“Until today, she did not know you existed, which is how it should have remained,” brother dearest snarled.
“I fear I must return to my chamber, sirs,” came the dulcet, smooth voice of Lady Adele. “I have a megrim.”
Dom’s gaze flew to her, but she was keeping her eyes trained in studious fashion upon the toes of her slippers as she dipped into a curtsy.
“We will speak later, love,” he told her, equal parts promise and threat.
They were far from through. She could fight him all she liked, but he always got what he wanted in the end. He would not be thwarted or defeated. He was going to take Lady Adele Saltisford as his wife.
And then, he was going to have the Suttons at his mercy.
His future wife said nothing, merely disappeared from the room.
Dom did not miss the stricken expression on her face, the look in her eyes which was akin to a man who knew his end was imminent. He was going to have to find his way to her room. And soon.
But first, he had a half brother to rankle.
And a wedding breakfast to attend.
He thumped Devereaux Winter on the back once again with more force than necessary. “Lead on, brother. It is not every day that my sister is wed.”
“I am going to kill you,” his nemesis threatened.
Dom grinned. “I would love to see you try.”
Perverse bastard that he was, he meant every word.
Chapter Eight
She should have run when she had the chance.
No, instead Adele had remained at Abingdon Hall, wanting to see her friend marry the Duke of Coventry. And now she had been caught, just like any mouse about to be devoured by a starving cat. But first the cat would toy with her, paw at her, make her misery its first course.
Yes, she thought as she paced the carpets of her chamber, attempting to assemble some manner of battle plan, Dominic Winter was a vicious cat. A lion, more like. And he was intent upon doing to her what he wished until there was nothing left.
She would not marry him.
Could not marry him.
He was a violent man. A man who had blithely threatened to have one of his henchmen take Max’s eye or cut off one of his toes. A criminal who had already made her barter her brother’s safety with her body two months ago.
But he was also the man who had kissed her so sweetly, who had visited intense pleasure, the likes of which she had never supposed existed, upon her body. He was the man for whom she had longed, in all the days since she had seen him last. The man she had dreaded. The man she wanted despite all sound logic and reason.
He was the man who had ruined her.
The father of her unborn babe.
She cradled her abdomen now, the small swell, barely there. The slightest hint she was no longer the innocent girl who had gone to The Devil’s Spawn in hopes of keeping her brother from suffering another beating. The smallest sign there was a new life within her. Dominic Winter must never discover she was carrying his child.
“No,” she said aloud, hugging her midsection as she paced, “he must never, ever know.”
“What must I never know, Duchess?”
She jumped on a shriek, whirling about to face the source of that low, most unwanted baritone. There, in the shadows of her chamber, stood Dominic Winter. Tall, dark, dangerous.
Handsome.
Too handsome.
How in heaven’s name had he gained entry to her private space? She had barred the door and windows. How had he known she was talking about him?
She pressed a hand to her wildly thumping heart, willing it to calm. “What are you doing in my chamber, Mr. Winter?”
“Are we back to the formalities?” He slowly sauntered toward her, as if he had all the time in the world with which to approach. “I confess, I miss hearing you call me Dom.”
“Remove yourself from this room at once,” she ordered him, blustering.
Because she was a defenseless woman half his size, and he was a towering wall of conscienceless muscle.
“No. Don’t reckon I shall.” He kept moving toward her, his long-legged strides eating up the distance separating them with ease.
“Why are you still at Abingdon Hall?” she demanded, for she had hoped Mr. Devereaux Winter would simply evict his alleged half brother from the grounds and send him back to London. That she could hide away until he was gone and she was safe to continue with her plans.
That would have been far too easy, however.
And she should have known better. Dominic Winter would never allow himself to be dismissed.
He reached her, looping his arms around her waist, then hauling her against his body. They were flush, her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips snugly fitted to his. He lowered his head so their faces were painfully close. She felt every part of him. Including the thick ridge of his manhood.
An answering heat slid through her, settling between her thighs.
“I am still at Abingdon Hall because Devereaux Winter’s bark is far worse than his bite.” He flashed her a wicked smile. “He hasn’t the ballocks to attempt to run me from here, for fear of the blood that would be shed.”
She swallowed. “Blood?”
Adele wanted to believe he would not harm anyone. That his words had been chosen to frighten.
But Dominic Winter was not the most feared man in London without reason. The lover who had touched her with such gentle skill was also a ruthless murderer and unrepentant criminal. A man who would kiss sweetly one moment and threaten to cut off a man’s hand and toes the next. He was the darkness. She was the light.
Persephone and Hades, that was what they were.
But Adele had no intention of allowing Hades to spirit her away. He could return to rule his underworld without her.
“I see your pretty mind spinning like the wheels on a carriage,” he said then, reaching out to run a lone finger down her forehead, as if he could smooth the furrow from her brow. “You are telling yourself I would never hurt the Winters, since we are family. You are wrong, however. I am a dangerous man, and I do not smile upon those who betray me or go against me.”
Those who betray me.
The warning sounded as if it had been made purely for her sake. “I did not betray you, Mr. Winter.”
The roughened pad of his forefinger traveled lower in the softest of touches, skimming along the bridge of her nose. “It is Dom, Duchess. And yes, you did.”
He was warning her. His presence in Oxfordshire—his presence within her chamber—it had all been cleverly calculated and planned. Adele suspected he was a man who did not settle upon a course lightly.
“How did I betray you?” she asked, gasping as his finger dipped lower, to her lips.
But still, he traced the outline of them, staying away from her seam, never once rubbing over her mouth itself. It was a careful game of avoidance he played. For a man who seemed so wild and unpredictable, his every move was executed with incredible deliberation. Every look, word, touch meant something.
“You lied to me, and you slipped away from my bed while I was sleeping.” His dark gaze was upon her lips.
They tingled, as if his stare was itself a touch.
She had to gird herself against this man’s mesmerizing power. Against his potent allure. He was not for her. Far better to flee, to find a situation in the country. A quiet cottage. To raise her babe far away from his dangerous world.
“We have been through this already,” she forced herself to say. “I never lied. I merely failed to correct your assumption. And as for leaving you whilst you slept, what else was I to have done? Remained forever? I had already put myself and my reputation in enough danger by going to you twice.”
“You lied about something else as well, Duchess.” His finger trailed down her throat, and then he slid his hand to cup her nape, the touch as soft as velvet. “You made me believe you were an experienced seductress instead of an innocent maid. You might have warned me, you know. I would have been gen
tler for your first time.”
His assertion took her by surprise. So, too, his caress. The hand at her nape was like a brand, burning her with wicked intent. She was falling beneath this man’s spell again. How did he do it?
She swallowed, wishing the desire unfurling within her could be dispelled. Wishing she could shake this most inconvenient attraction to him. What was wrong with her, wanting a criminal who threatened her brother with polished ease?
“I do not want to speak about what happened,” she forced out, stepping away from him, severing their contact.
She needed distance between them. An entire vast sea, if possible.
“We won’t talk about it then.” He pursued her, following her to the window at the opposite end of the chamber.
Wrong choice, Adele.
She ought to have gone toward the door, all the better to make her escape. Was jumping from the window a sensible option?
“You have no right to be in my chamber,” she countered as he flattened his palms on either side of her, trapping her.
Although the cold seeped through the windowpane at her back, Adele was aflame.
He lowered his head so their lips were disturbingly near once more. “I have every right. You are my future wife.”
“I am not marrying you.”
“Yes.” He kissed the corner of her lips. “You are, Duchess.”
“I am the daughter of a duke, not the wife of one,” she blurted, her mind whirling as if she had just spun about in a dozen circles. “I am not a duchess.”
He made her feel dizzied and overheated.
And confused.
“I know what you are.” He kissed the other corner of her mouth, then her cheek. “Even rats from the East End know the difference between a duchess and the daughter of one.”
“Mr. Winter ought not to have spoken so harshly,” she managed.
He had kissed his way to her ear now. Adele could not suppress the shiver that went down her spine. He was making her weak, with his proximity and his wicked mouth. It was not fair that a man like him should be so beautiful, so tempting, that he could kiss and touch and caress her to the point she forgot the difference between right and wrong.
“Brother dearest is right.” He kissed her neck. “I am a rat from the rookeries.”
She flattened her hands on his chest, but instead of pushing him away, her fingers had curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. She was holding him there, tilting her head, resting it upon the iced pane behind her.
“But why are you here?” she forced herself to ask. “Why are you not in London?”
He smiled against her skin. “Because my little bird flew away, and I had to find her so I can bring her back to me where she belongs.”
“I do not belong in your world.” Her eyes slid closed as he sucked on her flesh as if he could devour her.
“You do now.” The sharp brush of his teeth against her collarbone sent a spark of painful pleasure through her. “I am claiming you.”
It was difficult to think with his big body surrounding her, his scent enveloping her. He was turning her insides into honey. She wanted him to claim her. She wanted everything he was saying, each touch, his mouth on her, his hands. All the reasons why she should not succumb to him dissipated beneath his potent seduction.
Sternly, she summoned them to return. “I do not want to be claimed.”
“You should have thought about that before you came to The Devil’s Spawn and made a bargain with the devil himself.” His lips moved lower, traveling over her breasts. “Do you want to save your brother, Duchess, or do you want to be stubborn?”
She wanted to be stubborn and safe and far from this man. But she also wanted to make certain Max remained unharmed. And she could not deny that she wanted Dominic Winter’s kisses. A wicked, restless part of her wanted him to claim her.
He tugged on her bodice, and her breasts sprang free of her stays. Cool air kissed them, her nipples hard and throbbing. Adele could not form an answer as he took one in his mouth and sucked. Liquid heat shot from her breast to the apex of her thighs.
Her knees went weak, but when she would have melted into a puddle on the floor, he held her against the window. The contrast between the cold, slick glass at her back and the heated man filling her with so much fire only heightened her awareness.
His tongue flicked over the peak of her breast.
She told herself this was wrong. That she did not dare trust Dominic Winter.
But then the door to her chamber flew open, and an angry shout and a feminine gasp of outrage echoed through the room, above the mad pounding of her heart. Dom swiftly tugged her bodice back into place, covering her.
The grin he flashed her was undeniably smug. “I reckon your decision has been made for you, love.”
One glimpse at the grim countenances of her host and hostess over Dominic Winter’s shoulder proved him right. Her heart plummeted to the soles of her slippers.
Chapter Nine
“I want your promise, Mr. Winter.”
Foolish chit. She was utterly lovely in her cream gown with a scarlet sash beneath her generous bosom. Her eyes flashed with fire, her proud chin tilted up in challenge. Did she still think she possessed any of the power in this little tragedy of theirs? She would discover the difference soon enough.
Dom raised a brow, allowing his gaze to sweep from her head to her toes. “Has no one ever told you promises can be broken?”
“If you break your promise to me, I will be the one who carves out your eye,” she told him, her bravado in fine form today, the day of their wedding.
“Before you issue threats, make certain you have the ballocks to uphold them,” he counseled his almost-wife.
His almost-wife at last.
Impossible to believe he had been moldering in the monkery for three bloody weeks, waiting to wed this stubborn chit. He was a Bedlamite. Had to be. She was hardly worth the trouble.
Yes, countered a voice within him, she is, you arse. She will give you everything you need to defeat the Suttons.
Well, mayhap she was.
There was also the matter of how much he wanted her. Brother dearest had done everything aside from place an armed guard outside her chamber door to keep Dom from his intended. Being so near to her and having to spend each evening fucking his hand had decidedly lost its luster. He could not wait to be inside her. And he intended to be so, just as soon as this godforsaken ceremony was through.
Devil and Blade had best be managing in his absence. He had never been gone from London for this long. He had not dared.
“Do you think I do not have the courage to stand up to you?” she demanded.
Damn, she was fierce. It was making him hard.
He adjusted his stance. No sense tenting his breeches before a man of the cloth. In a church. He was vile, but he had some sense of right and wrong. Or, at least, he once had. Over the years, that understanding had grown decidedly murkier and murkier.
Until he had forced a duke’s daughter into marrying him, the bastard son of a Covent Garden doxy and a coldhearted merchant.
“I think your courage is admirable, Duchess,” he said then, stroking his jaw. “If misplaced. I am not your enemy. I will be your husband.”
“I do not understand why a man like you would want to wed.” She shook her head, as if the motion would somehow force clarity upon her. “Marrying me will not gain you entrée in society.”
He laughed. “Do you think I give a fuck about twirling around ballrooms and bowing and scraping to a gaggle of preening, pompous lords and their arrogant wives, sons, and daughters?”
She flinched at his coarse language. “I am sure I do not know anything you do care about, Mr. Winter.”
To spite him, she had refused to refer to him as his given name for the entirety of their betrothal. Never mind that. He fully intended to make her moan it later.
“I care about marrying you, else I would not have traveled to the midst of nowhere and suffered
the reluctant hospitality of an arsehole for three weeks.”
That much was true.
He did care about marrying her. But the reason why was his affair and not hers.
“Mr. Winter was kind in allowing us to remain after the manner in which you interrupted the Duke and Duchess of Coventry’s wedding breakfast and the…disgrace which happened thereafter.” She was frowning at him again.
And pale. Her complexion matched her dress.
“Are you feeling well, Duchess?” he asked, concern for her swirling through him.
A new sensation, that. He had never cared about anyone other than his siblings before, had he? Ruthlessly, he tamped it down. There was no room for weakness in his world.
“I am fine, aside from the fact that I am being forced to marry a criminal against my will,” she said sweetly.
“Are you certain?” he prodded, ignoring her insult for the moment. “You look as if you are going to be sick.”
Her lips compressed. “Perfectly.”
“I ain’t a criminal these days, Duchess,” he could not resist pointing out then. Her poor opinion of him rather nettled. “And nor is anyone forcing you into this marriage. You made the decision, all on your own.”
Her nostrils flared. “Just because you pay others to commit crimes on your behalf does not mean you are not a criminal yourself. As for making the decision to marry you, you made certain I was left without a choice. If I do not marry you, I am not just ruined, but my brother will be harmed by you and your vicious minions.”
Sundenbury again, that twat. At least he had proven useful, in the end.
“I encouraged you to make the right choice.” Dom raised his hands, as if to show her his munificence. “There is no evidence I pay anyone to commit crimes on my behalf.”
“Because you also pay the magistrates,” she charged.
Clever woman, his future wife. That would prove a boon, he hoped, rather than a burden.
He shrugged. “What was the promise you wish to extract from me, Duchess? I will consider agreeing to your request because I am feeling…what would a fancy nib say? Magnanimous. Aye, I’m feeling magnanimous. On account of me soon being a married man and all.”
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