Winter’s Wallflower

by Scott, Scarlett

  She sounded as if she were going to be ill.

  Dom knew all the coves who attended his establishments by their vices and their debts, but he paid special attention to the marquess for his own reasons. Sundenbury liked gambling and drink. Bad at the green baize. Excellent at draining the arrack and giving the bottle a black eye. Dom was in possession of a number of the marquess’s vowels, and in the process of gaining more.

  “Your protector lied if he told you my men were responsible for his basting.” With that certain pronouncement, Dom settled his hands on her waist once more, the better to haul her over his shoulder and force her exit.

  But damn it all, her curves molded against his hands in the most delightful way. What a terrible shame for a woman with a body so lush to be kept by a blackleg like Sundenbury.

  “He would never lie about such a matter, not to me,” she insisted, secure in her delusions. “I am begging you to spare his life and further harm. I will give you anything you want.”

  Her words should not have intrigued him. Should not have made his cock harden even more. Anything he wanted…

  He had to face the stinging realization he very much wanted her. But not as the lightskirt of the Marquess of Sundenbury and not as a damned sacrificial lamb. Anger filled him, and he welcomed it. Rage was his old friend.

  Rage was what he had built his kingdom upon. Along with cunning, his family, and his fists. And he was not about to put his power in jeopardy by allowing a luscious wench to cozen him into saving her lover. Especially not when her lover was Sundenbury.

  “I do not want anything you have to give.” He bent, wrapped his arm around her bottom, and threw her over his shoulder.

  He was halfway to the exit before he realized the feisty woman who had intruded upon his day with her demands had yet to offer a word of resistance. Before he realized her body was draped over his like a lifeless sack, her arms bouncing listlessly off his back with each purposeful stride he took.

  Devil approached him with a questioning look and an accompanying growl.

  Dom sighed.

  Either the troublesome female had swooned, or she was the greatest actress of the young century.

  Chapter Two

  Do not move. Do not blink. Do not twitch. Do nothing to make him realize you are awake. Everything depends on it, on you.

  Adele berated herself as she was laid upon a piece of furniture—what felt like a bed, much to her horror. Although she had done her utmost to prepare herself for the sacrifice she would have to make for Max, being on a bed, alone with the demonic, beautiful man who had been so terrifying, made her heart pound and her mouth go dry.

  Where had he taken her?

  Whose bed was she on?

  Surely it was not his?

  Feigning a swoon had not, perhaps, been the best idea she had ever entertained. However, in the moment Dominic Winter had tossed her cavalierly over his shoulder, so intent upon being rid of her he was willing to extract her by force, it had been the only tactic which had risen to her befuddled mind.

  Her veil and hat, which had remained happily in place for the duration of her impromptu upside-down travels, was removed. The pins keeping it sternly in place for the sake of her modesty plucked out some of her hair. Adele could not quell the hiss of her breath or the flutter of her eyelids at the unexpected action and accompanying twinge of pain.

  Drat.

  Her heart pounded.

  She prayed he had not seen her reaction.

  “You may as well open your eyes now, madam,” came the low, gruff voice.

  How she wished that voice did not settle over her like a caress, sinking low into her belly in a tangle of unwanted, confused sensations. This man was evil personified, she reminded herself. He was baseborn and greedy, violent and murderous.

  Dangerous.

  Untrustworthy.

  Capable of anything. Responsible for Max’s brutal beating although he denied it.

  She kept her eyes closed and breathed carefully, attempting to remain as still as possible. She was not ready to face him yet. Not ready for him to attempt to send her out the door once more. It was not every night she could steal away from her family unnoticed. And it was not anything ordinary she was fighting to protect.

  It was her beloved brother. His life, his welfare. She would do anything to help him. What other choice did she have?

  “I saw you wince when I removed your hat and veil,” he said.

  Adele fought the urge to bite her lip. What was she to do now?

  Think, Adele! Think!

  The sudden weight of a large hand upon her breast shocked her out of inaction. Long fingers squeezed. Not hard enough to cause pain. Rather the opposite. Stunning, unexpected pleasure rippled through Adele. Good heavens, he was cupping her possessively, touching her in a place no man before him had ever dared. Her nipple hardened into a tight peak beneath her stays.

  A diabolically handsome face hovered above hers. She blinked, falling into those obsidian eyes, noting the rakish manner in which a lock of midnight hair fell over his brow. How was it possible a heartless villain with such a black soul could be so staggeringly beautiful?

  “As I thought,” he pronounced, his tone forbidding.

  His hand relinquished her breast.

  She swallowed, trying not to mourn the loss of his touch. How foolish such a sensation would be. The product, she had no doubt, of her confusion. Mayhap even the result of being tossed over his monstrous shoulder. She was dizzy and terrified for her brother’s life, and that was all.

  “Where have you brought me?” she demanded, struggling to right herself.

  He did not need to answer her query, for she could see where he had taken her. To a bedchamber. A surprisingly sumptuous one at that. The space was thoroughly masculine, and it smelled of him in a way she did not find at all disagreeable. Quite the opposite, in fact. Apparently, scoundrels could smell as inviting as the most perfect gentlemen.

  Who knew?

  “Do not play the coquette with me, madam,” he told her sternly. “Though you have the face of an angel, we both know you are no stranger to the bedroom.”

  She tried not to allow his taunt to sting. Because she wanted him to believe she was Max’s mistress. She had to make him believe it. Everything weighed upon her ability to make this terrifying man do what she wanted.

  “Forgive me for swooning.” Adele forced herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

  Good heavens, it seemed to have been fashioned for a monster.

  Which was just what Dominic Winter was, she reminded herself sternly.

  He seated himself on the bed at her side, the dip in the mattress from his large body forcing her to plant her hands on the counterpane to keep from sliding against him.

  “You must think me an imbecile,” he said, his calm pronouncement quite taking her by surprise.

  She thought him a great many things. But it was plain to see he was an intelligent man. Her heart pounded. Adele feared she was doomed regardless of her response.

  “Of course I do not think that, Mr. Winter,” she managed past the trepidation clogging her throat.

  “Perhaps, then, you believe yourself such an incomparable beauty you thought I would be overwhelmed by the urge to bed you after I saw your face.” His dark gaze assessing her as he spoke.

  “No,” she denied, a strange sensation unfurling at the way his eyes traveled over her.

  Fear, surely.

  His stare dipped, lingering on her lips. “I will admit, I am surprised a fool like Sundenbury could secure a woman as lovely as you. Did he promise you a pretty fortune for your favors?”

  Max was not a fool.

  A scapegrace, mayhap. Reckless and wild. In need of taming. But how dare this villain pay him insult? Adele clung to her outrage, chasing the other, unwanted feeling Mr. Winter provoked in her.

  “My relationship with his lordship is none of your concern,” she told him coolly, wishing she was not currently seat
ed upon a bed. In dangerous proximity to this criminal.

  “You are either as foolish as Sundenbury, or you have the daring of ten men.” He reached out then, trailing his forefinger along her jaw.

  Adele forced herself to remain still. His touch was gentle. The pad of his finger was rough. Not unlike the contrast between hard and soft, darkness and light, right and wrong. She shivered, but not because she was cold.

  The rasp of his skin over hers sent heat burning through her.

  “I will give you anything you want in exchange for his safety,” she forced herself to say.

  His touch trailed down her throat next. “Anything?”

  Adele forgot to breathe. “Anything.”

  Why had he removed her veil?

  Dom could have kicked himself in the arse for his miscalculation. He had intended to prove the lie of her actions. To startle her into wakefulness and be done with this game they played. Instead, the sight of her fragile beauty affected him. But still, she had kept on with her pretense of having swooned.

  Touching the swell of her breast—that, too, had been tragically stupid. The act of a simpleton.

  It had produced the desired effect in the cunning beauty before him. But it had also produced a decidedly unwanted effect in him. The same one which had been plaguing him ever since he had first touched her.

  Now he was touching her again.

  Her skin was creamy and smooth. Soft and warm and silken. Dom wondered if Sundenbury caressed her like this, if he had ever marveled over the texture of her skin or paid her homage as she deserved.

  Then he cursed himself once more.

  She had just told him she would give him anything in exchange for her lover’s safety. Little did she know, the safety of the marquess would also work in his favor. If Dom had to wager a guess, the Suttons were behind the attack on Sundenbury.

  But she didn’t need to know that.

  And he did not need to continue touching her.

  Dom severed the contact, but the wild flit of her pulse racing beneath his fingertip haunted him, as did the sensation of her skin, burning like a brand. He rose to his full height, towering over her, gratified when she stiffened. Her dark eyes widened, the sooty fringe of lashes almost too long.

  “Return to your protector,” he snapped, irritated with himself for allowing her to prolong this pointless duel.

  Irritated with her for wasting her loyalty upon a man like Sundenbury. Then again, perhaps it was not loyalty which motivated her but desire to maintain the roof over her head and the account with her modiste. Dom had not risen to his position of power by being a buffle-headed shite, and he knew enough about how women of her ilk worked.

  The goddess occupying his bed feared him, as she ought. But she was also attracted to him. He had not missed the way her eyes had dropped to his mouth. He knew when a set of petticoats wanted him. And this one did.

  “No.” Her chin went up. “I will not go until I have what I came here for.”

  Again, she defied him.

  Who the hell did she think she was, invading his territory, demanding he see her, pretending to faint, refusing to leave his bed as if it were where she belonged?

  “And what is that, woman?” he growled the question. “What is it you came here for? Do you want me to toss up your skirts? I’ve already told you I will not accept a quick fuck in return for the coin that is owed me.”

  He meant that. Every damned word.

  He did, however, have boundaries. He had not earned his fortune by beating the lordlings who patronized his establishments to death when they could not pay. Savagery was for Suttons. Winters were only bloodthirsty when the situation merited ruthlessness.

  She paled, shock evident in her countenance. For a woman who earned her living on her back, she was remarkably quick to flush.

  Still, she would not bend. “And I have told you that I will not go until you see reason.”

  Her temerity fascinated and repelled him at once. He did not think he had ever met another woman quite like this one. An instinctive urge within him told him to take what she offered. To take her. To kiss those pink lips which were surely as supple as they looked, to lower his body to hers, to lift the skirts of her gown.

  But no.

  He would not accept the leavings of a bloody marquess. Unless…

  Suddenly, it occurred to Dom that discovering who had been behind her protector’s bloody beating may actually help his cause. The Suttons and their dirty bargains and their infernal manipulations and their violence and greed could finally be overthrown.

  No one would relish the prospect of Jasper Sutton getting what he deserved more than Dom. In fact, he would dearly like to serve justice to the arrogant son of a whore himself. And if the woman before him could aid in the quest, then why was he dawdling?

  “If you truly want to save your lover,” he said, the words leaving him before he could contemplate the full wisdom of their utterance, “I have a bargain for you.”

  The lips he desperately wanted beneath his parted. “Of course I do. That is why I have come. What is it that you want, Mr. Winter?”

  Mr. Winter. He liked the sound of his name in her throaty voice. Liked, too, the way she asked him what he wanted. The list was long. And depraved. Yes, he could use her in the way she wished to use him. A lovely woman beneath him, Jasper Sutton in the ground.

  Paradise was about to dawn in the East End.

  “You said you were willing to give me anything,” he reminded her.

  Anything.

  Damnation, the mere thought, the lone bloody word, had his prick swelling and stiff once more. He had never bedded a fine lady; his bedmates were always women who, like him, had come from nothing. Women who had earned what they had, one way or another.

  Much like the woman before him, except she was in a class all her own. Oh, she was not quality, to be sure, even if her silks looked fine and her beauty was enough to make a man willing to follow her to the fiery flames of perdition. Even if she rubbed feet with a lofty marquess, the mistress of a lord was not a lady, and nor would she ever be.

  There he went, excusing what he was about to do. Offering himself forgiveness for his sins before he committed them. As the Winters did. He was his greedy sire’s bastard son, was he not?

  Dom’s lip curled as he awaited his unexpected guest’s response.

  “Yes,” she said at last, “I will give you anything in exchange for your promise Sundenbury will not suffer further violence. He is an honorable man, a gentleman. He will repay his debts.”

  He found himself jealous of her steadfast reassurances on her lover’s behalf. First, the man did not deserve it. If he had been beaten by the Suttons, that meant he also owed them a small fortune, in addition to the tidy sum he owed Dom. Lord Sundenbury was making a fool of everyone around him, in the fashion only true gamblers did.

  “I will send Sundenbury two of my men,” he said, deciding upon his course as he spoke the words. More deliberation would have been preferable, but when had anything that had ever befallen him—from the state of his birth until this cursed moment—been preferable? “They will protect him from further attacks on his person.”

  A frown pulled at her lips. “But your men are responsible for what happened to him. Now you think to surround him with the same devils who did him such grievous bodily harm?”

  Her shrewdness pleased him, and he could not say why. The inkling that this woman would make an enjoyable opponent could not be banished. Challenges had ever intrigued Dom. Baited him. Lured him.

  He inclined his head, studying her. She was so damned beautiful, he ached just to look at her. Far beyond the loveliness of any woman he had ever seen. That such a woman had been ensnared in the Marquess of Sundenbury’s net seemed the greatest shame.

  “I am offering him protection, madam.” Damn it to hell, he wished he had her name. “The promise he will not receive another beating. Will you accept it or not?”

  “I will accept it,” she said,
without hesitation.

  Sweet little lamb, all prepared for the slaughter. She had no notion of what she was committing herself to. If he possessed any compunction at all, Dom would feel horribly guilty for what he was about to do.

  But he had been born without a soul.

  Or if he had ever possessed one, it had been thieved from him as a lad. The rookeries tended to have that effect upon its inhabitants. Dom was no different. The wealthy Mr. Winter may have been his sire, but Dom had never been acknowledged. Nor had he ever been a part of the family. Disappointment was a taste he had learned at a young age.

  “You have not even asked what will be required of you,” he said slowly. Smoothly. Silkily.

  How trusting she was. Either that, or she had broken the first rule of being a mistress and had fallen in love with her protector. She had reached the point where she was willing to do anything, to give whatever he asked, to save her lover.

  An honorable tart.

  Fancy that.

  She eyed him warily. “I am prepared to do whatever I must.”

  How tempting.

  Dom grinned. “Return here tomorrow evening.”

  He had to make certain of a few things before he proceeded.

  “Tomorrow?” Her disappointment and confusion were evident, but her protest died a hasty death beneath the sound of rapping on the door. “But—”

  One knock, then two in quick succession. It was Devil’s signal that Dom’s attention was needed elsewhere. Fast.

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated.

  Chapter Three

  Adele had made a ruinous error the day before.

  And she was making another one now. She had always been the quiet one while her twin sister Evie talked too much. She was the wallflower while her older sister Hannah was the striking beauty. She was the practical one, the one who did everything right. Her brother Max was the softhearted ne’er-do-well, the charmer who perpetually found himself mired in one scrape after the next. Adele was the one who would never dare to flout propriety.

  Until now.

  She awaited Mr. Winter’s presence in a surprisingly elegant sitting room—where she had been led by the same silent and sinisterly handsome man who had led her into Mr. Winter’s lair the day before. Creating an excuse to avoid a musicale was one thing. Feigning an illness to avoid the much-anticipated Crompton ball was another. Thank heavens for Evie. Without her twin, Adele would never have been able to manage such subterfuge.