Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9)

by Scarlett Scott

  “Lady Evangeline, you are in grave danger,” his half brother Dom was saying now. “You were fortunate your injuries were not worse. Until we know who is behind these attacks, I am afraid there is no other way of keeping you safe.”

  There were other ways, damn it.

  Devil was certain.

  He scowled at Dom. “I don’t go to the monkery. London is where I stay.”

  He had made this clear when he had first been approached with this Bedlamite’s plan of secreting Lady Evangeline to the countryside with Devil as her squire. He did not like the country. Bricks, rats, and streets that stunk of desperation suited him fine. He knew what to expect here. Knew how to fight and protect himself.

  The East End was his territory. This Mayfair business was a lot of donkey dung, but he had been willing to suffer it temporarily out of loyalty to Dom. Not the country, however. Not traveling with milady.

  Not in this fucking century.

  “London is where you have stayed, but there is no reason you cannot remove yourself from it for a time,” Dom was telling him in his calm, persuasive, I-can-make-you-do-as-I-wish, older-brother tone. “I traveled to Oxfordshire, if you will recall, and I returned whole.”

  “Married.” Devil’s lip curled of its own accord.

  He liked his brother’s wife, it was true. However, there was no denying that his brother’s trip to the monkery had landed him leg-shackled. As planned, yes. But thoroughly besotted with his wife.

  Terrible state. Horrible example to offer.

  Devil wanted no part of marriage. He had fancied himself in love once. But Cora’s defection had robbed him of any capacity to feel. He was invulnerable now. Cold as ice, hard as a wall.

  “He returned married to me,” Lady Adele reminded Devil gently. “I do not think it such a horrid fate. There is nothing wrong with marriage, Devil. But it is not as if you need fear such a circumstance befalling you. Evie is betrothed to Lord Denton.”

  Ah, yes, he thought acidly. How could he have forgotten? Not that a fine lady such as Lady Evie would ever deign to consider an East End criminal such as himself a prospect. She would never have allowed him to touch her after her wounding, had she not been incapacitated and in her cups. He was not fit to kiss milady’s soiled hem.

  If indeed milady’s hems were ever soiled. He rather doubted it.

  “That is why I must not leave London,” Evie countered, her voice triumphant.

  She was dressed in a pale-pink gown, the bandage on her upper arm cleverly disguised by her sleeve. One would never guess anything ill had befallen her. Lady Evangeline Saltisford was the epitome of elegance and perfection. Even her golden curls were neat little screws framing her lovely face, nary a one out of place.

  “Your betrothal to Lord Denton?” Lady Adele asked her sister. “You are not going to be married for another three months, dearest. We are only suggesting you remove yourself for a fortnight. Perhaps less.”

  A fortnight with milady?

  Christ no.

  Devil suppressed a shudder.

  “If I am to suddenly disappear for a fortnight, it will be remarked upon,” Lady Evie countered. “Widely. How do you propose I am to explain it?”

  “There will be no explanation,” Devil bit out. “Because I ain’t squiring you anywhere. I don’t leave London.”

  Dom sighed. “I was afraid you would prove unyielding on that. Fair enough. If you do not want to go to the country, Devereaux has offered the use of one of his townhomes.”

  Wrong person to mention.

  “Devereaux, is it?” he growled, nettled to hear Dom speak of their legitimate half brother as if they were now on friendly terms.

  To say nothing of the grandiosity of such a gesture. Townhomes, Dom had said, as if there were more than one.

  How many townhomes did one arsehole need?

  Dom raked a hand through his hair, his jaw hardening with annoyance. “I am persuaded our half brother is not who I once thought him to be. He has proven himself. Need I remind you of the manner in which he aided us with the Suttons and their waterworks?”

  Yes, Devereaux Winter had indeed facilitated the deal with the Suttons. The Sutton Waterworks belonged to the Winters now. But Devil did not trust any man as far as he could throw him. And Deveraux Winter was a massive man. Devil did not suppose he could throw him farther than a puddle’s length.

  Devil snorted. “And who is taking shots at Lady Evangeline? You do not suppose it is Suttons?”

  “I cannot be sure.” Dom shook his head. “I cannot believe they would be foolish enough to upset the balance so soon after calling a truce. I need time to dig into this without worrying over Lady Evie’s wellbeing. Be reasonable, Devil.”

  He did not feel like being reasonable. Reasonable was for nibs who worried about the knot in their cravats and the shine on their boots.

  Devil shook his head. “A fortnight is impossible.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Lady Evangeline said. “It is impossible. You cannot expect me to hide myself somewhere with…Mr. Devil. Lord Denton shall never forgive me if I am to disappear. I am promised to attend the Farthington ball tomorrow, and the Desmond musicale the day after. My absence will be noted.”

  “Your absence is necessary for your protection,” Lady Adele said.

  She had a point, and Devil hated to admit it. Indeed, he would admit it if anyone other than himself was being cozened into playing her guard for the next fortnight. Bad enough to remain in milady’s presence when he had Dom to speak to. Unless…

  “The two of you would accompany us,” Devil said.

  “No.” Dom passed a hand over his jaw. “I need to remain here, to run The Devil’s Spawn, and to determine who is behind these attacks and why.”

  “Why not me?” Devil suggested. “I remain. You and Lady Adele take Lady Evangeline to the countryside or to Winter’s townhome. I will stay and watch over The Devil’s Spawn and find the bastard responsible for shooting Lady Evangeline.”

  Sound plan, as far as Devil was concerned. No more milady. No more golden curls and taunting berry lips. No more unwanted cockstands in her presence.

  Dom sighed. “It cannot be me. You know as well as I do what happened the last time I distanced myself from London. There were fires set at our hell, men attempting to ruin us.”

  On Devil’s watch.

  His brother did not need to say it. Devil had inwardly lashed himself a thousand times for his failure to lead the ship in Dom’s absence. The Devil’s Spawn had not been reduced to ashes. But the damage had been bad enough.

  Guilt and disappointment at his own failures sliced through him. Dom was right to distrust him. Not only had Devil been unable to keep the hell safe; Lady Evie had been shot on his second day acting as guard.

  Fuck.

  He owed his brother. And he owed it to himself to do better this time. To prove his mettle. Even if it meant keeping milady company for two weeks in Devereaux Winter’s house.

  Damn.

  Hell.

  Devil nodded once, his gaze never straying from Dom’s. “Fair enough. I owe you. I’ll do what I must.”

  Dom nodded. “Thank you, brother.”

  He bowed and fled the fancy drawing room—dripping in gilt and polished mahogany—as Lady Evangeline sent up a fresh round of protests.

  Evie wanted to kick something.

  Or shout.

  Pound her fist into a wall? No, that would hurt.

  She wanted to snatch up something dear and hurl it to the floor, watching as it shattered into myriad pieces. Irreparable.

  Just as her reputation would be by the time this farce had come to an end. They may as well find the villain who had been attempting to murder her and have him shoot her now.

  “Sixteen.”

  The mocking voice of Devil Winter reached her then. A rough, growling rumble. Why had he spoken? She was doing her utmost to pretend he was not standing in the corner of this unfamiliar library, watching her pace.

 
The library was large.

  The book selection was excellent.

  Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been well-pleased. But this was decidedly not ordinary circumstances. This was, instead, Bedlamite, ridiculous, untenable, unacceptable circumstances. And she was furious.

  Ignoring the massive oaf in the room, she spun on her slipper-clad heel and stalked back down the Aubusson.

  “Seventeen.”

  His voice was amused. The low, intimate tone of it trilled down her spine. Made her belly tighten and her skin feel flushed. Was that his scent on the air? Spice and bay and leather?

  Curse the man.

  Mayhap if she ignored him, he would go away. His presence in this chamber was not just unwanted but bewilderingly improper. Her lady’s maid, who was to act as chaperone, was upstairs, seeing to the unpacking of Evie’s trunks. The lumbering brute who watched her now was supposed to be elsewhere.

  Not plaguing her with his handsome presence.

  Handsome? For shame, Evie. What would Lord Denton say?

  She shook that unsettling question from her mind. Lord Denton had been sent a letter, carefully written by Evie herself before she had been surreptitiously swept from her sister and brother-in-law’s townhome. Five carriages had set off at once lest any unseen foes had been watching and anticipating their movement. And Evie had been inside the only one which had also contained him.

  “Eighteen.”

  His mocking voice reached her once more.

  She halted in her pacing and turned toward him, irritation surpassing all else. “Shall I applaud you, Mr. Nothing? You can count. I am astounded a man of your background is capable of such a rudimentary skill.”

  If her tone was biting, and if her words were horrid, it could hardly be helped. She was feeling unsettled, terrified, and cruel, all at once.

  Devil Winter remained stoic, his expression never shifting from sardonic amusement. His face was, as ever, a source of astonishment. He was the sort of gentleman one looked upon with an involuntary inhalation of breath at the power of his rugged, masculine beauty.

  However, upon closer inspection, she detected a subtle change in his bearing. A stiffening of his posture. Her words had hit their mark, though he was doing his utmost to feign indifference. The realization gave Evie no joy. Instead, shame swamped her. He said nothing, simply watched her, impassive.

  This new silence somehow mocked her more than his counting had. She was furious with him for capitulating and agreeing to this madcap scheme of Adele and Mr. Winter’s. Being trapped inside a strange house with no one for company save servants and Devil Winter was akin to torture.

  How was she to bear a fortnight of this?

  “Well?” she demanded, aware that she was being cutting and rude to him and yet somehow unable to stop herself. “Have you anything to say now, Mr. Nothing?”

  She had been shot. She had been torn from the life to which she was accustomed. She had been forced to lie to her future husband. She had been hidden away. How could anyone expect her to be anything other than bitter and upset and ill-mannered? She was sure they could not, Devil Winter included.

  “Devil.”

  That was what the man had to say. The curt, nonsensical insistence she refer to him as his awful sobriquet. She most certainly would not.

  Evie spun on her heel and commenced pacing.

  “Nineteen.”

  She turned back to him. “You are counting the number of times I have paced the floor?”

  He stared at her with those insolent blue eyes that saw too much and made her tingle in places she had not previously known existed. He said nothing.

  Somehow, his silence was a greater rebuke than his words.

  “You refuse to answer me until I refer to you as you wish” she guessed next, irritated. “I do not want to play games with you, sir.”

  He grunted.

  She gritted her teeth, commencing her pacing.

  “Twenty.”

  That was it.

  She pivoted and stalked toward him. Evie did not halt until she was near enough to thrust out her forefinger and poke him in his big, hard chest. “Stop. Counting.”

  Two pokes, one for each word. Emphasizing her point.

  He raised a brow and said nothing, mocking her without uttering a syllable.

  Her finger lingered against his chest, and it occurred to her belatedly that he had somehow shucked his coat. He stood before her in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat only, the cravat at his neck scarcely knotted. In a word, he looked disreputable.

  And delicious.

  No! Decidedly not that.

  She banished the unworthy thought immediately. The warmth emanating from him seared her fingertip. She cleared her throat. Forgot why she was still touching him. His scent was richer at this proximity, tiny flecks of green visible in his bright eyes. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, which was full.

  Fuller than Lord Denton’s. She did not think she could recall her betrothed’s lips just now. Oh, bother.

  “Like what you see, milady?”

  His mocking query filled her with mortification. Her cheeks were scalding. She withdrew her finger. “No. I am horrified by it. You are a dreadful, uncouth beast, sir.”

  One corner of his lips quirked. “Didn’t seem horrified.”

  She was staring at his dratted mouth again. And being insolent. He had cleaned her wound when she had been injured. His balm had appeared to stave off infection and was aiding in her healing. She had not required stitching after all, much to her relief.

  But Evie was still in a dreadful mood. Her life had been disrupted. Upended. Her reputation was in every bit as much danger as her life. If word of her sojourn in this Grosvenor Square townhome ever reached anyone, she would never survive the storm of scandal. Diamonds of the first water did not disappear for a fortnight with the sole accompaniment of a lady’s maid and one of the East End’s most feared criminals.

  “Milady?” he prompted, his voice still mocking.

  What was it about him? Why could she not seem to look away, to walk away?

  She sniffed. “As a lady, one must hide one’s true feelings. Undoubtedly, that is why I do not seem horrified by you. However, rest assured that I am.”

  The other corner of his mouth lifted. “If you say so, milady.”

  His scent was coiling around her now. Much as she imagined a serpent would. She had to put some distance between them. “No more counting, Mr. Nothing.”

  Once more, he declined to respond, simply watching her with that mocking smile on his sensual lips.

  On a huff, Evie turned and resumed her pacing.

  “One-and-twenty.”

  She whirled back to him. “I did not finish my twentieth pace. How can we now be at one-and-twenty?”

  He cocked his head. “Devil.”

  “What is your true Christian name? No mother would name her child Devil.”

  “You do not know the woman who birthed me.”

  That was a decidedly strange manner to refer to one’s mother, she thought. His jaw had tightened. A sensitive subject, she sensed. Hmm. Interesting. His intellect and his mother. Twin weaknesses from the monster of a man who was to haunt her every day. She would save the knowledge, lest she needed it.

  “I wish to read,” she announced, deciding a change of subject was in order. “There is no need for you to remain here.”

  “I stay where you are.”

  She glared. “You cannot be where I am at every hour of the day.”

  “When I was not, you were shot.”

  “No one knows I am here.”

  He shrugged. “We hope.”

  Her stomach felt as if it dropped to the floor. “What was the meaning of the five carriages, if not to confuse anyone who could be watching?”

  “It is early to tell if we were followed. I saw no sign of it, but nothing in life is certain.”

  Evie frowned. “That is a grim view of the world, sir.”

  “A truthful view.” Ano
ther shrug of those impossibly broad shoulders.

  Her gaze dipped to his chest. To his throat. To his jaw, shadowed with a fine layer of whiskers. Back to his lips. She wondered for the first time why he was so quiet, so solemn, so jaded. What had happened to Devil Winter in his past to make him the man he was?

  Then she wondered why she cared.

  Most certainly, she should not. Thinking of him at all was dangerous. As was lingering near to him. And yet she did.

  They stared at each other, at an impasse.

  “I do not wish to be here,” she said.

  He raised an inky brow, saying nothing.

  Fair enough. He had made his opinion on the matter clear as well. Some of her irritation with him faded. He was not the source of her ire. Indeed, mayhap he was every bit as trapped as she was.

  “You have more of a choice than I do,” she countered, as if he had spoken aloud.

  Sky-blue eyes burned into hers, unwavering. “You do not know my brother.”

  “Nonsense. Gentlemen possess all the power. A man can be anything he wishes, go anywhere as he pleases. A lady, meanwhile, is held to the strictest of standards.”

  “Not in the rookeries.”

  His world was different from hers. The reminder nettled more than it should. She was suddenly acutely aware of her own life as the daughter of a duke. She had been raised without thought of anyone who had less.

  “What is it like there?” she ventured, curious in spite of herself.

  He grunted.

  Apparently, she had reached the limit of his goodwill. Either that, or Devil Winter did not like to speak of his past.

  “I am going to read,” she announced. “You may as well. Take your pick. There is no end of books here.”

  He said nothing, merely watched her.

  On an irritated sigh, she turned away from him once more.

  “Twenty.”

  This time, she carried on, stalking to the wall of books opposite her. The man was maddening. Vexing. Infuriating. She was not sure if she ought to be amused at his return to twenty in his counting of her pacing or incensed. Evie settled for somewhere in between the two as she searched the endless spines before her, looking for a book to suitably distract and entertain. He had not joined her, of course.