Winter's Warrior (The Wicked Winters Book 13)

by Scarlett Scott

  “I would never put Caro or any of you at risk.” He winced as he realized he had once more referred to her in familiar terms before her disapproving brother.

  “If you don’t want to bring peril here to The Sinner’s Palace, where we’ve done nothing but protect you and stitch your hide back together, then you’ll stay where you are,” Sutton said.

  “Trapped in a room like a prisoner?” he demanded, feeling the sudden need to flex his fingers. To form fists.

  A strange urge, that.

  It reminded him of the brief flash he’d had, of punching someone. Of relishing the crunch of bone.

  “Here now. No one said you need to be trapped in a room.” Sutton sauntered back to the sideboard and replenished his gin before turning toward them once more. “You can travel in the private halls of The Sinner’s Palace rather than the public, but Randall needs to follow you and make certain you’re doing what you’re told. I’ll not be having you bring trouble down upon us.”

  Relief washed over him. This man was harsh, but he seemed fair.

  “I have no wish to bring any trouble upon any of you. All I want is to earn my keep and to be allowed to roam beyond the four walls which are driving me to the brink of madness.”

  It was true. Slipping from the room today had shown him just how much he required freedom of movement. He was grateful for Caro’s hospitality. She had given him her chamber, her bed, and she had saved his life. Which was more than he deserved. Far more.

  But he wanted more, it was true. He wanted to be able to escape those walls that had protected him for the duration of his stay. As a man who was no longer an invalid, he could not bear to remain trapped.

  “I’ll find a means for you to earn your bread here,” Sutton said slyly. “All you need to do is keep your arse where it belongs. Until we can discover who you are or who was trying to send you to Rothisbone, you need to play this game my way.”

  He could accept that.

  He nodded, stealing a glance at Caro, who was watching him with a mournful expression he could not define. “Aye. We’ll play it your way, Mr. Sutton.”

  Caro’s brother grinned and tossed back the rest of his gin. “Plummy. It’s a square thing. But be warned that if you touch any of my sisters, I’m going to lop off your ballocks.”

  Well, hell.

  Chapter 6

  On a sigh, Caro carefully traveled back to Logan’s chamber, which she was still using as her own. The hour was late. Her feet ached. And the wig atop her head—why, it felt as if it held the weight of the damned world.

  Mayhap it did.

  Days had passed since Caro had last seen Gavin. Jasper—curse him—had seen to that. Her brother was as protective as he was observant, and he had not approved of the familiarity between herself and Gavin the day they had confronted Jasper together in his office. Instead of working in her tiny room on creating new healing remedies before they were needed, she had been tasked with the entertainment of their patrons.

  Ordinarily, Pen donned the requisite costumes and wigs to sing for the fancy lords who dedicated themselves and their purses to pursuing pleasure at The Sinner’s Palace. But since Pen had suddenly become ill and confined to her bed—suspicious timing indeed if you asked Caro—the evening concerts had become Caro’s burden.

  Pen claimed she had a cough.

  Caro believed their brother had somehow involved their sister in his secretive schemes.

  When Caro had objected to Jasper’s request that she take on her sister’s role, her brother had calmly told her she had no choice in the matter unless she wanted herself, her siblings, and everyone in their employ to starve.

  It had been hyperbole, and she knew it. The Suttons had fought long and hard to earn their place as the owners of one of the most sought-after gaming hells in London. The Sinner’s Palace offers unique entertainment unlike any other hell, and it is part of what has made us so bloody lucrative, Jasper had said. If there is no Madame Teulet singing like a goddamn sparrow, then there are no lords distracted from the green baize and losing all their papas’ blunt.

  But like any sparrow, Caro did not like having to sing upon command. Nor did she appreciate all the time she was being forced to spend away from Gavin, who was now being allowed to wander, albeit in the private areas only.

  Still, she worried over him. If the wrong person recognized him, all the care she had taken in nursing him back to health would have been for naught. And if something were to befall him…

  Her heart would be dashed to bits like a small boat on the rocky shoals of a beach in a maelstrom. The plain truth of the matter was that she cared for Gavin Winter. Regardless of how much she had tried to remain aloof. Despite all the reasons why she should not. And no matter that she was deceiving him, the weight of her guilt becoming increasingly oppressive as the days dragged on and her lies grew.

  At long last, she ventured into her chamber, the door clicking behind her.

  And that was when she noticed she was not alone.

  She would have screamed had not the interloper been so familiar. And handsome.

  As it was, she nearly said his name aloud.

  Instead, she pressed a hand over her heart as she took in the sight of him lying on her bed. Asleep, bless his heart. He must have come here in search of her and decided to await her return. Along the way, the wait had become too long. The low flickering of the brace of candles illuminated his features. She had watched him sleep on many occasions before, but now that his health had largely been restored, there was a marked difference.

  Caro crossed the chamber, stopping at the bedside to gaze down at him. His dark hair hung over his brow—it had already been long, but it was getting longer now. His jaw was sharp and wide, angled like his cheekbones, his lips full and sensual. And now she knew how that mouth felt moving over hers.

  Transcendent.

  But she must not think of that now. Nor must she allow him to linger here. Jasper had required his guards to be extra vigilant after her joint trip with Gavin to his office. In his curt, gruff manner, Jasper had merely warned her with two words.

  No bastards.

  Now that she thought upon it, she could not be certain if her brother had been advising her to stay away from Gavin because he was a bastard Winter or if he was cautioning her against engaging in activity that would lead to her having a child out of wedlock. Both, she supposed.

  Gently, she shook Gavin’s shoulder to wake him. How she wished she could call him by name, and that she could confess everything to him. But Jasper had insisted they maintain this ruse for a bit longer, and she was bound by her promise to him.

  Gavin jolted awake, blinking sleepily up at her. “Caro?” He frowned as he took in her blonde wig and revealing dress. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  She was aware of how she looked in the dress—her bosom pushed high and full out the top, all the better for their patrons to ogle her as she serenaded them. She withdrew her hand and tugged at her bodice, but it was a futile war she waged. The dress was tight, her stays designed to force her breasts heavenward. There was to be no modesty dressed as she was.

  “I am wearing a gown, of course,” she said, frowning back at him. “What are you doing in my bed?”

  “Sleeping.” He rose into a sitting position, and she could not help but to notice how much of the bed he occupied with his massive frame.

  For some reason, although he had been staying in her bed for the duration of his time at The Sinner’s Palace, she had not placed any emphasis upon it. He had been desperately wounded when he had arrived, and she had been so consumed with seeing to his care that she had scarcely been aware he was a man. But there was something deliciously intimate about the sight of him, his cheeks flush with color, his body replenished, in her bed.

  He was watching her, scowling absently as his green gaze roamed over all the bare skin she had on display. She wished he had not seen her dressed as she was. What must he think of her?

  Banishing the
thought, she twisted her fingers in the skirts of her scarlet gown. “Of course you were sleeping. That was plain as the nose on my face. But it does nothing to explain why you were sleeping in my bed.”

  He grinned, and it was so boyish, so handsome, she felt the effect of it to her toes. “There is nothing about your nose—or any part of you for that matter—which is plain. And I sleep in your bed each night, unless you have forgotten.”

  Despite the accuracy of his statement and the innocence of it, her face flamed. “You are being unlike yourself this evening.”

  “Am I?” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Deuced impossible to know what is like myself and what isn’t, wouldn’t you say? But I could say the same for you. I waited hours for you, and you never arrived, only to turn up dressed as a ladybird.”

  A ladybird. Was that what she looked like? She glanced down at herself and had to admit it was. She had felt like one this evening as well. So many eyes had been upon her. So many lascivious comments had been called as she sang.

  “I needed to entertain our patrons this evening,” she said, chancing a glance back at Gavin and hoping she would not read disgust or disapproval in his expression.

  “I thought you were the healer.” Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “What manner of entertaining were you expected to perform? Does your brother truly demand this of you? I’m bloody outraged, Caro. I ought to beat him to a pulp on your behalf.”

  Gavin was broader of form than Jasper, but she had no doubt that if the two men were to battle against each other, they would be fairly evenly matched in terms of size and strength. Gavin’s reputation as a champion prizefighter, however, did not bode well for her brother.

  She tugged at her bodice once more, feeling increasingly irritated with her costume by the moment. “You were never to have seen me thus.”

  Her grumbled words of irritation had him rising from the bed altogether to tower over her. “I was never to have seen you at all, any longer, was I?”

  There it was—the acknowledgment of the time that had passed between them.

  She wanted to touch him. To throw herself into Gavin’s arms. But her bloody wig was itching her head.

  Caro sighed. “My brother is being protective.”

  His lip curled. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

  He was not wrong to make assumptions based upon her appearance. “My head is hot and I need to remove these curls before I swoon.”

  “Christ, woman, let me help you.” He was scowling once more as he took her hand in his and led her to a chair, putting gentle pressure on her shoulders until she dutifully sat.

  There was a small looking glass facing her, reflecting both of them. She was at once reminded of how much flesh she was showing and of how handsome he was, despite the fact he was frowning with displeasure.

  “How many ladies have you helped to remove their wigs?” she asked, intending to lighten the mood between them but instantly realizing her error in judgment.

  The words had been spoken. Too late to recall them.

  He met her gaze in the looking glass. “I don’t remember. I don’t recall anything, in fact. My memory remains a jumble of emptiness and questions.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking that he had made some progress, minor recollections. Not enough, however. She would have expected more by now. There was the possibility he would never recall his past.

  Caro yearned to tell him everything. His name, his past, who he was. She owed him the truth, and he deserved it.

  “I am sorry,” she said instead.

  His hands were on her wig now, surprisingly tender for a man who was so large. But then, that was Gavin Winter, wasn’t it? An endless source of amazement. And tenderness, too.

  She could lose her heart to him so easily.

  Heavens, what if she already had?

  His fingers were unerringly finding all her hair pins, pulling them free. “Why should you be sorry? ‘Tis whoever attempted to kill me who ought to be sorry. Mayhap I’ll meet the cove someday, give him what he deserves.”

  A shiver passed through her at the notion of him facing whoever had committed such violence upon him. “You should not seek out such a madman, or madmen. You suffered so many wounds that I doubt one man could have inflicted them all. Especially considering you…”

  She had been about to say considering his proficiency at sparring. One of the most victorious prizefighters in England would not be defeated with ease. But she could not say any of that. Because doing so would mean revealing she knew who he was. And she had to keep the truth from him. At least for a bit longer.

  “Considering?” Gavin prodded as he removed another handful of pins which had been holding the wig in place.

  “Considering your size and strength,” she improvised, hating herself for the continuation of the lies.

  “Mayhap I was soused,” he suggested, pulling another errant pin until the wig was loose, sliding about atop her head. “Or I was attacked from behind.”

  “I considered those possibilities as well,” she admitted quietly, watching in the looking glass as he lifted the wig from her head.

  “But you decided against them?” He carried the wig as if it were a creature, depositing it atop the chest which housed her looking glass.

  “Not entirely.” Caro shifted in her seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable thanks to their topic of discussion. “In the end, I could not be certain what happened. All I knew was that I ventured upon a man I presumed to be dead until I took a closer look and realized your chest was rising and falling. I am heartily glad you were not dead, and that I discovered you in time.”

  He turned back to her. “As am I, sweet Caro, which reminds me. I may not be able to recall a thing from my past, but I can remember that I have a gift for you.”

  A gift? For her? No one had ever given her something. Nor did she deserve one from this man. This wonderful, handsome, caring, sweet man to whom she lied each day.

  She swallowed. “You need not give me a gift.”

  “It is the least I can do after the kindness and concern and healing you have bestowed upon my miserable arse.” He grinned, and it was lopsided.

  And her heart seemed to flip upside down.

  Oh, Gavin.

  “I am the healer here; tending to the injured is my job,” she felt compelled to say, for it was the truth.

  She would have aided anyone she had found wounded and beaten and bloodied. But she would not have lied to them. Should not have lied to him.

  He reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a small object, holding it out for her. “I made this. For you.”

  Biting her lip against another rush of guilt, she accepted the offering, turning it over in her palm. It was smooth, hewn of wood. And it was exceptional. Easily the most intricate piece she had ever beheld.

  “A butterfly? You carved this?”

  His smile faded. “Aye, as a small means of expressing my thanks for all you’ve done for me. I meant to give it to you before now, but I haven’t seen you for days.”

  “Did you miss me?” she teased.

  “Aye,” he said solemnly. “I did.”

  She had missed him too.

  Her heart gave a pang. She wished she could tell him. Wished she did not have to perpetuate this lie. Wished she were not hopelessly caught between her duty to her family and the feelings she had developed for the man before her.

  She rubbed her thumb over the details in the wings. “Thank you. It is beautiful.”

  “As are you.”

  Their gazes held, his simmering with promise. She could not look away. There was so much she wanted to say. So much she could not.

  “I shall treasure this always,” she said softly instead. “You are talented.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders, wincing when his injury must have given him some pain. “Apparently I am. I had little else to do, and Randall gave me a blade and some wood. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own.”

  He had re
membered how to carve and create. Surely that was a good sign.

  “Did you have any other memories?” she asked, hopeful.

  “I have one memory which has been haunting me.”

  “That sounds promising indeed.” She traced the patterns on the butterfly, unable to look away from Gavin. “What have you remembered?”

  “It is a new memory.” He plucked the butterfly from her grasp and settled it on the chest holding her looking glass before turning back to her. He took her hands in his, twining their fingers together before gently tugging her to her feet. “My lips on yours. Do you recall?”

  Oh.

  “Yes.” The admission fled her in a husky whisper. He had placed her hands on his chest, and she absorbed his warmth and strength, his vitality. “I have thought of little else.”

  Caro’s words twined around his heart and held tight, clinging like an ivy vine. They were what he needed to hear. And Caro herself? Good Lord, she was all he wanted.

  Kissing her again had not been his intention in seeking her out. But now that he had her in his arms, he could not deny the intensity of the longing coursing through him. It felt like a lifetime had passed since he had last seen her.

  “May I kiss you again soon?” he asked, though playing the gentleman was killing him.

  A small smile curved the lush fullness of her lips. “You did not ask permission the last time.”

  So he had not.

  That sobered him. “I ought to have done, Caro. The truth is, I do not know what manner of man I am. I could be anyone. You deserve far better than that.”

  “Hush.” She lifted a finger to his lips, laying it against them. “You are you, and that is all I need to know.”