Winter's Warrior (The Wicked Winters Book 13)

by Scarlett Scott

  Humility washed over him. Hell, the way she said it…she made him feel as if he were someone. He kissed the fleshy pad of the digit pressed to his mouth. “Caro.”

  Her name emerged as little more than a growl. His restraint was fading. What a surprise the evening had been thus far. He had intended to await her return from whatever business she had been attending. But when the wait had dragged on, his eyes had grown heavier. Lulled into the inviting haven of her bed, he had settled atop a counterpane which smelled faintly of her scent.

  Her finger moved, traveling around his lips, tracing in much the same manner she had touched the butterfly he’d spent her absence carving. Had a woman ever moved him the way this one did? He would like to believe he would recall it if she had, that there would be some sort of instinctive, marrow-deep knowledge.

  “You have a lovely mouth,” she said.

  Christ.

  His cock went rigid in his trousers. “Not as lovely as yours.”

  He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. But he knew he could not have her. Not completely. Not until he knew who he was.

  What if I never know who I am? What if I never remember?

  Indeed. What would he do then?

  Curse the curious blank state of his mind. This was an interminable hell in which he lived, unable to recall the smallest of details with certainty, unknowing what manner of man he was, whether or not he was truly free to pursue her. What if he was married or had a betrothed? What if he was a criminal? Surely no good man would have been beaten and shot and left for dead in the streets.

  He hated it. Because all he wanted was to revel in Caro. To make her his. To lose himself in the only part of his life that held any meaning, any significance.

  Her.

  For now, there remained more hair pins in her lustrous auburn locks, keeping them confined. He plucked at them with abandon, setting her gorgeous hair free until it flowed down her back with wild abandon, until it spilled in long curls over her shoulders and breasts.

  “It is a sin, hiding your hair,” he grumbled.

  He was still agitated at waking to the sight of her dressed so rudely, the full creaminess of her bosom nearly falling out of her bodice, the transparent skirts, the golden-tressed wig. How dare Jasper Sutton expect his sister to dress like a strumpet and flit about the gaming hell thus?

  Outraged was a proper word for it. Now that more time had passed since he had first awoken to find himself robbed of his memory, his mind was becoming sharper. Even if he still had no recollection of who he was, concentrating upon the people around him and the words being spoken was far easier than it had once been. Most of the fog inhabiting his mind had lifted, and he no longer found himself aimlessly searching for a word he wanted to use before speaking.

  “Hiding my hair is part of the costume,” she said softly, trailing her touch over his jaw now. “The gentlemen here prefer golden hair, Jasper says, and I must wear the wig.”

  “The gentlemen here are fools, and they do not deserve you.” The worry that had been needling him since he had first opened his eyes to a vastly different Caro renewed. “You never did say what manner of entertainment he expects you to provide the patrons with.”

  If it was what he feared—that she was forced to flirt with them, or mayhap more—not even an angel descended from heaven was going to be sufficient to keep him from hunting down Jasper Sutton and slamming his fist into his face.

  “I sing.”

  Relief hit him. “You sing. That is all?”

  Her fingers were threading through the hair at his temple, and the touch was shy, tentative. But glorious just the same. “That is all. What did you suppose?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  He did, however, want her to continue her gentle explorations. Her touch felt so damn good. Everything about her did. Good and right. Perfect, in fact.

  “Ordinarily Pen sings. The wig and the dress are hers, but my sister has been plagued by a cough for the past few days.” A frown furrowed her brow. “I will own, the timing is strange. I expect my brother Jasper has a hand in this.”

  “He does not want me to become too familiar with you,” he said, because it had been painfully true that day in Sutton’s office.

  “He is protective.” Her fingers continued their travel.

  Heat slid down his spine as he finished removing the last of the pins from her hair and sleek, fragrant tresses framed her face. “So protective, he forces his sisters to dress as doxies and sing for the lords who gamble away their fortunes and drink themselves to oblivion each night.”

  “Force is a strong word. The Sinner’s Palace belongs to us all. Pen enjoys singing, while I enjoy healing. However, our voices are similar, and I know the songs.”

  Her fingers had reached his nape, and she was toying with the hair falling over his neck. He could not resist pressing a kiss to the smooth flesh of her inner arm. His hands found their way to her waist, hidden in the thin layers of her gown and petticoats. Her stays kept him from the inviting lushness of her curves.

  “I don’t like the notion of all those lords leering at you,” he said.

  Because it was true. And because, damn it, he hated to know this was what had been keeping her from him. Worse, that he was likely the cause.

  “It is not as terrible as you suppose.” Her fingers grazed over his skin.

  There was a fever overtaking him, a fire in his blood that was entirely this woman’s making. “You should be in your work room, doing what pleases you. Not singing for the pleasure of men who do not deserve to hear your voice.”

  The smile curving her lips was sad. “Sometimes we do things not because we want to, but because we must. Life is not always rife with the choices we wish.”

  Hell. How right she was. Although he had no memories of the man he had been before she had found him several weeks ago, the man he was now well understood the wisdom of her words. If he had his choice, he would regain his memory, know he was free to pursue Caro, and make her his wife.

  Love.

  That was the strangeness in his chest. The heaviness in his gut. The reason why Caro was all he could think about.

  He had fallen in love with the woman who had brought him back from the dead. But he still didn’t know if he was free to pursue her, if there was another he loved as the man he had been before. The man he could not recall.

  His hold on her waist tightened with possession. She belonged here with him, damn it. He could not be wrong about that. “What have you done because you must, Caro?”

  He wanted to know, and yet he did not, for fear of what she would reveal and the effect it would have upon his heart.

  The fingers brushing over his neck stilled, and he felt her tensing in his arms. “I have been deceitful.”

  He found it difficult to reconcile his angelic butterfly with dishonesty. Impossible, in fact. “I know you, Caro. There must have been good reason.”

  Her smile was sad. “Your opinion of me is far too good. I do not deserve it.”

  “Yes.” He gave her waist a gentle squeeze to emphasize his words. “You do. You are an angel, and you saved my life, butterfly. I shall never forget that, nor you. Not even, I like to think, should I take another blow to the head. If I were to lose every memory I owned again, I believe you would still be there.”

  She sifted his hair with a tenderness that planted itself in his heart like a seed. “Let us hope you shall never again suffer such a blow.”

  “Aye, let us hope that.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, wanting to do so much more and yet not daring.

  The hour grew late, and he knew it. He was ever aware of the problems he could cause for her, lingering in her chamber. If any of her family or The Sinner’s Palace guards were to discover she was not alone, there would be hell to pay, and he did not want to cause any further troubles for her beyond what he had already done.

  But when he would have moved away, she wound her arms around his neck, holding him there.
Her hazel eyes were pinned upon him, and he thought again of how undeniable it was, this foreign emotion rising within him, lifting like an ascension balloon taking to the sky.

  He had fallen in love with this woman.

  He wanted to make her his wife.

  “Is that the kiss you were after?” she asked softly.

  Hesitantly.

  His cock swelled at the huskiness in her voice, at her nearness, the way her scent danced over his senses. “For this evening, it is all the kiss I dare. I’ll not make any more problems for you, Caro. You’ve done enough for me by nursing me back to health.”

  “You have a good heart.” She paused, as if she was about to say more, and then shook her head. “Too good.”

  He released his hold on her waist and reached for her wrists, still around his neck, gently pulling her away though the movement caused pain to radiate from his wound. The bullet had done its damage, and while he was largely healed, he was not certain if he would ever move the injured arm without pain again.

  Despite the agony tearing through him, he raised both her hands to his lips for another kiss, wishing he could offer more. So much more.

  “My heart belongs to you.” Before he said anything more foolish, he kissed her cheek. “Sleep well, sweet Caro.”

  And then he reluctantly released her and quit the room. Walking away required all the restraint he had.

  Chapter 7

  My heart belongs to you.

  Had she truly heard those words last night? They seemed a dream by the harsh light of the morning as Caro walked to the carriage awaiting her in the mews. Pen was yet ill, and Caro had used nearly all her stores after nursing a string of wounded patients. There had been her brothers and their endless scrapes, a fit of coughing which had overtaken some of the kitchen workers and guards, and then there had been him.

  Gavin Winter.

  Her heart pounded at the thought of his name. At the remembrance of the manner in which he had gazed upon her last night, as if she were beloved to him. As if she were truly worthy of his adulation.

  But she was not. And bloody blue blazes, she needed to collect herself. To remember to guard her heart and keep her distance from him as best she could from this moment on. He would return to the welcoming arms of the Winters, and he would hate her for who she was and for what she had done. The deceit she had perpetuated filled her with guilt.

  Jasper could not forever keep Gavin Winter a secret, hidden away in the private quarters of The Sinner’s Palace. Soon enough, the truth would need to be revealed, Gavin would know she had betrayed him, and he would never forgive her. Oh, how her heart ached this morning. She wanted to be filled with joy at Gavin’s confession, but all she felt was worry.

  Caro was so distracted she did not realize she was not the sole occupant of the carriage until she had seated herself on the bench, the door soundly closed at her back, and she found a pair of emerald eyes upon her.

  “Ga—merciful angels and saints!” The exclamation left her, and her belly sizzled with pent-up anguish as she realized she had almost spoken his name aloud.

  It had not been the first occasion for such a slip, either.

  “I am neither an angel nor a saint, I trust.” He winked, then grinned. “Common fame has it that I am a man, formed of flesh and blood. All too mortal. I nearly went to Rothisbone until an angel saved me.”

  The stone of guilt inhabiting her stomach seemed to double in size. “I am not an angel either, and I can assure you of that. But that is neither here nor there. What are you doing in my carriage?”

  He gestured with his good hand, drawing her attention to his long legs and well-muscled thighs, so clearly outlined by the snugness of his trousers. “Sitting here, of course.”

  She sighed. He was so bloody charming, she could forget about all the reasons why he should not be in this carriage with her. The potential danger to him was chief among them.

  “How did you know I was taking the carriage today?” she asked softly as the conveyance lurched into motion.

  She had already informed Jerome, The Sinner’s Palace coachman, where she was going. To the same apothecary she visited every few months. He was simply doing his duty. She wondered then if Gavin had been conspiring with the men in the Sutton family employ.

  “Jerome told me.” His grin deepened.

  Gavin Winter was befriending everyone in The Sinner’s Palace. She was not surprised. He was kind, caring, and sweet. He was a man who had overcome tremendous wounds, the likes of which would have proved the end of most. And yet, here he sat opposite her, trusting, handsome, beloved.

  Everything within her froze at the word, the sentiment. Could it be that she had fallen in love with him?

  “Caro?” Gavin’s smile faded, turning into a concerned frown. “Are you displeased I am here? If you are worried your brother will discover I accompanied you this morning, you needn’t fear. Jerome is a friend. He’ll not carry any tales. I came directly to the carriage from the private quarters, and no one saw me.”

  That was not what had been worrying her most, but she leapt upon the excuse, which was far easier than admitting she had fallen in love with the handsome man seated opposite her.

  But she had. The truth was there, in her heart, undeniable despite all the reasons why she should not love Gavin Winter. For as long as she could recall, the Winters had been the enemies of the Suttons. Recent relaxations in the tensions between their families had been promising, but all it would require was the Winters to discover Jasper had been secreting their missing brother from them for war to come raging in the East End.

  Then, there was the matter of her continued deceit. With each day that passed as she knew Gavin’s identity and kept it from him at her brother’s request, another part of her shriveled away. The goodness in her that Philip had not destroyed was being decimated by the continued lie.

  And Gavin was staring at her now, his expression open and unguarded. Trusting, even. She was not worthy of his confidence. Not worthy of his love.

  “I trust Jerome,” she managed.

  The one she did not trust was herself. Because the more time she spent in Gavin’s presence, the more her feelings for him deepened. The bond between them grew stronger by the day. And when they would be torn asunder, as inevitably they must…

  Her heart would be devastated.

  Gavin grinned, looking boyishly handsome, with a mischievous air she could not help but to find infectious. “Do you trust me?”

  Too much.

  This was a dangerous path they were traveling together.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “However, you must promise to remain in the carriage while I visit the apothecary.”

  He raised a dark brow, studying her. “How much longer will I be a prisoner, do you suppose?”

  “You are not a prisoner,” she denied with haste.

  Too much haste.

  Because it was true—truer than Gavin knew.

  And she hated it.

  He winced. “Feels that way. I’m a prisoner of my mind and a prisoner within four walls.”

  Her heart ached for him at his inability to recall who he was. “Have you had any more memories?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing certain.”

  Hope stirred within her. “Something uncertain, then?”

  “Murky bits.”

  “Such as?”

  Mayhap she should not nudge him, but speaking of his memory was providing excellent distraction from the manner in which his big, muscled body seemed to inhabit nearly all the space of the carriage’s interior.

  “Violence,” he said, succinct, his jaw tightening. “Nothing I care to remember, and it may be the beating I recall rather than anything from my past. Dreams plague me, and they are always the same.”

  Oh, Gavin.

  How she loathed his suffering. How she wished she could somehow end it.

  You can end it, whispered the voice within. Her conscience, she supposed. She should tell him the truth. She de
sperately needed to convince Jasper that revealing Gavin’s identity to him was necessary.

  “We needn’t speak of it.”

  “I ain’t afraid to talk.” He sent her a careful smile. “But how long is the drive to your apothecary?”

  “Half an hour.” She visited a very particular shop, which was not in the East End at all.

  But Caro had learned long ago that quality mattered when it came to healing. She would venture from the familiar confines of her part of London if it meant obtaining better materials.

  “Come.” He held out his hand to her, his broad palm facing up.

  She stared at his hand and recalled what it felt like on her skin. This was madness. If she touched him, she would never be able to stop. “I am perfectly comfortable on this side of the carriage.”

  He cocked his head at her. “Are you afraid of joining me?”

  He was devastatingly handsome. Singularly tempting. He was nothing like Philip, and everything a man should be. If only he could be hers.

  “I am not afraid, but I do question your judgment. There is scarcely any room for me.”

  That was not a lie. Gavin Winter was massive. It was likely one of the traits which made him such a successful prizefighter.

  “There is room aplenty here.” A grin returned to his well-molded lips as he patted his lap with his other hand.

  Heat slid through her. He wanted her to sit on him.

  And she very much desired to do so.

  “I am too heavy.”

  “You’ll be light as the butterfly you are. Come, Caro.”

  She placed her hand in his, amazed at how much smaller hers was. He tugged, and she went willingly, settling herself on his lap.

  Caro was warm, soft, and sweet-scented, the supple curves of her rump teasing his senses. He never wanted to let her go. Taking care to position her so that she would not come into contact with the rude protrusion of his rigid cock, he settled her more comfortably against his chest. She turned toward him and the brim of her bonnet poked him in the eye.

  “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, sounding adorably befuddled. “I did not mean for that to happen.”