Adele did not argue with him before Devereaux Winter, but she had taken nothing from him. All she wanted to do was meet with Dominic Winter, settle whatever debts he believed she still owed him, and then disappear into the countryside forever, as had been her original plan.
“It will be hasty, Mr. Winter,” Adele said. “A mere ten minutes, nothing more.”
Devereaux Winter looked from her to Dominic, his countenance reflecting his bafflement. “Ten minutes,” he allowed, reluctance edging his voice. “No more, and I will be in the hall, with the door ajar. If he dares anything, I will be here, Lady Adele.”
Chapter 7
“We meet again.”
His silken voice was deceptively calm. His eyes, however, blazed with dark fury.
Dominic Winter was not pleased. In fact, he was furious.
With her.
Adele swallowed and forced herself to square her shoulders as he prowled toward her, stopping too near for propriety’s sake. She would not wilt before him. Would not bend. “I confess, I am surprised to see you at this particular country house party, Mr. Winter.”
His sensual lips twisted into a sneer. “I go where I please, as it pleases me. I do not give a bloody shite about half brothers who think they are the quality because they are swiving the daughter of a duke.”
Dom’s rough words took her aback. “Mr. Devereaux Winter is married to Lady Emilia.”
Dom shrugged. “Married or not, he is still swiving her.”
She frowned at him. “You are being deliberately crude.”
“No, love. I am being deliberately dismissive.” His lip curled even farther. “Because I don’t give a damn about Winter or his ladybird. I came here for you, and you know it.”
Yes, she did.
Adele suppressed a shiver. His words both filled her with anticipation and dread, all at once. She did not know how to manage a Dominic Winter who was this angry. Particularly not one who had ventured to the countryside in the midst of frigid winter, leaving London and his empire of crime behind.
Surely he could not suspect. There was no reason for him to know the truth of her carefully guarded secret. He had chased her here because he had discovered her lie and he was angry about it. That had to be the answer. Imagine, a well-bred lady fooling the devilish Dominic Winter, the most feared man in London.
“Why would you come here for me?” she dared to ask.
His eyes were stormy and intent upon hers. “You know why, Duchess.”
“You discovered who I am and it displeases you,” she guessed.
He laughed, the sound bitter. Cutting. “I did indeed. Lady Adele Saltisford. Sister to Lord Sundenbury. Not mistress.”
She hated the way he was looking at her now, the wrath lacing his voice. “I am Lady Adele, yes. However, I never suggested to you that I was anything other than myself. If you presumed—”
“If I presumed,” he bit out, interrupting her, “and you did not correct my presumption, then you lied to me,Lady Adele.”
“I did not lie,” she argued quietly, also despising the manner in which he referred to her, as if her title and name were an epithet that tasted bitter upon his tongue.
“You allowed me to believe you were Sundenbury’s mistress,” he hissed. “That was a lie.”
“I never said I was his mistress.”
But even as she offered her protest to the contrary, she knew how hollow it sounded. Because Dominic Winter was right, of course. She had misled him. And she may as well have lied to him. But her reasoning had been sound, her motivation pure.
“You also never said you were not,” he said coolly.
The way he was watching her made her want to flee. Oh, what this man did to her. He undid her. Without fail.
“I came to you with the express hope of seeing to my brother’s safety,” she forced herself to counter. “If you drew erroneous conclusions, I cannot be blamed for them. My objective was in making certain no more of your ruffians hurt my brother. I accomplished my aim, and I will not apologize for it.”
