“It is not mine,” she denied once more.
“Nor is the sewing mine,” he allowed. “Have you seen it anywhere?”
“I was looking for the book.” And then, she had been looking at him. Only him. He had absorbed every last modicum of her attention.
“I shall search for it, then.” His full lips pursed.
God, how she wanted to feel those lips against hers once more.
It was a sin.
And she wanted it anyway.
“Very well,” she agreed. “And I shall return this book to its owner.”
She forced herself to dip into a curtsy. “I bid you good day, Mr. Winter.”
He bowed, the action perfunctory. Not quite elegant, and somehow mocking in true Blade Winter fashion. He was not a man who prized formality or society. Nor, she suspected, would he ever be.
“And I bid you a good morning, my lady Felicity,” he returned. “The day is young. Do think about what I said, will you not?”
She knew without bothering to ask exactly what he meant.
Why not enjoy yourself before you sell your body and soul to save your sisters?
She raced from the chamber, leaving the temptation of Mr. Blade Winter behind.
For now.
“It was terriblywicked of you to ask Lady Felicity to retrieveThe Tale of Lovefrom the yellow salon, darling.”
Grace smiled at her handsome husband Rand, Viscount Aylesford, as they prepared for dinner that evening. “I thought you did not mind when I am wicked.”
His gaze heated. “You know I do not.” He drew her to him, kissing her soundly. “When it is the two of us, you may be as wicked as you choose. But that book is not the sort of literature one ought to put into the hands of an innocent.”
“My sisters and I all read it before we were wed,” she pointed out, then pulled his handsome head back to hers for another meeting of lips.
Her husband’s gaze was on her lips. “Yes, but you are all Winter ladies.”
She raised a brow. “And what does that mean, Lord Aylesford,Winter ladies?”
He kissed the tip of her nose affectionately, melting any irritation she may have felt. “Only that you are originals. Lady Felicity, I daresay, has not all your forward-thinking natures.”
Mayhap, but Grace rather liked Lady Felicity Hughes. There was something about her that was earnest, vulnerable, and yet also an underlying hint of an independent nature Grace could wholeheartedly applaud. Besides, now that she was happily married herself, she could not resist the urge to play matchmaker.
She nuzzled Rand’s cheek with hers, inhaling deeply of his delectable scent. “I like her for Blade.”
“Blade Winter?” Her husband’s mouth traveled to her throat, finding a place that drove her mad.
That was one of the excellent things about reforming an arrogant rake—he knew how to bring her to her knees. And as a husband, he was loyal to a fault. He loved her unconditionally, and he loved her family as well. Even the bastards who had so recently appeared, fresh from the East End and speaking in flash. She loved him for his open heart all the more.
Belatedly, she recalled Rand had asked her a question. “Do you know any other gentlemen named Blade?”
Rand nibbled on her collarbone. “Mmm. Cannot be his Christian name, do you think?”
Her fingers explored the broad expanse of her husband’s shoulders through his coat. “If it is not, I shall fully expect Lady Felicity to divulge the truth when they marry. You should have seen the way he held our sweet little angel. There is far more to him than meets the eye, and Lady Felicity is stronger than she seems, with all her pale gowns.”
Her husband’s tongue flicked over the hollow where her pulse pounded, giving away the effect he had upon her. “Bold of you, darling. They appear quite opposite. An ominous scoundrel with a penchant for knives and a name to match, coupled with a diamond of the first water?”
“Nobility and commoners can get on together quite well; one need only to look at the two of us to see that,” she said, gasping as he deftly tugged down her bodice, making her nipples pop free. “My lord, we must attend dinner.”
“Must we?” He kissed his way down the slope of her breast. “I am famished, it is true, but only for you.”
When his knowing mouth found her nipple and lapped at the tender bud, she could not stifle her moan of appreciation. “Perhaps we could cry off dinner after all.”
