“I don’t do violence,” he purred, leaning nearer to her. So near, their lips almost brushed. “I have men who do it for me. And as for me being under arrest…I own the streets and all who govern them.”
He recognized the swell of fear in her lovely countenance. Ordinarily, terrorizing his opponent was the source of eminent joy. This enemy, however, was different. All he felt was a hollowness inside his chest, a gaping chasm threatening to swallow him whole.
And still, she remained stoic. Brave and defiant. Here was the same lady who had dared to enter his lair, who had stood before him and made a bargain he had failed to realize involved the surrendering of her innocence.
She did not flinch, nor tear her eyes from his. “You cannot own everyone, Mr. Winter. You are not above the law.”
How little she knew of the world. Her naiveté was almost charming.
He cocked his head, studying her, wishing her beauty did not affect him. “I reckon I could make Prinny dance a jig if I asked nicely enough.”
Dom had risen to power through might, determination, violence, money, and blackmail. Not necessarily in that order. He felt no guilt for the sins in which he had engaged. The world was corrupt; he was merely using that corruption to benefit himself, his family, and his men.
“I do not believe you,” she insisted. “No man is that powerful.”
“Wrong again, Duchess. Not every man is that powerful. ButIam. You would do well to remember it, because when I am your husband, if you dare to betray me, you will suffer the consequences.”
Her eyes, fringed with sooty lashes that were longer than he had recalled, widened even more. “Husband?”
Not quite the manner in which he had intended to announce his price for her brother’s continued safety. The next part of his strategy, about to unfold. But he had already blown the gaff. No undoing it now.
“Why else did you suppose I would come all the way to Oxfordshire to collect you?” he asked coolly. “Sundenbury is all cleaned out; you have reached your majority. Your hand in marriage is the price I am demanding to cancel his debts.”
“You want to marry me?” If possible, more color leached from her cheeks. Her breath was a hot, tempting fan over his lips.
Christ, even her breath was sweet. Like honey.
He wanted to devour her.
“I am going to marry you, Duchess,” he corrected.
“No.”
He must have misheard her. No one told Dominic Winterno. “I beg your pardon?”
“No, I cannot marry you,” she repeated.
Foolish Lady Adele. There was no choice. From the moment she had willingly placed herself within his grasp, she had sealed her fate.
He raised a brow. “You are already married to another?”
She frowned. “No, of course not.”
“Then you can and will marry me. Problem solved, Duchess.”
Devereaux Winter chose that moment to return, barreling through the door with the grace of an invading army. There was no love lost between Dom and his half brother, but the arsehole could have selected better timing. Lady Adele all but tripped over her own hems in her effort to put some distance between herself and Dom.
“Your ten minutes is over,” Devereaux announced acidly.
Dom was going to have far more than ten minutes.
But there was time enough to execute his plan. And for now, he would settle for ruffling the protective feathers of brother dearest, who did not like an East End gutter rat sniffing so near to his pristine sisters and fine guests.
He slapped his strapping half brother on the back as if he were a lad. “One more mouth to feed shouldn’t be trouble for a man with your blunt, brother. I’ve been wearing the bands all day, I have.”
Dom relished the way Devereaux Winter stiffened and frowned at his use of cant. It pleased him to displease brother dearest.
“Wearing the bands?” Devereaux repeated, his lip curling.
