Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9)

by Scarlett Scott

  He blinked. “Milady—”

  “Stop,” she interrupted, raising her hand in a silent plea. “Call me Evie, if you please.”

  “Evie,” he corrected with ease. “Get out.”

  Hmm.

  One third of the words he had just spoken were excellent. The other two thirds, she would happily ignore.

  She moved past him, approaching an elegant mahogany stand where a basin and pitcher were filled with fresh water. “I am not going anywhere, so you may as well cease fuming at me. You have cuts that need to be cleansed. I do hope you brought your salve along with you, for I fear you will need it for the wound on your cheek.”

  Tending to him was a much-needed distraction. It made her feel useful and necessary. It also made her feel less like crying. The sight of him in such a state was worrying. She hoped it was not because of her.

  “I can tend to myself,” he growled.

  He was not going to run her off; she was determined. She poured water into the basin, found a cloth, and dunked it within, before wringing off the excess. Evie turned to find him standing where she had left him, his expression fierce, his gaze hard.

  “I know you can tend to yourself, Theo,” she told him calmly, “but you do not have to. I am here.”

  “Not for long.”

  His harsh words hit her heart like a handful of pebbles. Stinging pain, but she could endure. Evie ignored them.

  She crossed the room to him and took his hand in hers, tugging him toward a chair. “Come and have a seat so I can better see you. You are as tall as a mountain.”

  And every bit as immovable. He would not budge from where he stood.

  She pulled harder.

  He glowered at her. “You are a little bee buzzing about a bear.”

  “Then you had best take care, lest I sting you.” She pulled at his hand, noting it, too, was covered in dried blood, his knuckles swollen and cracked.

  He did not wince as she tugged on his battered fingers, though surely the action must have caused him pain. “Bees ought to know better than to menace bears.”

  She found his wrist instead, warm and vital beneath his sleeves. Her thumb traced the smooth skin where she knew the inking of a blade hid. “Yet here I remain, foolish bee.”

  “Foolish bee indeed, to suffer the wrath of a bear.” But as he said the words, he finally allowed her to tug him toward the chair.

  He sat, looking distinctly unimpressed.

  “You are neither bear nor beast,” she said, studying his ravaged face. “Will you tell me where you were all this time or am I to be left guessing?”

  “Home.”

  The curt answer made sense. She gently wiped the blood from his cheek. “The Devil’s Spawn?”

  “Rookeries.”

  “Why?” She finished cleaning his face and studied him.

  “Trying to find answers. Not going to find them here, playing lord and lady with you.”

  Playing lord and lady.

  “Is that what we are doing, Theo? Playing?”

  He said nothing, simply stared back at her. The bruise beneath his eye was darkening, giving him a menacing aura. One of the candles sputtered out. In no time, they would be in darkness.

  On a sigh, she turned away from him, fetching fresh candles and lighting them with the remnants of the brace that had been burning all night. When each one was replaced, she took the bloodied cloth to the water basin and rinsed it, all too aware of Theo’s gaze on her as she moved.

  When she stood before him once more, she picked up his hand, tenderly cleansing his injured knuckles. “I am not playing a game. Not with you. Never with you.”

  He stiffened, tensing beneath her ministrations. “Evie—”

  “Theo,” she interrupted. “We have become friends over this past fortnight, have we not? And, dare I say, more than that, I hope.”

  His jaw clenched. “We cannot be friends or…more. Our worlds are too far apart. Look at me. This is who I am. Tonight, I beat a man unconscious with these fists.”

  He held up his hands, showing them off, one still covered in dried blood.

  She swallowed. “Is that why you truly went to the East End? To prove to yourself we are too different?”

  “I told you why. I need to find out who is responsible for trying to hurt you.”

  “Because you care,” she said softly, taking his other hand in hers and beginning to clean it as well.

  “Because I no longer want you to be my problem.” His lip curled. “So you can become Lady Dullerton.”

  He was trying to hurt her, doing his best to build a divide between them. But she was not going to allow him to do it. “What if I no longer wish to become Lady Denton?”

  He rose from the chair abruptly, forcing her to take a step in retreat as he towered over her. “You do not know what you are saying, milady.”

  “I know what I am saying.” She also knew what she was not saying, because it was too terrifying to reveal just now, when she was not certain of his feelings. “This fortnight has been a revelation for me. I have realized the marriage I was willing to settle for is no longer what I want.”

  What she did want was him. If only he would allow it. But she kept that to herself as well.

  “And you know all this after a mere fortnight?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Only a cossetted duke’s daughter would be so fickle.”

  “Stop thinking of me as a duke’s daughter. Start thinking of me as a woman.”

  He made a low sound in his throat. Part growl, part grunt. “I have thought of you as little else from the moment I first set eyes on you, damn it. That is the problem. I do not belong in your world, and you have no place in mine. You have taken on the role of nurse remarkably well, but now your job is done. Go back to your chamber where you belong and get some rest.”

  How did he suppose she could sleep, leaving things between them like this?

  “I will not go until you tell me what happened.”

  “Prizefighting.”

  “Boxing?” she repeated.

  He shrugged. “I went looking for answers. When I’d gotten all the information I could, I stayed for a boxing match. Won fifty beans.”

  She supposed fifty beans was fifty guineas.

  “You were not hurt because of me?” she pressed, needing to know.

  “If you think I’m hurt, you should see O’Neal.” He shrugged, as if fisticuffs, blood, and a blackened eye were of little consequence. “You’ve had your answer. Go to your chamber now. I’m tired and I need some rest.”

  She was not going yet. “You did not answer my question.”

  “I was not hurt because of you. The fight was for me.”

  “For you?” She searched his gaze, struggling to comprehend. “Why?”

  “To keep me from touching you,” he growled. “Now. Get. Out.”

  To keep him from touching her?

  The change within her was happening again. Something was shifting in her heart. Melting and filling her with warmth. Love seeping into all the shadows, casting its undeniable light.

  She held her ground, refusing to retreat this time. “What if I want you to touch me?”

  Chapter Nine

  Her question set him aflame.

  His cockstand was instant. The longing thundering through him so tremendous he forgot to breathe. It was bigger than him, overpowering, claiming his every good intention where Lady Evangeline Saltisford was concerned. Burning any shreds of honor he possessed into ash.

  He would never know which of them moved first. All he did know was that one moment, she was standing before him, her countenance more vulnerable than he had ever seen, unfairly beautiful with her golden hair unbound down her back and a dressing gown to shield her modesty. The next, she was in his arms, and their lips were fused.

  Soft, supple breasts collided with his chest. Her curves pressed into him, making his heart pound. Not even the rush he had experienced earlier when he had taken on Sean O’Neal in an impromptu bareknuckle match cou
ld compare. He was exhilarated. Fancy cove words. He blamed them on her.

  He blamed everything on her, along with the fact he had discovered all the information he needed tonight in the East End, and the answers he had garnered meant by morning’s light, they could put an end to this farce. He had already formed a battle plan on his way back to the townhome. Tomorrow, he would do everything he could to make certain Evie never again needed to fear for her safety.

  But none of those facts could keep him from wanting her now.

  Or from kissing her with everything he had.

  He licked the seam of her lips. God, she was sweet. Sweeter than he deserved. Her tongue stroked against his as she welcomed his kiss, welcomed him. Her response proved his undoing. He was not going to take her. No matter what she thought she wanted, he knew better. The mere hours they had remaining was not enough time. There was nothing he could offer her save desire.

  And he meant to give it.

  Meant to make her quake and lose control, ache gloriously until she splintered into a thousand jagged shards of herself. Never mind his battered knuckles, his bruised face. He felt no pain. All he knew was the undeniable urge to taste her. Touch her. Bring her pleasure.

  He broke the kiss and lifted her in his arms with ease. Her curves were generous, but she was deliciously short, and he was a big, muscled oaf. She felt as light as air. Perfect, tucked against him. As if she belonged. He wanted to keep her there forever.

  But he could not.

  He could only have tonight—Christ, this morning or whatever hour it was. Dawn had not yet broken, and the servants had yet to scramble into action. He had time. Precious little, but time enough.

  He stalked toward the bed, his gaze riveted to her face. Flushed with passion, gold-brown eyes wide, lips swollen from his kiss. His. For the next hour and no more.

  “You want me to touch you?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes.” She did not hesitate in her affirmation, the throaty dulcet tone of her voice washing over him like a caress.

  Fucking hell.

  He had always known she was going to be trouble, from the first moment he had clapped eyes upon her. But he had never known just how much. How badly he would want her.

  None of that mattered now. He laid her gently on the bed. “I let you tend me. It’s my turn to tend you, my lady.”

  He was going to make her spend. If he could never have her again, at least he could know how she tasted. He could have her on his lips, tongue. Make her writhe and quake and come undone beneath him.

  With trembling fingers, he unhooked the buttons lining the front of her dressing gown. If he had but one moment to savor her, he was going to see her, damn it. He was going to have the memory of her naked and glorious, awaiting him on his bed, forever imprinted upon his mind. She shrugged out of the sleeves and rose to her knees on the mattress, clad in nothing save another of her desperately taunting night rails. Together, they tugged the gown over her head.

  For a moment, he lost the ability to speak. His tongue was sluggish and insufficient. His mind affected by a cloud of sheer, unrepentant desire. He inhaled the scent of ripe apples and sin and temptation. Evie. A goddess. More beautiful than his pathetic imagination had been able to envision.

  Full, pale breasts tipped with hard, pink nipples. So much smooth, delicious skin. Wide hips, lush thighs, her mound covered by a thatch of golden curls. His mouth was watering. He was out of his mind. A Bedlamite. For as long as he lived, he would never forget the sight of her bare for him, awaiting him, his to pleasure.

  “Lie down,” he ordered her, his voice hoarse with the power of his need.

  He was going to suck her pearl until she spent all over his tongue. And then he was going to do it again.

  She did as he asked, lying back on the counterpane which had been brought by a servant to replace the one she had thieved from him the night she had worn it about her shoulders like a cloak. She pressed her legs together, the flush on her cheeks deepening.

  She was shy and innocent, his Evie. And bloody beautiful.

  He joined her on the bed, daring to glide his bare palms up her calves, past her knees. Her skin was silken and creamy. He could do nothing but worship her. He lowered his head, pressed kisses along her inner thigh as he caressed her.

  “Relax for me, love.”

  He coaxed her legs apart. Her thighs opened, revealing her to him. At long last. He had dreamt of this so many nights, he could scarcely countenance she was real. Her cunny was pink, glistening, and pretty. He could not wait another moment to have his mouth on her. Taking her hips in a gentle-but-firm hold, he found her pearl and sucked.

  She jerked beneath him on a low, keening moan.

  The taste of her was musky, sweet, flooding his tongue. He could not get enough. She was slick. So slick. He licked down her slit, his tongue dipping into the tempting cove he would not breach no matter how much he wanted to. Her hips pumped beneath him. Bloody hell, she was so responsive.

  Desire roared through him, as intense as any longing for a woman he had ever felt. And he knew instinctively he would never again know this fervent need. This all-consuming yearning, which was so different from the lust he had known for others. Not just for her beautiful body, but every part of her, to her soul.

  Her heart.

  He knew it could never be his, but he was a greedy bastard when it came to Evie, and he meant to make the most of the precious time he had with her. Starting with making her unravel. Tentatively, he licked back to the bud peeking from between her folds. He flicked his tongue over her, lightly at first, giving her time to adjust. Learning what she wanted, what made her quiver and sigh.

  Then he sucked her into his mouth once more, watching Evie as he pleasured her. A more glorious sight he had never seen. Words eluded him. She had risen to her elbows, head tipped back, lips parted. Her breasts were full and round.

  He gently nipped her and her hips jerked, her gaze meeting his. What he saw in their molten depths spurred him on. He held her stare, nibbled at her pearl, and then sucked hard.

  His name fell from her lips like a prayer.

  Not Devil, but Theo instead.

  When she called him Theo, he wanted to be that to her, for her. He wanted to be hers, damn it. And he knew without a doubt that whatever happened after this fleeting interlude, wherever he went, and regardless of whether she married another, he would be hers. Forever.

  There it was. More dangerous longing for something he could never truly have. Stolen moments. This passion. That was all he could lay claim to. Her body, her pleasure. That was what he must settle for. The stars and the sun did not mingle. Night could never dwell in day. Romeo and Juliet did not grow old together. The children of the East End were born with the taste of bitterness and disappointment in their mouths. He should know that better than anyone.

  And yet, part of him was desperate to believe there could be a way. That there could be more for them than these stolen pleasures.

  There could not.

  Even after the intimacies they shared, she would remain Lady Evangeline Saltisford. He would still be Devil Winter. There was no bridge between them, despite what she said before. Tonight had proven that. He belonged in the East End. When he had returned, he had felt at home. He had pummeled his opponent with the aching hands that were now caressing her flesh.

  He had to be the one to set her free, the one to protect her. And he would do that soon enough; as soon as he could.

  But first, he would be the one to make her come undone.

  He teased her with a finger, slicking her dew over her, then alternated between licking her swollen nub and sucking until her body was rocking into his. She undulated beneath him, her breathing emerging in breathy pants. He had to be inside her. If not with his cock, then his finger. Slowly, mindful of her inexperience, he dipped his forefinger into her opening.

  Her tight heat gripped him, drenching him.

  She was soaked. Her cries spurred him on, along with her body,
surging up to meet him, dragging him deeper. He suckled her as he fucked her with his finger, a slow and steady rhythm. How he wished it was his cock she was clamped on. But the evidence of her steadily mounting pleasure was a reward all its own.

  Curling his finger inside her and sliding deeper still, he worked her bud with quick, fluttering strokes of his tongue. She clenched on him suddenly, her body shuddering beneath him, her cunny pulsing with the force of her release. Her cream coated his finger, and she was somehow wetter still.

  He pressed kisses to her mound, working the last strains of bliss from her. Her golden lashes swept over her brilliant eyes, shielding her stare from view. That was when he realized their gazes had held the entire time he had pleasured her. His prick was hard and long in his breeches, begging to be freed, desperate to sink inside her and feel her wet heat bathe him. To feel her welcome him into her body. To make her his in truth the way he was always hers.

  He already knew the next mark he would ask his sister Genevieve to make upon his battered hide. An E for Evie.

  “Oh, Theo,” she said, her voice throaty and sated, her body limp and breathtaking on his bed, thieving his ability to say anything of reasonable intellect.

  If indeed he had ever been capable. He supposed he had never been a man given to much speech until she had entered his life with the force of a storm.

  He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, gratitude surging within him. She had bestowed a tremendous gift upon him, and he would never forget this night. Would never forget her, even when she was far from him.

  Her eyes opened, finding him, reaching inside him in a way only she could. “Do you think we might try that again sometime soon?”

  He kissed down the rest of her thigh, then moved to the other, smiling against her silken skin though a wave of bitterness threatened to kill his desire. “We can do it again now, if you like, love.”

  “Now?” Her mouth opened, her tongue peeking out to run over the fullness of her lower lip.

  He suppressed a groan at the sight, imagining that pink tongue of hers upon him, swirling over his cockhead. But it was not meant to be. Still, he could give her more pleasure. The sun was not yet risen. The servants would not be moving for another half hour or so. He could take this last opportunity to savor her before he was out of her life forever.