Nor would she be dismissed.
Instead of meekly fleeing his lair, she followed in his wake, desperation and the memory of her brother’s badly beaten face making her bold.
* * *
The chit possessed audacity.
Dom would give her that much.
However, if she truly believed he was going to bed her in exchange for her lover’s duns, one thing she did not possess was the brains she had been born with. The Devil’s Spawn could not be paid in quim. Therefore, neither could he. Not even if he wished it.
Dom damn well did not wish it. Except for her voice…
Curse her for having the voice of an angel. One could only suppose she had the face to match. Not that he could see aught behind her veil. Nor would he. She would be gone in less than a minute. Taking with her the delicate floral scent that was teasing his nose even now.
Lingering, much like she was.
He knew she was following him by the swish of her skirts. The sound of her every footfall nettled him. The minx was disobeying his edict. He had no doubt her protector was a soft-palmed lordling who had never needed to fight for his position in the world.
But Dom was not cut from silk.
He was torn from leather.
And he did not tolerate defiance.
He spun abruptly.
Too abruptly.
She had been in hasty pursuit. His quick action sent her slamming into his chest. The collision of her soft curves, coupled with the renewal of her haunting scent, made his pulse pound in a way he could not like.
His hands settled upon the sweet curves of her waist, keeping her from toppling to the floor. A jolt went through him at the contact.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, irritated with her as much as he was himself for his unwanted reaction.
She was nothing more than a mistress who was deluded enough to heed the bidding of her cowardly lover. He did not believe her assertion the bastard had no inkling of where she had gone this evening or why.
Not for a bloody second.
“Forgive me my clumsiness,” she said, her husky voice sounding embarrassed as her hands clutched at his shoulders.
Sodding hell, he liked the way she clung to him, the way she felt, pressed against him. Small and elegant and sleek. Not at all the sort of female to whom he was accustomed. He preferred his lovers to be from the same seedy rookery to which he had been born. Pampered aristocratic mistresses did not harden his cock in the slightest.
This one does.
Hades.The sudden snugness of his falls could not be denied. This would not do. She had to go.
“Why are you still here?” he snapped, setting her away from him as if she were fashioned of flame.
For Dom, she may as well have been. He did not deny his reputation had been earned in deed and depravity, but he refused to have it bandied about that he allowed stupid, selfish lords to pay what they owed him in petticoats. He had women aplenty willing to raise their skirts for him, and none of them charged thousands of pounds for the privilege. Indeed, they were only too eager to offer themselves to himgratis. Besides, he had far more pressing concerns that had nothing to do with seductive ladies in silken skirts and everything to do with greedy Suttons with iron grips on the water supply.
“I will not go until you give me a chance to persuade you,” she said boldly.
But there was a tremor in her voice which could not be denied, one that suggested she had never attempted to offer herself to a black-hearted lord of London’s underworld before. Pity for the troublesome baggage, he was Dominic Winter, and he had sympathy for no one.
His lip curled. “You cannot persuade me, madam. Leave before I require Devil to remove you.”
Although her obscuring veil had made it impossible to view her face, Dom knew the sort of reaction the silent giant produced in others. Terror. And with good reason. Devil, too, had earned his sobriquet and reputation. That was one of the reasons Dom never allowed his half brother to stray far from his side. With certain East End powers at war, Dom had to watch his back for all the knives his enemies attempted to plant in it.
