Dom growled. “I am sure. And if you do not want me to turn you upside down and empty your thieving pockets, you will shut your biscuit hole, lad.”
Satisfied his conveyance—coachman, and unexpected guest included—would see their way to the stables, Dom hastened up the wide stairs dominating the front of the home. He reached the door amidst a gust of blustery wind that threatened to take his hat.
A stern-looking butler greeted him.
“Have you come upon some trouble, sir?” asked the supercilious servant.
Dom’s nostrils flared and his grip on his walking stick—which just happened to possess a secret sword—tightened. “No trouble at all. I have come to call upon Mr. Winter.”
The butler’s gaze settled upon the inking on Dom’s hand. “Mr. Winter is otherwise occupied at the moment, sir.”
Well, bloody Christ.Dom had rather fancied he was bang up to the mark for this particular visit.
“I am a guest,” he pressed. “Mr. Winter is having a party. With guests. Aye? Stands to reason he would see me, on account of me traveling so far from home.”
And also on account of the blade he carried.
And his insuppressible need for Lady Adele Saltisford.
Anyone who stood in Dom’s way was going to be swallowing his teeth and nursing a flesh wound. He wanted the angel who had deceived and betrayed him and disappeared, and he meant to have her.
She was his, and unbeknownst to her, she was going to help him gain the upper hand over the Suttons.
The butler drew his shoulders back. “I am sorry, sir, but we are not expecting any further guests for the wedding breakfast this morning.”
“I am afraid you are wrong there.” He flashed the bastard a wicked grin, and then Dom pushed past him, stalking into an impressively cavernous entry hall. “Where is he? I would hate to go searching. It will be easier if you tell me where to find him.”
And her.
But Dom kept the identity of his true quarry to himself. His boots clicked on the floor, and the servant raced after him. More footsteps sounded. He did not need to look over his shoulder to confirm an impromptu army of servants had begun stalking him.
“I would not follow me if I were you,” he called confidently. “I can be a dangerous man, when provoked.”
Actually, he was dangerous when he was not provoked as well. Lethal, in fact. But no need to mention that to the gaggle of bumpkins following him now. The only trouble was, he had no notion of where he was going. This bloody mausoleum was massive. One could house an entire London street within it, for the love of all that was…
He spotted some servants bearing trays up ahead, and he followed his instinct. And his nose—he scented food. Which meant there was a dining hall somewhere in the vicinity, and presumably within, Mr. Devereaux Winter and all his aristocratic guests.
“Sir, please,” called the butler. “I command you to stop.”
Dom laughed. If only the hapless fool knew he was addressing one of the most powerful men in London. But never mind, for someone dared to grab his coat sleeve. Dom did not hesitate. He spun, determining the aggressor was a strapping young footman, and took aim, his fist connecting with the unfortunate fellow’s chin.
“Anyone else?” he demanded of the gathering crowd.
Slack jaws and silence met his query.
“I thought not.”
With confidence, he turned about and reached what he suspected was the dining hall. He threw the double doors open. Within, a table, flanked with lords and ladies—and his hated half brother—was laden with delicacies. But Dom did not give a goddamn about any of the foods or the guests. All he cared about was one deceptive brunette goddess. His gaze lit upon her.
There she was, more beautiful than he recalled. Dressed to perfection in a gown of cream, as if she were truly the angel he had once believed her. Fury reverberated through him, along with a fierce, possessive rush.
Mine, whispered a voice inside him.Fucking mine.
As if she could hear his thoughts, she gasped.
Behind him, all the flurry of footsteps which had been trailing his progress arrived. The butler apologized profusely to the gathering before turning his attention back to Dom.
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” he said, raising a sanctimonious brow.
