Winter's Whispers (The Wicked Winters #10) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,33

in truth a big, silly mongrel who loved Gen to distraction and would protect her with his life.

“He cannot go and piss on a lady’s gown, can he?” Gavin asked, chortling.

Blade tugged at his cravat, which felt as if it were strangling his throat. Could the damned thing be tied any tighter? “I have no claims upon her.”

“None.” Gen rolled her eyes, her expression blatantly suggesting she did not believe him.

“Just think of her in the arms of all the nibs tonight,” Demon added.

Fucking hell.

“I’ll go to the goddamn ball,” he spat, quite disgusted with himself.

More disgusted with his stupid twat of a mind, which was envisioning Lady Felicity in a ball gown that put her delicious bosom on display, dancing with another man. His jealousy was instant and undisputable.

He had one afternoon to learn how to bloody dance.

He was here.

Blade Winter was at the ball. Devastatingly handsome in his evening finery, his cravat knotted with more of a flourish this evening. Golden haired, beautiful. Tall, commanding, dangerous.

Wicked.

He was the one gentleman in attendance with whom she should most keep her distance. Which meant, of course, that he was the only gentleman she could not stop watching. Their gazes had met across the dance floor half a dozen times. And on each occasion, she had felt the connection like a physical jolt.

There was something between them. Something bigger than the both of them.

Something, she admonished herself sternly as she finished dancing with her latest partner—Lord Chilton—and curtseyed to him. Auntie Agatha, for all her faults, was right about the viscount. He was indeed handsome. He was also the heir to his father’s earldom. He had been proper and gentlemanly throughout their dance.

But his warm, brown eyes did not make her giddy. His nearness did not cause her heart to flutter. She did not look at his lips and imagine what they would feel like upon hers.

He was, however, pleasant. Polite. He would be the perfect husband, she was certain.

“Thank you for the dance, Lady Felicity,” he told her. “Mayhap we should go in search of refreshments. I do think some negus would be just the thing.”

“That would be lovely,” she agreed, unable to keep herself from glancing toward where Blade had been standing.

He was gone. No longer there, no longer watching. Just as well, she told herself, even as a steadfast ache began in her heart. Blade Winter was not for her. Nor was she for him. She had to sacrifice herself for the sakes of her sisters. She had a duty, and it was not to long for a most unsuitable man.

But then she thought of how easily and tenderly he had handled Miss Wilhelmina. She thought of the way he held her and touched her, with such reverence. The way he had urged her to think of herself when no one else ever had.

Before she knew what had happened, she was standing in a room with Lord Chilton. Quite alone. She had been so deep in her thoughts, mind filled with nothing but Blade Winter, that she had been moving without conscious effort. Allowing Chilton to escort her where he would.

They came to a halt. “Lady Felicity, I admire you greatly.”

She stared up into his undeniably handsome face, and she wondered if he was saying what he thought he should say or if he truly meant those words. How could he admire her? Aside from dancing together at this house party, they had exchanged precious few words over the years in London. Why, he hardly knew her.

Do not question it, Felicity. You need a husband. Now.

She blinked up at him. “I admire you as well, my lord.”

“We are beneath the mistletoe,” he pointed out.

She had not known. She glanced up to find a sprig hanging over them, its white berries prominent. She knew why the mistletoe had been placed where it was. Kisses.

But whilst the prospect of kisses from one man in particular filled her with exquisite expectation, the notion of kissing Lord Chilton left her…

Well, chilled.

She was certain that was a pun he would not appreciate. But it was neither here nor there, for in the next moment, he had pulled her near, dipped his head.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

She wanted to tell him no, but she knew she must not. Mayhap kissing Lord Chilton would prove to her that the way Blade Winter made her feel was nothing special. That the wild emotions swirling through her in the aftermath of every kiss she had shared