She kept the last to herself, quite wisely. Blade Winter was not the sort of man with whom one fell in love. Especially when one faced a marriage of duty forthwith.
“Sketching,” he said, taking a sip from his wine, watching her in that most unnerving fashion he had. “What do you draw?”
“I enjoy sketching portraits,” she admitted, “though I am not terribly adept at it. I enjoy the patience it requires, the way it forces me to study a face and grow deeply acquainted with every slash and curve.”
A drop of wine lingered on his lower lip, and his tongue caught it. “Have you any sketches here?”
“Of course.” She brought her supplies with her wherever she went, lest the urge to create should strike.
And of course, it had. She had been sketching him.
“I would love to see them,” he said, taking up a biscuit.
Her face went hot, which was perhaps terrifically silly given she had just been as intimate with this man as she could be. He had seen, kissed, touched, and tasted almost every part of her. Somehow, the admission he had been on her mind and heart seemed too much.
“Mayhap.” She took another sip of her wine to hide her discomfiture.
“Mayhap?” He raised a brow. “After I have just fetched you biscuits, my lady?”
Her lips twitched as he pressed a hand over his heart as if he had been terrifically wounded. “A lady is entitled to her privacy. I already told you, I am not a skilled artist. I merely dabble.”
“Hmm.” He cocked his head, eying her consideringly. “Do you know what I think, love?”
There he went again, seeing too much. Knowing too much. Finding his way deeper inside her heart, where he did not belong but was already lodged.
She took an extra-long sip of her wine before answering. “What is it you think?”
He gave her his smug grin, the one that never failed to turn everything inside her molten. “I think you drew a sketch of me, and that is why you are keeping it a secret.”
Even her ears went hot. “Of course not.”
But her denial was futile, and it sounded less than convincing.
“Why so embarrassed, love? Did you draw me naked?”
“No!” she cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized she had been far too loud.
He chuckled softly, the sound as smooth as velvet. “If you did, I hope you guessed correctly about certain portions of my anatomy.”
“Blade,” she chastised, sure she was the color of a ripe hothouse strawberry by now.
He just grinned at her, unrepentant. “Never say you gave me a small—”
“Good heavens,” she blurted. “Do try to behave, or I shall call you Richard.”
He quirked a lone brow. “That was a heavily guarded secret I entrusted you with, love.”
She understood that. The lightness of the moment fled.
“I know, and I thank you for letting me see a part of you that you do not share with others.”
“You are the only one I have ever told my true name,” he said, taking her by surprise. “Not even my brothers or sister know I was born Richard.”
He was close with his siblings, she knew. The Winters were a deeply bonded clan, both legitimate and illegitimate. One had but to watch them interact with one another to see it.
“It is their initials,” she said. “On your chest.”
He nodded. “I trust them all with my life, and I would give mine for any of theirs.”
“And yet you told me your Christian name.”
“You gave me yourself,” he countered. “Hardly an even exchange, but all this poor East End man torn from the rookeries could offer a lady. Even this repast, meager though it is, was thieved from the kitchens.”
Felicity did not know what to say to that. She turned to her wine, only to find she had drunk it all. Was he poor? She hardly knew. He certainly dressed well, and he and his siblings ran one of the most well-known gaming hells in London. The legitimate Winters possessed a vast wealth. But while she knew so much about Blade Winter—how strong and beautiful he was beneath his clothes, how deliciously he kissed, how he felt inside her, how he laughed—so much of him remained a mystery.
And she would never unlock that mystery.
Because he could never be hers.
The fire cracked, reminding her there was a world beyond the two of them. A world she would necessarily return to, within hours. Perhaps even minutes.
“Regrets, love?” he asked, his voice low, gaze probing.
“An ocean of them.” She tried to smile, but it was hopeless. Nothing in her felt light or free or happy in this moment. “But not tonight. I will remember tonight for as long as I live.”
He studied her, silent and unsmiling, before nodding at last. “The hour is growing late, Lady Felicity. I should return you to your chamber now. I am afraid we dare not tarry any longer.”
She was not sure which hurt the most—that she must leave him or that he called her Lady Felicity once more. Part of her wished he would ask her to stay longer as he had earlier. That he would kiss her again, that he would offer to marry her himself. That somehow, some way, he could be the answer to her problems and the man who owned her heart at the same time.
But he did not ask her to stay.
Nor did he kiss her.
Instead, he rose from the bed, taking the tray with its remnants of biscuits and wine with him.
“I must get dressed,” she agreed miserably.
“I will give you some privacy as you do so,” he returned.
The perfect gentleman. A veritable stranger once more. The mood had shifted between them, growing heavy and tense.
This night was, indeed, all she would have with him.
He presented her with his back as she slid from his bed, doing her utmost not to shed a tear.
Chapter Twelve
The dawn sun was just rising when Eugie returned from a visit to the nursery. She slipped beneath the covers where her handsome, drowsy husband awaited her.
“Mmm,” Cam, Earl of Hertford, mumbled, drawing her body against his and burying his face in her throat. “Where have you been, my love?”
“I was feeding our precious little Julia,” she said, kissing the slash of Cam’s cheekbone and wrapping her arms around him.
Their tiny daughter was still a source of amazement for Eugie, and although most ladies used wet nurses to feed their babes, she refused to accept the practice. It meant long nights and less sleep than she had been accustomed to before, but she had no regrets when she held their child in her arms. Many nights, Cam joined her, but this evening, she had hated to wake him when she had gone on her evening sojourn.
She was rather relieved she had not, considering what she had witnessed on her return.
“How is our precious cherub?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her neck in the place that never failed to make her shiver with appreciation.
“Sweet as ever.” She rubbed her hands slowly up and down her husband’s strong back, reveling in his strength and vitality. “Do you know, I do believe there is a bit of wickedness happening at this country house party?”
Cam rolled her to her back and aligned his body with hers. The delicious feeling of him against her chased all thoughts from her mind for a moment.
“There could be more wickedness happening,” he growled, giving the bare curve of her shoulder a tender nip.
And to think, he had once been known as the Prince of Proper.
She smiled, love for him rising steady and strong, mingling with desire. “I believe I saw Lady Felicity Hughes and Blade sneaking through the halls.”
Cam kissed his way back up to her lips. “Matchmaking your sisters have been up to gone awry?”
“Mayhap,” she said. “Mayhap not.”
There was every chance that was the reason Lady Felicity had been gadding about with Eugie’s half brother, Blade.
She brushed a rakish forelock that had fallen over her husband’s forehead aside. “D
o you think I should speak with her aunt?”
“That dragon?” Cam gave a mock shudder. “I would not. I do seem to recall a Christmas country house party here at Abingdon Hall where a great deal of sneaking about in darkened corridors occurred.”
He was speaking of them, of course. “And look at how excellently that sneaking turned out.”
The grin he gave her melted her heart. “I could not agree more, Lady Hertford.”
He kissed her. And it was quite some time before either of them had a thing more to say.
Blade awoke to an empty bed, dazzling light shining in through the window dressings, and a shocking realization.
He was in love.
He would never, as long as he lived, understand how he woke with that thought on his mind, the declaration written on his heart. But he had. And it was true. Shockingly, utterly mad. And true. The unrelenting knowledge that last night had changed everything—that mayhap, even, everything had changed the moment he had first stared into Felicity’s hazel eyes—could not be denied.
“Spoony prick,” he muttered.
Aye, that was what he was. A spoony, stupid arsehole. What had he been thinking, inviting an innocent lady to his chamber? What had he expected would come of such lunacy? Holding her afterward, talking all night long. Fetching her biscuits from the kitchens as if he were her fucking footman.
And then to wake this morning, realizing the unthinkable had happened and Blade Winter had fallen in love—with a lady at that? Hell, it was too much. He was too much.
Escorting her to her chamber in the early hours of the morning through the shadows had been pure and utter torture. But he had told himself he must be firm. That the lady had made herself clear—she needed to marry a wealthy lord, and while Blade had plenty of blunt, he would never be an earl or a bloody duke.
His mind hurt. He tried to turn it to something else. Anything else. Frantically, his eyes scoured the chamber for any signs Felicity had indeed spent hours in his chamber with him the night before. That he had not dreamed the entire affair. There was nary a hint of her, save the scent of her on his bedclothes. Seductive woman and jasmine.
His cockstand was instant and aching. None of these realizations were helping matters one whit.
Belatedly, it occurred to him that there could only be one source for the unusual morning light radiating from behind the curtains.
Freshly fallen snow.
He rose from the bed, drawn to that brightness. Naked as a babe, he crossed the room and drew back the window dressings. Below, and as far as the eye could see, spread a hoary blanket, interrupted only by trees in the distance.
It quite took his breath, that dreamy winter’s vision.
There was something ridiculously pristine about snow in Oxfordshire. Neat, glistening, perfectly white, and not besmirched by passing carts, carriages, hacks, horse dung, rat shit, donkey piss, chamber pots, and whatever other misery could be visited upon purity. He had never stopped to admire snow in the rookery. Even after first fall, it was gray with soot, trampled by hooves and boots, soiled and ugly and cold.
But this morning, he noticed the snow. He saw its beauty, its rarity.
Not unlike Lady Felicity Hughes.
She was rare and pristine and beautiful in a way he had never appreciated a woman. Hell, in a way he had never known. Until he had besmirched her, just like rookery snow.
Damnation. What was he going to do?
A sudden flurry of motion came into view below.
He recognized the laughing forms of his half siblings, Demon, Gavin, and Genevieve. They were having the devil’s own time at this house party. Romping in the snow. Laughing. Gen had even worn a gown and attended a ball. It was bloody unheard of. And what had he done? He had fallen in love and despoiled an innocent.
Dom and Devil were going to hand him his arse.
He was meant to have stayed out of trouble. Instead, he had found more trouble than he had left in London. Only, this was the sort of trouble he wanted to claim. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled, lowering his forehead to the cold pane with more force than he had intended.
His head connected with a thump. He winced.
Hell, mayhap he deserved that blow. Mayhap it would force some sense into him. Nay, he was still stupidly in love with a lady he could never have beyond what they had shared last night.
Belatedly, he realized his siblings had spied him. They were saying something, gesturing, laughing harder. But he could not make out their words.
Had Gavin just told him he could breathe a trick?
That made no bloody sense.
He made a rude gesture down at the trio. Demon tossed a snowball in his direction. It landed on the glass with a thud, a ball of white clinging to the pane.
More laughter from below.
He can seal your brick, Demon was shouting now.
Losing his patience, Blade opened the window at last, thrusting his head out against a blast of crisp, frigid air.
“Eh?” he called back. “What is it, you lot of criminals?”
“We can see your prick!” shouted Gavin.
Well, good Christ and all that was holy. He glanced down. The window was longer than he had realized. And there he stood, bare-arsed for all the monkery to see. Or in this instance, for his despicable siblings, whom he loved despite their glee at his abject humiliation.
He shielded himself with two hands.
“Stupid sod,” Demon added for good measure, laughing uproariously.
Gen clapped a gloved hand over her eyes. “Can’t see nothing.”
At least one of them had some fucking manners.
“Not that I expect I could,” she added, laying ruin to that naïve thought in the next breath. “Too small to see from here!”
He slammed the window closed, the laughter of his siblings ringing in his ears, and thrust the window dressings closed.
“Well,” he muttered to himself. “That was one hell of a way to begin the day.”
Realizing he was in love, then inadvertently putting his cock on display.
Curse it all.
His insufferable siblings were going to bloody well have to help him with this hopeless muddle. But first, he needed to get dressed.
Several hours later, Blade waited for the raucous peals of laughter to quiet.
“And there he was, standing in the window,” Demon was regaling the rest of their siblings in the yellow salon.
Blade stared at the pastoral landscapes dotting the walls and the winter’s sunshine filtering into the chamber’s westward-facing windows, fists clenched at his sides, doing his utmost to avoid planting his brother a facer. Following breakfast—where Felicity had been conspicuously absent—he had asked his entire family, Winters born on both sides of the blanket, to join him in the yellow salon. But before he had been able to request the aid of his siblings, the trio who had witnessed his window incident earlier had decided to entertain everyone with the tale.
“Naked as the day he was born,” Gen added, laughing her traitorous head off.
He would get even with her for this, he vowed. He’d sprinkle pepper on her hair whilst she was sleeping. Or let a mouse loose in her chamber.
Gavin wiped a tear of hilarity from his cheek and joined in the familial banter. “Fortunately, he has such a small—”
“What an amusing story,” Lady Emilia interrupted brightly before Gavin could complete his sentence. “Thank you for sharing it with us!”
Blade remained unruffled by the last bit. Nothing about his cock was small, and he damn well knew it.
“Quite amusing to discover you have been parading about in the nude before my houseguests,” Devereaux said coolly. “I do recall warning you to stay out of trouble.”
Yes, his half brother had. And Blade would have reminded Devereaux that he was indeed staying out of trouble—hell, he had even danced a goddamn minuet at a stupid ball like some spoony nib twat—except he could hardly claim innocence after last night.
&nbs
p; “I was hardly parading,” he said with practiced calm. “I was standing perfectly still. And it was unintentional. I have been taking your words of caution to heart.”
Except for the part where he had bedded a virginal lady—twice—the night before.
But he would not apologize for that. Especially not when he was about to make amends. Or to do his damnedest to try, anyway.
“Hmm,” was all his half brother said.
“Why have you called us here, Blade?” Gen asked. “Surely it was not so we could humiliate you before the other Winters.”
“There is no more other Winters,” Devereaux said. “We have had our great pax. No more fighting between us, no division between siblings. We are all Winters.”
Gen’s eyes narrowed, her natural cynicism on display. “I still don’t understand how a man who wants to be a nib benefits from bringing his bastard siblings born in the rookeries to a house party filled with other nibs.”
Damn it, his troublesome sister and her outspoken nature ordinarily did not bother him one whit, but in this instance, he did not want the subject to divert from his intention.
“Because we stand stronger together than we can divided,” Devereaux countered.
“Strange way for a cove to think, all I’m saying,” Gen offered with a shrug.
“We love you,” Lady Emilia added. “We have weathered the storm of polite society in the past, and we shall do so again, however we must.”
“The most important thing is that we are family,” Mrs. Merrick Hart said.
“All of us,” the Countess of Hertford agreed.
“No other reward necessary,” said Lady Aylesford. “Except, mayhap the story about Blade at the window. That was quite rewarding.”
Everyone laughed. Even Lady Emilia, who had stopped the initial discussion.
Fucking hell.
Blade’s face was aflame, which was ridiculous. Blade Winter did not flush, not with embarrassment, or otherwise.
“We love you,” Lady Pru Rawdon said after everyone’s chuckles had abated.
“And we are doing everything in our power to see you wed to Lady Felicity Hughes,” the Duchess of Coventry announced.
Winter’s Whispers Page 13
