Winter's Whispers (The Wicked Winters #10) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,58

a mistake that a little orange cat—scruffy and starved—had found its way to him in the rookery whilst he had been awaiting the Mayfair House’s purchase to be completed. He had taken the bugger in, feeding him, cleaning him. And the furred scamp had rather made his imprint upon Blade’s heart.

“I still cannot believe you named him Mr. Spoony.”

“It was either that or Arsehole,” he defended. “The first three nights I had him, he kept me up all night with his caterwauling, and then he attacked my window dressings with his claws.”

Felicity smiled up at him. “You have a good heart, Blade Winter. Just as I’ve always known. Our mister and miss were getting on quite well when I checked on them earlier, but I am not certain Miss Wilhelmina will ever like him well enough to share her liver. But never mind that. Let me show you your gifts before you distract me.”

Hell. Although he had already given her his gift—a room just for her to sketch in, decorated with all her favorite colors—he still felt guilty for not having something else.

“Fair enough,” he grumbled.

She extricated herself from his arms and crossed the chamber, retrieving something she kept behind her back, before handing it over with a shy smile. “Here you are. I do hope you like it. As I said, I am not talented, but I enjoy the art.”

He stared down at the sketched likeness in his hands. It was him, holding the kitten-sized Miss Wilhelmina by the scruff of her neck in his chamber at Abingdon Hall. Her talent was astounding. And undeniable. He had not pressed her to share it with him, sensing her shyness. Now, he could not fathom why.

“My God, love, this is incredible.”

“It is you,” she said, her cheeks going pink.

“Aye, I’d recognize my sorry gob anywhere. But that is not what is incredible. ’Tis your talent. I am…astounded.” He paused, searching for finer words and finding none. “Thank you for this beautiful gift. I love it, and I love you.”

She beamed, rising on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I am so pleased you like it, darling.”

“Like does not begin to describe the way I feel.” Humbled, he took the sketch to a nearby table and placed it there. “It is incredible, just as you are.”

“Good. Now here is the other part of your gift.” She stepped back and lifted the hem of her night rail, putting her right ankle forward.

For a moment, he could do nothing but admire the elegant point of her toes and the curve of her calf, without the hindrance of stockings. All that creamy skin. Christ. Her ankles.

But then he spied it—an inking just above the protrusion of her anklebone. A dagger.

“My God, Felicity.” He dropped to his knees, taking her foot in his hand, examining the beautiful work. “Did Gen do this?”

“Yes.” Felicity nodded, her expression hesitant. Almost shy. “Do you like it? I wanted something to show I am yours, now and forever. It seemed…right.”

He was speechless. The ink was healed. She must have asked Gen to give her the mark shortly after their return to London.

“You do not dislike it, do you?” Her tone was nervous. “Pray do not be angry with your sister. She was hesitant to do it, but I insisted.”

He rubbed his thumb over the blade, the hilt. Such intricate detail. So beautiful. And she had done this for him. The inkings were painful, an arduous process. His brave, beautiful lady. He could not love her more.

“Dislike it?” He pressed a reverent kiss to her there. “I bloody well love it.”

Her smile returned. “I wanted to make you happy.”

“Always. You always make me happy.”

“Oh, Blade.” There were tears glistening in her eyes, and that was not what he wanted now.

What he wanted was her utter, absolute pleasure.

“Since I am already where I belong, on my knees for you,” he said, giving her his best rakish grin, “take off your night rail, love.”

Her lips parted, her hazel eyes darkening. “If you insist.”

She grasped her demure gown in both hands and lifted it over her head, tossing it behind her. His beautiful wife was naked before him. Fuck, he was the luckiest chap in England, and he knew it.

“I insist,” he said as he cupped her arse and pulled her forward.

He sucked her pearl and sank a finger deep inside her slick channel simultaneously. Crooking his finger, he found the place he knew she was most sensitive. It had