There were other ways he would like her to beg him. Delicious ways.Floating hell, why was he suddenly thinking of this delectable, aristocratic lady in his bed, his to sweetly torment? What was it about her ice which turned him to flame?
Demon cocked his head, considering her. This evening, she wore a gauze and satin gown in a shade of ivory that complemented the fiery curls framing her face. French kid gloves to her elbows, a fringe of lilac silk flowers adorning the hem of her gown, her delicate slippers peeping from beneath. She was the perfect blend of proper and forbidden, and he wanted to debauch her. Thoroughly.
He wanted her in his bed wearing nothing but her mask.
But alas, he was not going to have his way. She had already refused him, and he would do well to remember that stinging blow to his pride. Trouble was, his pride and his prick weren’t speaking much these days. Had they ever been?
“The young gentleman you have tasked with emptying chamber pots is the same one who helped me with my wrap yesterday,” she persisted, breaking through Demon’s troublesome thoughts. “He thieved my ring as he did so.”
Damn it.No more allowing Davy his run of Lady Fortune.
“For a lady who was just singing the lad’s praises, you’re awfully certain he’s a moll-buzzer.”
In an effort at distracting her, Demon had intentionally used the flash word for a pickpocket who targeted women.
“Moll-buzzer, Mr. Winter?” She frowned.
And she was deuced pretty with her lush lips turned down. But he oughtn’t be noticing that just now. Instead, he pretended he had heard a knock on the door.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” he called, then returned his voice to its ordinary pitch as he addressednumber one hundred four. “Was there something else I could assist you with, my lady?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Someone is at the door? I did not hear a knock.”
He was going to need a flash of lightning after this—a whole glass of gin straight down his throat. “Aye. I’ve a club to run, madam. Unless there is something else you need from me? Another request for a lover, perhaps?”
He was taunting her, and he should not have done. But she was riling him in a way he had not experienced before. And he didn’t bloody well like it. Mayhap he needed to tell Gen to—
“Yes.”
He blinked. Stilled. Surely she was not suggesting she wanted him to find her a lover?
“There is indeed something else I need, Mr. Winter,” she said, her voice dripping with frost and disapproval. “I would like to take young Master Davy with me. A lad such as Davy, being forced to empty chamber pots, is an egregious sin. Likely, his wages are so meager he feels he has no choice but to steal from your patrons. You ought to be ashamed.”
For a moment, he had no words. And Demon Winter robbed of speech was a rare sight indeed.
Where to begin?
Then, another devil entered his thoughts. Why begin at all? Could he not simply allow the lady before him to delude herself into believing Davy was an innocent, given no choice but to thieve from his betters for his bread?
“You want to take him with you, my lady?”
She nodded. “Indeed, I do. He shall be far happier with me, installed at my household, than he is here.”
“As a servant?”
“As aguest.”
Demon’s lips twitched. This was too bloody good. If he could not bed this luscious, red-haired siren, then at least he could have himself an excellent laugh over the notion of Davy running wild all over her ladylike abode.
“As you wish.”
She smiled then, and fuck him if he did not feel the effect of that smile all the way to his darkened, tarnished, tattered soul. “Excellent.”
There were so many things Demon wanted to say, but in the end, he swallowed each one of them down. This was for the best, he told himself. He would be rid of two problems at once. No more pickpocket in the ranks, and no morenumber one hundred fourto plague him.
“He may accompany me this night,” she added, piercing Demon’s thoughts once more. “How old is he, do you suppose?”
“Depends on the lad’s mood when you ask,” Demon said wryly. “Could be nine. Could be twelve.”
