His eyes slid closed. “My father told me I was worthless. He was disappointed in me. I was the heir, and yet, I could not conduct myself as he expected I should. I was shy and quiet as a lad. He told me he would make me stronger by one means or another. And he tried. With a crop, with his fists. Sometimes, he would lock me in a windowless chamber for days. My mother, God save her soul, did not care what he did with me. She was far too busy with her own lovers. Lord knows what happened to Ash whilst he was in her care…”
Tears welled in her eyes. Pain sliced through her for the young man he must have been, for the pain and suffering he had endured at the hands of his own father. Her father, too, had been cruel. But he had been mostly absent. Any violence he had attempted to visit upon them had been swiftly canceled by Dev, who was old enough and large enough to be their protector.
But Gill was the eldest.
He had borne the brunt of his father’s cruelty.
And oh, how her heart ached for him.
“My darling,” she said, pressing her lips to his for a chaste kiss that was branded by the salty wetness of her own tears. “I am so very sorry.”
His eyes opened, searing into hers. “I am not sorry. He did not change me, you see. I am as I have always been. Crowded ballrooms make me want to retch into the nearest potted palm, and I suspect they always will. Speaking in front of a gathering makes my heart pound and my skin feel as if it is too tight for my body. I am abysmal as a duke. I have so many people relying upon me, and yet I am most comfortable laboring amongst my tenants. Physical duty puts me at ease. As do you.”
She was glad she put him at ease. Her thumbs swept over the proud architecture of his cheekbones. “I am so pleased I put you at ease, my darling. And I promise now and forevermore that as your duchess, if you want to retch into a potted palm, I shall stand before you and obstruct you from view. If you need to speak in front of a gathering, I will gladly do it for you. I also know you are a good duke, a wise duke, a fair duke. I know that because I know you, and I would be proud to be your wife and stand at your side.”
He exhaled slowly. “I do not know what I did to become so fortunate.”
“Nor do I,” she returned, smiling into his eyes. “But I will gladly accept all the spoils of my fortune, so long as it involves becoming your duchess.”
“I love you,” he said, reverence making his voice tremble.
“And I love you,” she said again, for it did not matter how many times she spoke the words aloud.
Indeed, it almost seemed the more times, the better.
“I am going to ask you a third time, Belle. This time, I am going to bloody well do it right.” He paused, lifting their linked hands to his lips so he could place reverent kisses upon the tops of her hands. “Christabella Winter, you have filled my life with a light I did not even know existed. From the moment you entered the salon that day, you changed everything. I have never met a more maddening, fascinating, vexing, beautiful woman.”
“Maddening?” she could not help but to protest with a teasing smile. “Vexing?”
“You tickled me,” he pointed out. “And then you smelled me.”
Well, yes, when he phrased it thus…
“You also pelted me with snowballs,” he added.
She bit her lip to stifle her laughter. “You hit my bonnet with one.”
“You taught me how to kiss,” he continued, his gaze burning into hers.
“I rather thought you taught me,” she said as wicked heat flared to life in her core.
“You also taught me how to love.” He kissed her hands again, then drew her more solidly against his body. “I love you, Christabella. Will you do me the great honor of marrying me?”
“Oh, Gill.” Her heart beat so hard, so fast, it threatened to fly from her chest and soar among the clouds. Happiness and love washed over her, so profound, so humbling. “I would be honored to be your wife.”
“Truly?” he asked.
“Truly,” she said.
“Good. Because I am reasonably certain I will perish if I go another minute without kissing you.”
His mouth was on hers in the next breath. Christabella looped her arms around his neck and rose on her toes, kissing him back with all the love and happiness blossoming to life within her.
Chapter Twelve
Three weeks later
Her husband’s hand was on her thigh.
Husband.
One word, two syllables. Such a tepid way to describe the man who had become everything to her.
She cast a sidelong glance at Gill’s handsome profile. It was difficult to believe he was finally hers. It seemed they had waited forever for the banns to be read. But at long last, earlier that morning in the Abingdon Hall chapel, they had been married. Now, they were surrounded by family and a handful of friends who had remained, enjoying the wedding cake in the wake of the immense breakfast spread which had been served.
“I love you,” Gill whispered in her ear, his lips near enough to graze her skin and send a shiver trilling down her spine.
The cake was delicious, but not nearly as delicious as her husband was.
Not to mention the prospect of consummating their union.
Beneath her beautiful gown and calm façade, she was positively aflame. Over the course of the last few weeks, they had found time to be alone together as Gill had stayed on at Abingdon Hall after the house party’s conclusion. But though they had enjoyed some quiet moments of passion, they had yet to make love.
The wait was almost over.
She settled her hand in her lap, fingers resting over his, and gave him a gentle squeeze before slowly guiding his hand higher. It was wicked of her, she knew, for they were surrounded by others. But she could not help herself.
She stopped when his hand rested over the place where she ached for him the most.
“I love you too,” she murmured back to him.
“Do stop whispering,” Grace said. “It is insufferably rude.”
Christabella laughed. “You are merely frustrated because your wedding has been delayed to accommodate for the arrival of the dowager Duchess of Revelstoke.”
Grace and her betrothed, Viscount Aylesford, were wedding in another week to allow his grandmother time enough to arrive from Scotland. Grace’s patience had grown thin. It was plain to see her sister was ready to become a wife.
“Who would have thought,” Pru said, smiling at Lord Ashley, whom she had already married three days prior. “All the Winters found happiness and love in the span of a year.”
Suddenly, a commotion could be heard in the great hall. Raised voices preceded the frantic scrambling of footsteps. Christabella stiffened, clutching her husband’s arm in an instinctive gesture, for she could not fathom any event which would cause such a reaction save a fire. Oh, how she hoped Abingdon House would not burn to a heaping pile of ancestral rubble. She had grown rather fond of the massive old edifice.
Dev had already sprung to his feet when the door to the room burst open.
A tall, dark-haired man swept into the chamber, still clad in his travel clothes, carrying a walking stick. There was something strangely familiar about him, although she was certain she had never before seen him. Lady Adele, seated quite near to Christabella at the table, let out a gasp.
Behind the man arrived a gaggle of servants, including a winded butler who apologized profusely to the gathering before turning his attention to the intruder.
“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” he told the man pointedly.
The man simply raised his walking stick and withdrew the hollow end of it to reveal a sword. All this, he performed with a dangerous ennui that sent a chill down Christabella’s spine.
“I’ve already silenced one of you with my fists,” he drawled to the butler, his voice cold and hard. “If I am forced to silence another, I’ll not be responsible for the bloodshed.”
Gill stood up suddenly at her side, as did all the other gentlemen in attendance—M
r. Hart, Lord Hertford, Lord Aylesford, and Lord Ashley.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Dev demanded, his voice carrying the sting of a whip’s lash.
“Forgive me,” said the interloper, scorn dripping from his voice. “It looks as if I have interrupted a wedding breakfast. My invitation must have been lost.”
Dev looked as if he wanted to do murder. He gripped the back of his chair, scowling. “You are not welcome on my lands,” he growled, his tone laden with fury and menace.
“Your lands?” the stranger mocked. “Ah, yes, you bought it just as you buy everything and everyone.”
The enmity between her brother and the menacing man was palpable.
“Why the hell are you here?” Dev asked.
“I have come for what is mine,” the man said, his gaze hovering on Lady Adele before flicking to Dev. “At long last.”
Lady Adele was ashen, fear evident on her lovely face.
“Nothing here is yours,” Dev warned.
“I suppose blood means nothing to you,” the stranger said coldly.
Blood? Christabella stared hard at the man, then turned her gaze to Dev. The similarities were remarkable. Both tall, broad, dark-haired. Their noses were the same…
“Go back to the rookeries where you belong,” Dev snapped. “I will not allow you to hurt this family any more than you already have.”
“I have no intention of hurting anyone as long as I get what I have come here for,” sneered the man. “Fear not. The bastard Winters want no part of any of you. Attempt to become an aristocrat all you like. We earn our coin as we see fit and answer to no one, least of all Devereaux Winter.”
Dear God.
The bastard Winters?
Could it be that this dangerous-looking stranger who had interrupted the wedding breakfast was…her half brother?
“We need to speak,” Dev said grimly. “In private.”
Christabella watched in shock as her brother and the stranger strode from the chamber. She could not help but to note, along with a sinking feeling of dread, that even their gait was the same. Stunned silence filled the chamber in the wake of their exit. The servants seemed to disappear.
“Who the devil is he?” asked Mr. Hart, looking as bewildered as Christabella felt.
“He is Dominic Winter,” said Lady Adele, her expression stricken, “and I fear he has come here for me.”
Epilogue
Three days later
Gill did not even say a word before he drew Christabella to him and kissed her. She kissed him back with all the sweet ardor he had come to expect from her, her arms around his neck. His tongue was in her mouth, and his hands went to her waist, anchoring her to him as he ravished her lips.
He was starving for her.
And at last, the long wait was over.
She was his wife. His duchess. His heart.
Now, he was going to make love to her for the first time.
Christabella had been the most beautiful bride he had ever beheld three days ago when they had wedded in the Abingdon Hall chapel. But she was even more beautiful tonight, at his country seat, in the duchess’ apartments. Precisely where she belonged.
She had donned a dressing gown belted at the waist, covering her lush form in prim fashion. He wore a silk banyan, and each movement of it over his bare flesh had been an unfair tease of what was to come. It had been a caress, but not the one he wanted, not the one that had kept him longing all through the relentless days of wintry travel they had just endured. He had been determined not to take her for the first time in a carriage or an inn, and the additional wait, atop the three weeks for the banns to be read, meant that his cockstand was harder than a block of marble.
Despite the frigid weather, they had departed for their new home following the madness of the wedding breakfast. Dominic Winter’s interruption had been unexpected. Shocking as hell for all parties, particularly the Winter sisters who had previously had no notion they possessed six illegitimate half-siblings.
Christabella broke the kiss and tipped back her head, her gaze searching his. “Do you think we did the right thing, Gill?”
Bloody hell, doubt was not what he wanted to hear at this particular juncture.
He raised a hand to cup her silken cheek. “Marrying each other?”
A tender smile curved her kiss-swollen lips. “No. Of course not marrying, my love. No decision was ever better. I meant in leaving Abingdon Hall behind with so much unsettled.”
Ah, of course.
She had been worrying over their departure since the moment their carriage had rolled down the tree-lined drive as previously planned. He could not blame her, for Dominic Winter was not the sort of man to inspire feelings of comfort. From the moment he had stalked into the wedding breakfast, bearing his walking stick with the hidden blade, sneering as if he found them all contemptible, Gill had known the man was trouble.
“I know we did the right thing, Belle,” he comforted her. “Your brother has Ash, Hertford, Hart, and Aylesford there with him. And Mr. Winter can only wreak so much havoc.”
“I can still scarcely believe I have six siblings, that my father had a whole family I had no inkling existed.” A frown furrowed her brow. “But how could Dev know and keep it from us?”
“It is as your brother said,” he reassured. “He was not convinced the claims were legitimate. He was only seeking to protect you.”
He refrained from pointing out the obvious, which was that if it became common knowledge the Wicked Winters shared blood with a family who ruled the London underworld, not even the vast Winter fortune would have induced most noble families to take on such a mésalliance.
Gill was not bothered by the connection, for he was in love with Christabella herself and not the coin she would bring to their union. No scandal, and no tie to London’s rookeries could keep him from making her his. However, he could well understand the overly protective Devereaux Winter seeking to shield his sisters from further gossip. Even if it meant keeping the secret to himself.
However, the secret had now been revealed.
“He should have told us,” Christabella insisted. “We all had a right to know.”
“Knowing you as I do, I expect he feared you would attempt to flee to the rookeries to meet these supposed siblings,” he told his wife, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “What would you have done if a pickpocket or other cutthroat had descended upon you and done you harm? Tickling would not have worked in such a scenario.”
Indeed, the very notion of his vibrant, bold wife sneaking to London’s worst stews made a shiver roll down his spine.
“I would never have gone to the rookeries,” she denied stubbornly. “But I deserved to know about Mr. Winter and his siblings. My siblings.”
“You would have gone there,” he countered gently, knowingly. “We both know it, Belle. However, I do agree with you that your brother should have at least made you aware of the existence of the other Winters. Some secrets are better shared than kept.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Oh, Gill, this is why I love you so. You always know how to cut to the heart of a matter.”
Sometimes in the wrong fashion entirely, but he refrained from offering that aloud.
Instead, he decided to tease her. “It is not the only reason, I hope.”
“Of course it is not.” Her smile deepened, and there was the dimple that haunted him in his sleep. “I love you for many other reasons as well. Because you are kind, softhearted, and good. Because you laugh at my sallies. Also because you are a wondrous kisser. Because I cannot resist you…hmm…and because you love me too, and because you are going to take me to visit my new siblings when we return to London…”
He frowned. “I appreciate all of those reasons. Save the last. We do not even know if these potential siblings of yours are trustworthy. The man had a blade hidden in his walking stick, for heaven’s sake.”
“He is well-prepared,” she argued in true Christabella Winter fashion.
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Strike that.
In true Christabella Coventry fashion.
And that was one of the many reasons why he loved her.
She had an indefatigable ability to see the best in everyone. Including him. And damn it, if she wanted to meet these other Winters, these Winters who were most certainly even more wicked than the Wicked Winters could ever hope to be, she would meet them, by God. And he would accompany her. But first, he had to see about commissioning a walking stick that contained a hidden sword…
“If it is your wish to become acquainted with Mr. Winter and his siblings, it will be done,” he told her.
“Truly?” she asked, her smile deepening.
“Truly,” he vowed, and then could not resist kissing that dimple of hers. “Whatever Her Grace wishes, Her Grace gets. By the rules of the house.”
Her smile turned naughty then. “I like the rules of the house. Because right now, what I want more than anything is my husband.”
Just like that, his cock was rigid and ready once more.
“Then your husband you shall have, my darling.” He kissed her.
She opened for him, her tongue meeting his. Her fingers sank into his hair as she pulled him even closer. He inhaled deeply of her scent. Blossoms and summer sun and everything bold and bright and wonderful. Everything that was filled with hope.
He inhaled that hope, and he kissed her with everything he had. They had been practicing, after all. The nights had been long, staying on those bloody uncomfortable inn beds, not making love to his wife as he longed. But he had been determined. Stubborn, it was true. He wanted their first time—both of their first times—to be perfect.
He wanted to begin their life together where they would live it out, and where he felt most comfortable—at his country seat. This was a place of hard work and joy. It was just the place for a new start.
They moved as one, kissing, crossing the chamber, moving slowly toward the bed. His fingers found the knot of her dressing gown, plucking it open. The ends of her robe gaped, and he slid it from her shoulders. The night rail she wore beneath was thin and soft, so bloody soft. But not as soft as her skin. He absorbed her heat, her curves. Every inch of her he could.
Wild in Winter Page 13
