Chapter 9
This time, the bastards had made off with silver, two paintings, and her damned ledgers. But they had also left a note.
It was the note which had been troubling Gen every bit as much as the latest invasion of her territory and subsequent thefts. Still sitting upon her desk, mocking her. One word. Misspelled, written in rude scrawl, but disturbing just the same.
Markwiss
“The sins of your fancy cull’re going to be the end of Lady Fortune,” Peter said harshly.
It was morning. Near dawn. Gen had spent the hours since learning about the thefts unable to sleep, plotting the means by which she would discover who was behind these attacks and destroy them. She was tired. Last night, the charleys had given her little hope that whoever was responsible would be caught.
And now Peter—and the note—were suggesting to her that her problems were somehow related to the presence of the Marquess of Sundenbury.
Max.
She scowled at Peter. “He isn’t mine.”
But part of her wished he were, and that part of her was getting bigger and bolder with each day that passed. More dangerous, too.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Peter said, lip curling. “When a cove’s ’iding in a woman’s room, usually means one thing.”
It occurred to her that, somehow, she had allowed her relationship with Peter to grow too familiar. She was the leader here. She may have known him since she was a girl, and he may be taller than she and physically stronger, but it was not his place to comment upon her private actions.
Or any of her actions.
Hands clasped behind her back, she rounded her desk and stopped just short of Peter. The skull on his neck—one she had inked herself a few years ago—was a reminder of what she considered him to be. Another brother.
But her brothers would never confront her thus, and neither should he.
“I could have half London in my room if I wanted,” she told him. “It’s none of your concern whom I entertain.”
His expression shifted, growing tense. “Never thought I’d see the day Gen Winter wanted to be a lord’s ladybird.”
“I ain’t anyone’s ladybird,” she snapped. “Though if I were, I’d still be the owner of Lady Fortune, and you’d still work for me, and you’d still be venturing down a path you don’t want to take, Peter.”
She was warning him as best she knew how. She had never treated him as if he were anything less than her equal, but she was the leader of Lady Fortune. This roof and all that was left beneath it was her domain. Not his. And he had no right to question her decisions or integrity. Or to accuse her of being Max’s ladybird.
She was no man’s mistress, and she couldn’t deny the insinuation stung.
Peter shook his head. “That the way of it now with us? You’ll choose ’im over me?”
When Peter was angry, his accent became thicker; she’d worked hard to improve her speech, even if she had not always been able to quell her vulgar tongue. If the sudden darkness of his eyes was any indication, he was furious.
But once more, he had no right to be. “I ain’t choosing anyone, nor should I. Sundenbury will be leaving us soon enough.”
And why did something deep within her ache at the reminder?
“That note makes it clear as a windowpane why Lady Fortune’s been attacked,” Peter said. “Tell ’isnabs to go back where ’e belongs now. Before this gets worse.”
Max had previously managed to amass significant debts with dangerous men, it was sure.
“The note means nothing,” she countered. “And even if it does somehow relate to the marquess, that’s my business, Peter. I’m the owner.”
“But we’re going to run it together.” He reached for her, taking her hand in his. “You and me, Gen.”
There was a new intensity in Peter’s countenance. One she had never seen before. Or mayhap she had, but she’d always been too distracted to notice. It couldn’t be that Peter had romantic feelings for her, could it?
“You’re like another brother to me, Peter,” she said quietly. “But I don’t let my brother’s dictate what I do, and I won’t let you.”
