He broke off a hunk of bread and slathered it with butter. “My brothers and sister. They all live in the hell with me, and so shall you.”
He expected her to live in a gaming hell, just as she had feared. Perhaps he would change his mind when he realized there would be a child. One could only hope.
“You do not consider the other Winters family?” she queried, curious.
The enmity between Devereaux Winter and her husband had been plain to see, and yet the family had hosted him. He had come to Abingdon Hall. She knew from conversations with them following Dominic’s surprise arrival that the Winter sisters had not been aware of their shared parentage, but Mr. Winter had been.
“No,” he clipped. “I do not.”
“Why not?”
His frown deepened. “I thought you were wearing the straps, Duchess.”
“The bands,” she corrected, gamely. “And you did not answer my question, Mr. Winter.”
“Back to Mr. Winter, am I? Must mean I’ve got you in a dudgeon.” He took a bite of his bread, chewing slowly, deliberately.
Was it her imagination, or did Dominic Winter make the uninteresting act of eating bread erotic?
“If you answer my questions with other questions, I will call you Mr. Winter,” she said simply. “I am attempting to become better acquainted with my husband.”
“That’s what the bed is for, love.” He winked.
Heat flared in her cheeks once more. “I did not mean to suggest in that fashion, sir.”
“Fuck me, you’re beautiful when you flush.”
Such vulgar praise from any other gentleman in the world would have had no effect upon Adele save insult. She would have boxed his ears.
But when Dominic Winter told her she was beautiful, it did strange things to her insides. She forgot to be offended. Indeed, she rather liked the sound of that naughty word on his lips, his facile tongue.
“You still have yet to answer my question,” she managed.
“Like a bloody dog with a bone, you are.” He sighed, then took a sip of his ale, his dark gaze never straying from her as he made her wait. “Fine, Duchess. You win. The bastard Winters are my family. Devereaux Winter can stuff his papa’s money and his society connections up his—”
“Mr. Winter,” she interrupted, before he could say something else that was regrettable.
“Nose,” he finished, his grin returning. “Here is the way of it, love. Devereaux Winter discovered the existence of us bastards when old Papa Winter cocked up his toes. I knew about Devil and Blade, but Demon, Gavin, and Genevieve were a surprise to me. The first thing I did after he gave me the news was to tell him to sod off and the second thing I did was to find all my siblings.”
“You brought all the bastard Winters together.”
He glowered at her. “Do not be thinking me a saint, Duchess. If any one of them had proved a liability to me, Devil, and Blade, we would have cut ties the way I did with Devereaux Winter.”
Somehow, she did not believe him. Adele suspected his hatred of Devereaux Winter had everything to do with his pride. The little she had come to know of Dominic thus far suggested he would not have reacted kindly to Devereaux Winter’s offer of money. Particularly since Devereaux Winter was a legitimate heir and Dominic had been raised in the slums by a mother who hadsoldhim for purposes she refused to contemplate.
“I do not think you are as hardhearted as you would have me believe.” Carefully, she tucked into her meat pie.
The first bite was an explosion of decadent, hearty flavors on her tongue. She had eaten meals prepared by some of the finest chefs in the realm, and yet the rich, buttery crust and well-seasoned meat and vegetables in her mouth could compete with ease.
She could not quite stifle her moan of enjoyment, unladylike though it was. And who was there to judge her, anyway? She was sharing a table with an East End rogue who had just uttered some of the foulest language imaginable to her.
Her husband muttered something that sounded like an epithet which was even viler and took a lengthy draught of ale. She watched in fascination as his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed with each sip.
He had removed his cravat at some point, and she approved of his decision. His throat was ridiculously handsome. She was certain she had never been so riveted by the sight of a man’s neck before.
“If any man is within twenty paces of you when you eat a meat pie, I’ll gut him like a fish,” he proclaimed, setting his tankard on the table with so much force, the crockery rattled and jumped.
Adele swallowed the heaven on her tongue at last. “What is the matter with the manner in which I eat meat pie?”
