would ever admit as much.
Very well. Mayhap, if she asked and he was feeling particularly soft. But no one was pricklier than Gen. The woman was made of armor. Tough as iron. She would never ask. Nor would he feel soft.
Especially with Lady Felicity about, he thought wryly.
Grimly.
What was it about her?
“Dagger throwing is great fun,” Gen was explaining to an agog Lady Felicity. “I can teach you, if you would like. Or Blade could. None of us can exceed his skills.”
He had better talents he would like to teach Lady Felicity, but Blade wisely kept that bit to himself.
Lady Felicity’s gaze went to him, hazel eyes boldly inquiring. “I am certain he possesses a great deal of skills, Miss Winter.”
She had no idea.
Gavin elbowed him, barely suppressing a guffaw. Blade elbowed him back, a sharp jab to the side.
“Behave yourselves, you pair of children,” Gen chastised.
Gavin rubbed his side and grinned. “We cannot behave.”
“Aye,” Demon agreed. “We are Winters.”
Gen rolled her eyes. “Behave or don’t. All I want is to find my bleeding dagger.”
“I will help you to find it,” Lady Felicity volunteered, punctuating her offer with a shiver.
“You are cold,” he observed.
“Landing in the snow has a way of chilling a person,” she returned.
“I will escort you back to the house,” Demon said.
Over Blade’s bloated corpse.
“No,” he bit out, perhaps with more force than necessary. “That will not be necessary. You and Gavin help Gen find the blade, and I will escort Lady Felicity.”
He by no means trusted his brother. Especially not when it came to women. And Lady Felicity was his. Nay, that was all wrong. She was not his. But he had kissed her, damn it, and he had no wish for Demon and his charm to pick up where Blade had left off.
Winter’s Whispers Page 6