“It’s a square deal I got there. I shouldn’t ’ave filched your ring, My Grace. I’m sorry for it. Didn’t mean to cause you no troubles.”
“YourGrace,” Joanna offered helpfully.
“And all the items which are currently missing in the household?” Mirabel persisted, not bothering to correct the lad.
“I’ll see it’s returned.” He kicked at the carpets some more. “And I’ll fetch the silver, the teacup, the shiner, the ink well, the book…”
“Oh dear,” Mirabel whispered to herself as the lad droned on with the list of his ill-gotten gains.
“Oh dear indeed,” her sister said, raising a dark brow. “You must send him back from whence he came.”
Yes, she must.
Drat it all.
And drat Demon Winter the most.
* * *
For the thirdnight in a row, Demon found himself ensconced in a private room withnumber one hundred four.
She had returned, wearing a gown that appeared as if it had been fashioned of a cloud.
And her eyes were spitting fire.
The evening had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
He grinned. “My lady.”
Christ, she was beautiful, and he wanted to strip her naked and lay claim to every luscious part of her with his tongue first and his cock second. He wanted to fall to his knees, lift her skirts, and suck on her pearl until her legs went weak and she screamed his name.
The violence of his lust had to be tamed.
She is someone’s mother, he tried to remind himself. When she had offered to take Davy on last night—hell, when she haddemandedit—he had not missed the reference to her son. He had to admit, he may well have swived women who were mothers before. But since they had never mentioned their children, he had also never asked. Had never considered the notion. It seemed impossible to believe the ethereal, alluring beauty before him was old enough to be mother to a lad near in age to Davy.
The urge to see her without her mask had become an itch he could not scratch. Must not scratch. Wanted to scratch very, very badly.
“Mr. Winter,” she clipped, voice dipped in ice.
His cock went rigid.
“To what do I owe the privilege of this evening’s visit?” he asked, feeling impish. “In search of more orphans you can snatch away? Mayhap you’ve misplaced another bauble and you need someone to blame?”
Her lips tightened. “Of course not, sir.”
He liked the way she called himsir. Liked everything about her far, far too much, in fact. This woman could land him in a dilemma, and Demon knew it. A delicious, wrong, seductive dilemma.
He moved nearer, drawn to her sophisticated grace, to the lovely elegance of her. She was a combination of prudish and tempting that he could not seem to resist.
“No?” He stroked his jaw, allowing his gaze to rake over her feminine form as he considered her. “Have you returned because you have decided to reconsider my offer? If so, madam, I must warn you, it’s no longer available.”
That was a lie.
But if there was one thing Demon Winter excelled at, it was playing games. Whether dice, cards, or women, he knew how to wager, and he knew how to win. And this fiery-haired beauty was going to be his. He had just decided it. To hell with all the reasons why he should not have her.
“Of course I have not,” she said, her tone just as frigid as before.
But there was an undercurrent there, an awareness. He did not miss it. Her eyes dipped to his mouth fleetingly.
