Winter's Whispers (The Wicked Winters #10) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,55
still in place. He kissed the pad. “Yes.”
“And you love me?”
“Stupidly. I’m a spoony son of a—”
She pulled his head to hers and replaced her finger with her mouth. He had hardly finished his entire declaration, but there was only one thing to do when his woman kissed him, and that was kiss her back.
Thoroughly.
When it ended, they were both breathless. She cupped his face. “Do you truly want to marry me?”
“Trust me, love, marriage is not the sort of thing a man jests about,” he told her, trying for some levity before he humiliated himself by falling to his knees and begging her to accept his offer. “I want to make you my wife. I know I am not a lord, but I also ain’t a pauper. I have enough blunt to give your sisters dowries. Dom and Devil have moved to Mayfair, and I will find a house there too. Lady Emilia has offered to take your sisters under her wing and help with their seasons. I’ll help your father with his debts—”
Her finger returned, pressing to his lips.
“Hush,” she ordered him. “You do not have to do any of those things for me.”
“I know I do not have to,” he countered against her finger, his words slightly muffled. “I want to, Felicity.”
“My father will not approve, and neither will my Auntie Agatha,” she said, worrying her lower lip.
Exquisite torture, watching that.
“You have reached your majority. We do not need approval. And my family has promised they will do their utmost to aid us however we require it.”
“I do not have a dowry to speak of either. What little I had, my father has lost.”
“I don’t need a dowry.” He kissed her finger once more. “All I want is you.”
“Is it true what you said to me before?” she asked softly, removing her finger so he could speak uninhibited. “That you keep your family interests safe by inflicting pain upon others?”
Here was his past, coming back to haunt him. Before he had found his way to Devil and Dom and the three of them had formed a united team—long before Gavin, Gen, and Demon had found their way into the bastard Winter familial fold, Blade had killed in exchange for money. He had been a youth, earning his keep on the streets.
It was a part of his past he could never change, regardless of how deep his regrets.
A part which had served him well in the East End Winter empire.
“I have been seeing to the protection of my family’s interests, however I must.” He paused, searching for the words. “I have committed a great many sins. I am not a good man, and I will not pretend I deserve you. I cannot change what I have done or who I am. But now, I want… I want to be something more.”
He had no plan as to what that something was. But he was beginning to think he might have a head for business. That he did not need to merely be the brawn.
“You are wrong, Blade,” she said, her gaze searching his. “You are a good man, and you do deserve me. We deserve each other.”
She was the one who was wrong, but by God, he was not going to argue the matter.
He caressed her cheek. “Does this mean you will be my wife?”
“Yes.” She smiled up at him, lovely and radiant and his, damn it. “As long as you promise to never again call me Lady Francine.”
He grinned, thinking of their first meeting. “I was only teasing you then, love.”
“And to cease referring to Miss Wilhelmina as Miss Whistlewhiskers,” she added.
Hell.
He kissed her nose. “I promise to remember the feline’s name. Have you any other rules I must know?”
“One more,” said his future wife.
He raised a brow, waiting.
“Kiss me,” she ordered him, grinning.
“With pleasure.” His head dipped and he took her mouth with his, there beneath the mistletoe.
Yes, he was collecting each one of those bloody berries for his own before he was done. One for every kiss.
And then some.
“I refuse to believe it.” Auntie Agatha threw her hand to her brow. “Where is my hartshorn? I fear I shall have need of it again.”
“I am reasonably certain you didn’t swoon the first time, madam,” Blade said wryly at Felicity’s side.
He was right, of course. Auntie Agatha had not truly swooned. Her aunt was merely being, well, Auntie Agatha. Melodramatic, grumpy, and rude, not always in that order. She had good intentions, but her execution was often