“You brought me to a gaming hell that was on fire and there were gunshots in the streets,” she pointed out. “I hardly think the question unjustified.”
His sensual lips tightened at the reminder. “It will not happen again. If I had known what was awaiting us, I would have brought you here directly.”
“Why did you take me to The Devil’s Spawn?” she inquired, curious. “Why not this place?”
He had told her he intended for her to live with him in the gaming hell, but why would he not choose instead to stay here, in elegance? The interior of the townhome—presumably his, though he had yet to outright confirm ownership—had taken her by complete surprise. It was outfitted sumptuously with fine furniture. Handsomely carved mahogany, enhanced by gilt, thick Aubusson beneath her slippers.
The rooms were spacious and hung with fresh wall coverings and gorgeous paintings. The chamber in which they stood was dominated by a cheval glass running from floor to ceiling. With a decorative gilt frame surrounding it featuring two winged goddesses at the top, each holding a rose outstretched as if in offering.
“I needed to make certain everything was running smoothly.” Dom’s wry voice interrupted her thoughts and wandering eye, jerking her attention back to him. “If I had supposed, for a moment, you and the babe would have been in danger, I would have brought you here first.”
“I am glad you did not.” She moved toward him, drawn to him as ever, as if there were some hidden force propelling them together. “If someone is trying to harm you, I want to know. I want to know everything there is about you, Dominic Winter. The good and the bad and the terrifying.”
His lips twitched. “Ah, angel. What am I to do with you? You are too sweet for your own good, and far more than a wretch like me deserves.”
No longer Duchess. For the first time in a long time, she was angel once more. Adele liked the sound of that. She dared to reach out and brush her hand slowly down his coat sleeve. It was torn and marred with soot and—unless she was mistaken—blood.
His or another’s?
Adele gasped, forgetting her earlier question. In the tumult of his return to the carriage and their hasty retreat to the West End, she had somehow failed to take note of the stain. “Were you injured?”
He glanced down at the blood, looking unsurprised and unimpressed, as if blood on his sleeves were a commonplace occurrence. “Not mine. My brother’s.”
She inhaled again. “How badly was he hurt? That seems like a fair amount of blood.”
“The beast will live. Genevieve had to stitch him up. I suppose I got some of his blood on me in the process. Someone has to hold him down. He has a violent reaction to the poke of a hot needle. Always has his whole life.”
The calm manner in which he spoke of such matters—his brother being wounded deeply enough to require stitches, his sister being the one to administer the treatment, and Dom himself being forced to hold down his brother—had her confused once more. As confused as she was to be standing within the elegantly appointed chamber of this Mayfair townhome.
“This manner of unsettling circumstance happens…often…in your world?” she asked weakly, feeling rather ill at the notion of his poor sister having to thrust a needle through her brother’s flesh.
“It can happen.” His expression had gone grim. He shook off her touch and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. “If I have my way, it will never happen again.”
Beneath the jacket, the lawn sleeve of his shirt was also stained an undeniable shade of crimson slowly fading to rust. He began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat next, flicking them from their moorings one by one. The marking on his hand caught her attention, that wicked dagger drawn between his thumb and forefinger.
“How can you make certain it will never happen again?”
“By seeing my enemies crushed as they deserve.” He dropped his waistcoat to the floor, and then, he worked on the few buttons at the neck of his shirt. “Do not look so horrified, love. You knew what manner of man I was when you came to me the first time. You knew who I was when you married me, too. In my world, if I do not defeat my enemies, they will defeat me.”
When he phrased it thus, she well understood his stance. And yet, it was all so horrific. So unlike the world into which she had been born. Still, for all that she was the daughter of a duke, the house in which they stood could have belonged to any lord.
She frowned at him, studying this handsome, perplexing enigma she had wed. “This is truly your home, then? I thought you meant for us to live above your gaming hell.”
“I own this home and its contents.” He finished the last button on his shirt and paused. “I do not like it. Never intended to live here. But today with Sutton, and you carrying our babe… Suffice it to say I’ll suffer four walls befitting a nib to keep you safe.”
He had revealed a mouthwatering expanse of his chest by sliding those buttons from their moorings. But still, not enough. She wanted to see him without his shirt from the front. In the light of day, with no shadows cloaking his body from her avid gaze.
How had she managed to get so distracted?
“Your shirtsleeve is stained as well,” she told him softly. “You really ought to remove it for laundering.”
In truth, she just wanted to see him, but she did not want to be so bold.
He grasped the tails of his shirt in both hands. “You are certain, Adele? My scars…”
“Take it off.”
He inclined his head. “As my lady wishes.”
In a fluid motion, he hauled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, where it landed in a whisper of sound, atop his other discarded garments. Her mouth went dry. His scars were on vivid display, different from the lines on his back. These were jagged and far less precise, rained over his torso as if a vengeful god had placed them there. Beneath the signs of his life in the ruthless underworld of East London, his muscles were on stark display. His chest was broad, shaded with a fine smattering of masculine hair. On his biceps, he possessed another marking, this one a rose. On his chest, five letters were inked on his flesh in small, neat print. DDBGG. It took her but a moment to realize the letters must stand for the names of each of his siblings.
“Shocked, Duchess?”
His grim query cut through her rapt inspection of his naked upper body. “Pleased, Dom. Intrigued, as well. May I?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Aye.”
She traced her fingers over the inking on his muscled arm first, tracing the flower. “How have you come to have these?”
“Also the work of Genevieve.” He swallowed again, holding himself unnaturally still, his body tensed beneath her trailing fingertips. “She is skilled with needles. Nor does she swoon at the sight of blood as some of our brothers do.”
“She draws this with ink and a needle?” Adele asked, fascinated. “Does it stay forever?”
“Forever, yes.” His hand closed over hers. “It is a mark of honor.”
“You love your siblings.” It was a statement, not a question, for she could see how much he cared. She loved her sisters and brother fiercely as well, and she would do anything for them. His devotion to his family—or at least, the siblings he considered his true family—pleased her.
“They are my family.”
Beneath her fingers, his heart beat a steady thump. How vital he was, the heat and strength of him seeping into her. The shock and fear that had assailed her earlier at his gaming hell returned.
“If something had happened to you today…” She trailed off, unable to complete her sentence. Though they had been wed for mere days and he had only been a part of her life for a handful of months, he had quickly become…essential.
There was no other way to describe him, no more suiting word.
“If something happens to me, you will be looked after, Adele,” he said, plucking her hand from his chest and lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “My family is yours now. You are one of us, and I will fi
ght like hell to make certain my enemies cannot hurt me, you, or any one of us. I do not want you to fear. That is why I brought you here, to a place I have scarcely spent any time, to a house I never expected to occupy. I want you safe, and I want to be here for you and our babe. I had no father and my mother was…scarcely better than my absent sire. I will not allow our child to suffer the same. Do you believe me?”
His sudden question took her aback, for she felt as if there remained so much she did not understand. So much she needed to learn and know. About her husband, his world, the dangers swirling around him.
But for now, she would answer him. “I believe you, Dom.”
“And do you trust me?”
She did not hesitate. “Yes. I do.”
As she said the words, she recognized the veracity of them. Dominic Winter may be a criminal, but there was good in his heart. He was a man who cared, a man who felt strongly.
“Good.” He dropped a kiss upon her lips, hasty and quick. Far too quickly for her liking. “I am going to teach you how to wield a blade and shoot a pistol.”
“Hold the dagger with a firm grip, and make certain you keep your fingers behind the guard. Your intent is to harm your opponent and not yourself.”
Dom’s voice was soft and low, his fingers curled over hers on the hilt of the weapon. He was positioned at her back, the strength and heat of him seeming to burn her through the layers of her gown and petticoat. Adele was not sure which she found more disconcerting—her husband’s nearness, the fact that he was teaching her how to wound an enemy, or that said lessons were being conducted in a drawing room laden with gilt and sleek mahogany and rosewood.
The drawing room was as fine as any she had ever seen. Blue French curtains adorned the windows, with a panel of fashionable fringe and tassels suspended from gilt rosettes. The chairs were fashioned of carved mahogany and covered in rich damask silk that matched the window dressings to perfection. A colossal circular ottoman made of matching wood and damask dominated the far wall. It was piled with cushions and ornamented with bronze and carved swans. Everything about the chamber suggested it had recently been abandoned by a fine lord or lady, and yet it was all…new.
“When you acquired this house, was it furnished?” she asked.
“Damn it, Duchess, have you listened to a bloody word I’ve said?” he growled in her ear.
Strangely, even his displeasure sent sparks shooting through her. “I am listening, but I will admit to being a trifle distracted. You cannot deny the events of today have proven most unexpected.”
And that was a profound understatement. The chaos awaiting them at The Devil’s Spawn had yet to be fully explained to her. Their arrival at a home in Mayfair had been shocking enough, but lessons in pistols and knives?
He released his grip on her hand, leaving her holding the blade on her own, and spun Adele about to face him. The sudden movement had her dizzied. She nearly dropped the blade.
“Listen to me.” His expression was harsh and unreadable. “My enemies are also yours, and they have just shown they are willing to go to great lengths to destroy me. I cannot be at your side at all times, and I need to know you will be prepared if they should somehow find their way through the guards I have in place here and find you.”
His warning sent a shiver through her. “You truly believe I will be unsafe here?”
Had he issued the warning in the East End, she would have believed him. But Mayfair? It was impossible to believe the darkness and dangers of his world could exist here.
“I hope not. However, we must prepare. My enemy slashed my brother’s face and nearly burned The Devil’s Spawn to the ground. He is capable of anything.”
The reminder filled her with a renewed grip of nausea, but this time it had nothing to do with her condition and everything to do with fear.
She nodded. “I will learn.”
“There’s my angel.” He nodded approvingly. “Hold the dagger in a firm grip and raise it toward me.”
She did as he asked, hating that she was pointing it in his direction.
“Now imagine you are drawing an imaginary X with the tip of your blade.”
Slowly, Adele moved the blade, fashioning an X.
“Draw a cross.”
She changed the direction of the dagger, drawing a cross pattern over and over.
“You need to move with strength and determination. Pretend I am your enemy, coming for you, intending to do you harm. Your blade work would not harm a goddamn butterfly.”
His cutting observation shook her. Not for the first time, it occurred to her how ill-prepared she was for this marriage, this man. She was the daughter of a duke. She had been raised for ballrooms and embroidery and carriage rides in the park. She had never held a blade in her hand before today, nor had she ever imagined the need to wield one.
“I am disappointing you,” she said quietly. “I am sorry.”
“Do not apologize, damn you. Try harder.” He scowled. “You need to slash him. Begin at the top. Wound him at the most vulnerable place, his throat. Do as much damage as you can manage.”
“I am not certain I can do it, Dom.” The notion of striking another with the intent to kill or harm, even in her own defense, made her ill.
“You can do anything. You are the woman who burst into The Devil’s Spawn and demanded an audience with me. That woman is fearless.”
His impassioned words gave her the spur she needed. He was right. She had been brave then. She had never intended to become a part of his world, but she was now. There was no denying it.
Adele nodded and went through the motions he had showed her, the X and the cross. This time, she put more force into her motions.
Dom nodded. “Good, now thrust the blade, then slash. Thrust toward the throat, slash down his coat. Do not show him mercy.”
Biting her lip, she copied his movements, thrusting the blade toward an invisible enemy, then slashing downward. Again and again, she repeated the action. Suddenly, he struck. He caught her wrist in a punishing grip, and her fingers opened. The dagger fell to the carpets with a thud. Dom hauled her to him, his face near hers, his eyes blazing with an emotion she could not define.
“If I were Jasper Sutton, you would be dead by now,” he said.
There was a finality in his voice that made her tremble. “Is that his name? Your enemy, I mean?”
His lip curled. “It does not matter what his name is. All that matters is that you need more practice. If anything should happen to you or the babe…”
As his words trailed off, Adele absorbed the answering tremor that went through him. There was no denying it. He cared. Dominic Winter, feared ruler of London’s underworld, cared for her. The knowledge settled firmly in her heart.
“Nothing shall happen to us,” she promised him. “Show me, Dom.”
He gave a jerky nod, then dipped his head and took her lips in a kiss that was hard and possessive, yet fierce and sweet.
Much like the man she had married.
Chapter Thirteen
“She will hate you for this.”
Dom skewered Devil with a glare as they stood together in his office at The Devil’s Spawn, a map spread on the desk before them. “Why should I give a damn? This course has been planned, its outcome inevitable.”
“You truly think Linross will be any more inclined to sell the land knowing you’ve married his precious daughter?”
His brother’s skepticism nettled. At the moment, Dom felt like sparring with someone. Boxing until his knuckles bled. Or hunting down Jasper Sutton and sinking his knife deep into the bastard’s guts. Watching his life blood seep into the dirt.
He told himself the fury lancing him had nothing to do with Devil’s assertion Adele would hate him when she learned his true motive for marrying her. And then he realized what an utter fucking lie that was.
“If Linross does not sell me the land, I will call in all his son’s notes,” Dom vowed, even as a foreign twinge of something in his ches
t accompanied those words.
Not guilt, surely?
When had he ever allowed himself to feel anything for anyone other than his siblings?
Since she came into your life.
“You would call in the brother’s notes and ruin ’im?” Devil asked. “A nib, your wife’s brother?”
Wife was still a new word, bringing with it more strange sensations in his chest. Ruthlessly, he tamped them down, clinging instead to his rage.
“I will do what I have to do,” he told Dom. “Jasper Sutton’s grip on the water supply and the East End has to be ended. If we do not crush him, he will crush us. His recent actions show that, and I have far too much to lose now.”
“Her?” Devil sneered.
His disgust for the quality was abundant and bitter. Dom’s had been the same, until a dark-haired, dark-eyed duke’s daughter had entered his life. Before Adele, Dom had considered aristocrats pawns. Plump, entitled pigeons. He had never given a damn about the losses they suffered at his tables. The borders were clear between their worlds, and Dom did not cross. It was one of the reasons he had chosen not to live in the Mayfair house.
“You do not know her as I do,” he said to Devil, struggling to explain. “She is not like the others.”
Devil grunted. “Course she is.”
“Damn you, Devil.” He slammed his fist on the map, crinkling it in the place where he intended to build the B.W. Waterworks. Just as soon as the Duke of Linross sold him the eleven bloody acres he required surrounding the River Lea. “Lady Adele is different.”
Devil’s sole response was to growl.
“She is carrying my child,” Dom blurted.
His brother issued another grunt.
“Is that felicitations I hear in your voice, brother?”
“Sympathy.” Devil made another sound that was half-growl, half-grunt. “Speaking of waifs, that little shite you dragged home from the monkery stole my pocket watch.”
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