Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9) Read online

  “Fuck.” Sutton whistled. “Always carrying the keg, Devil Winter. Never could take a goddamn joke. If I wanted my dogs to eat you, you’d already be dead.”

  Hardly comforting, as reassurances went.

  Devil ground his molars and chose to ignore his foe’s taunts. “You have had fires in your hell recently. Fancy nibs getting fleeced in the street when they leave, aye? The charleys have been paid off, and one of your shipments of whisky was stolen.”

  Sutton’s eyes narrowed. “The work of Winters, surely.”

  “Not after we have given our word,” Devil countered. “We have our honor.”

  “And a whole lot of different whores for mothers.”

  Devil shrugged. Insults to the woman who had birthed him affected him not. “Mayhap. No different for Suttons, is it?”

  The Sutton family was larger than the Winters. More brutal. Their lineage questionable at best.

  “Take care. Won’t be good for me to get crabbed.” Sutton’s lip curled. “You’ll get no help from me if you can’t be civil, Winter.”

  Devil raised a brow. “I respond in kind. An eye for an eye and a twat for a twat, isn’t it?”

  Jasper Sutton appeared distinctly unimpressed by his attempt at a joke, even after he had just insulted Devil’s ability to take one. “You’re a bold one, sauntering into my territory, needing my help. Thought you said you had a square thing for me.”

  “I do, but first, I need your promise that you will help me.”

  Sutton nodded. “I promise.”

  “Not good enough.” Devil knew Jasper Sutton. They had been battling for far too long. The man’s word was worth less than a bob. “I need proof.”

  “Fuck.” Sutton’s eyes narrowed once more. “Fine. I’ll return the little shite what’s been haunting my alleys and filching all the coin and watches from the pockets of every nib who leaves my hell. He says he belongs to you Winters anyway. Glad to get him off my hands.”

  Surprised filtered through Devil. “Davy?”

  He hadn’t had an inkling that the troublesome young pickpocket his brother had taken in and brought to The Devil’s Spawn had been missing. But then, he supposed the time he had spent with Evie had isolated him from his world and his family more than he had realized. Almost a fortnight, and it had changed every bloody thing.

  “Aye, that’s the scamp’s name. A slippery one, that. Tipped us the Dublin packet many a night until we caught him. You can have him back if you promise to keep him where he belongs.”

  Hell.

  Of course, Dom would want the little bugger back. He was an honorary Winter now, despite the reckless hellion’s rebellious nature. His brother was overtly fond of Davy, but then, he was also soft as a pie since he’d gone and fallen in love with Lady Adele.

  Then again, Devil could not blame him. He was similarly soft over Lady Evie.

  “I will take the lad with me,” Devil allowed. “And I will accept your promise of his return as proof enough. What do you know of Paul Wilmore?”

  Once more, Sutton sneered. “That he is a son of a whore and ought to be beaten to death with a sack of his own shit.”

  Well. That was certainly…honesty. Devil could work with that.

  “What if I were to tell you I know far more about him? That he is the man who is behind not only the fires at your hell but The Devil’s Spawn as well, and that he has been paying men to cheat at our hells, steal from our patrons, and shoot at innocent ladies?”

  “I would tell you no lady is innocent,” Sutton said, his countenance guarded. “But then I would also tell you I want to know more. And I want evidence that what you say is true.”

  “I have one of his men,” Devil said. “He will tell the tale better than I can, if you will but see him.”

  After he had returned Evie to her chamber that morning, he had been restless, unable to sleep. Despite the fact he had managed no slumber at all, his body had reached the point where his lack of rest no longer mattered. When he had discovered the truth about Paul Wilmore the night before, he had been elated. And then, when he had comprehended the full extent of the sins the bastard had committed, he had been outraged. His fury had taken him to the matches Wilmore held.

  His opponent had been no match for Devil’s fury. He had beaten him to the point of unconsciousness, and then he had made certain he had learned everything there was to know about Wilmore. Including the efforts he had recently been taking to undermine both the Winters and the Suttons. Devil had dragged the bastard back to The Devil’s Spawn himself, where he had been under guard until bringing the man to Jasper Sutton so he could play the bird and sing.

  Like a man possessed, Devil had returned to the townhome expecting to formulate his strategy. Instead, Evie had been awaiting him. But after her desires had been slaked, there had been no sleep for Devil. No rest. There had only been the burning urge to do what he must. To sever ties with Evie and see that Wilmore got what he deserved, whilst leaving Evie forever safe.

  As safe as she could be.

  But time and distance from Dom, Devil, and the rest of the East End Winters would give her that. Especially after she became Lady Denton.

  At the notion, he bit his lip so hard, the metallic tang of blood invaded his mouth. Christ, he had wounded himself.

  At long last, Jasper Sutton gave a short, jerky nod of approval. “Bring him to me.”

  It was only then Devil realized he had been holding his breath.

  He inhaled, the rush of air making his lungs burn. It was the most he had felt since leaving Evie for good earlier that morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the end, Evie wrote Lord Denton a letter, crying off.

  It was not the manner in which she had intended to deliver the news of her change of heart. However, Addy was adamant that it remained unsafe for Evie to traipse about London. Seeking Denton out was impossible and scandalous, and as he believed her rusticating in the countryside in aid to her mother and grandmother, her sudden reappearance would spark confusion and, with it, the resulting wagging of tongues.

  Addy had proven the voice of reason, urging Evie to accept Blade Winter’s protection and traveling with him to The Devil’s Spawn. In veils, of course. No one must recognize her once she arrived, were she to be observed by any of the lords who patronized Addy’s husband’s establishment.

  And so it was that she found herself being transported to a gaming hell in the East End in the midst of the day, accompanied by a man named after a weapon.

  Blade Winter was quiet, seated opposite her, idly toying with a dagger that appeared terrifically sharp. And yet, he ran his thumb over its edge as if it could do him no harm.

  “Is Blade your true Christian name?” she asked at last, curious, and also seeking some distraction.

  Her heart and mind were at war. And she was terrified Theo would reject her. That he would once more push her away as thoroughly as he had on nearly every occasion they had been alone. Every occasion save last night, of course. The reminder made her belly clench and heat slide between her thighs. Her cheeks also went hot.

  She shifted on her seat, attempting to get comfortable.

  Blade stroked the pad of his thumb over the fearsome point of his dagger, eying her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Devil’s true name is Theodore. It stands to reason that your name is not Blade,” she said.

  Blade stilled, then cried out. Scarlet dripped form his thumb, running down his wicked-looking dagger. He must have pressed too hard upon the point. Mayhap distracted by her question. He held the wounded flesh to his lips and sucked. But it was too late. Blood had already dripped down his wrist, staining his shirtsleeves, and fallen upon his breeches, marring the otherwise faultless fabric.

  “Oh dear.” Evie pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and offered it to him. “Here you are, sir. This ought to stem the flow.”

  “I’ll mark it with my blood, my lady,” he pointed out.

  Did he truly fear she would mind? Good h
eavens, the man had cut himself because of her, and all she wanted was to stop the bleeding.

  “I do not care if the handkerchief is ruined,” she assured him. “Tend to yourself, please.”

  He wrapped it tightly about his thumb and then pinned her with a searching gaze. Like Theo, Blade’s stare was bright, striking, and blue. He, too, was a handsome man. But he was golden haired to Theo’s dark, masculine beauty. She could see they shared a father rather than a mother—their frames, all broad shoulders and sinuous muscle, were the same.

  “Devil’s name is Theodore?” he asked at length.

  Did he not know?

  Could it be possible Theo had shared a secret with her that he had never allowed another to know? Not even his own brother?

  Evie tried to quell the hope rising within her—foolish and futile at this juncture—and failed, nonetheless.

  “Of course it is,” she said calmly, impressing herself with her lack of emotion. “Surely he must have told you, Mr. Blade?”

  He grinned, as if she had just said something amusing. “No mister. Blade will do. And no, Lady Evangeline, my brother Devil has never told me his Christian name is Theodore. I can understand why.”

  She frowned at him. “Why?”

  “Theodore is a soft name. Would hardly strike fear into the hearts of enemies.” Blade Winter chuckled.

  “He is not as ferocious as he seems. Theo suits him far more than Devil does.”

  He gave her a strange look, one she could not decipher. “You seem quite familiar with Devil.”

  Her cheeks went hot as she recalled just how familiar she was. But she would not look away. If she was to be a part of Theo’s world, she would have to familiarize herself with it. There was no room for shame or propriety and rules.

  “If I am?” she asked Blade.

  He studied her for far longer than she would have preferred, until her ears went hot beneath the force of his scrutiny. At long last, he nodded, as if he had reached a decision of some sort. “Aye. You’ll do.”

  She would do?

  What did that mean?

  Before she could ask either question, their carriage rocked to a halt. “We’ve arrived, my lady. Flip down your veil and do not stray from my side.”

  She did as he directed. “Thank you for bringing me here, Blade. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.”

  “I ain’t kind, Lady Evangeline,” her escort bit out. “But I love my brother and if you’re his woman, then you’re family to me.”

  Her heart swelled at his words—and at the notion, utterly wondrous—of being Theo’s woman. But before she could respond, the door to the carriage opened abruptly. Dom Winter stood there with a troubled countenance, a young boy with an impossibly dirty face at his side.

  “I need you, Blade,” he said curtly without acknowledging Evie’s presence.

  She had shielded her face, it was true, but he knew Blade had been acting as her bodyguard in Theo’s stead. This was a side of her brother-in-law she had never seen, and it filled her with misgiving, tying her stomach in knots. Mr. Winter had always been gentlemanly and considerate in her presence, charming and sweet with Addy. A worried Dominic Winter could only be a harbinger of something bad.

  Something—mayhap—that related to Theo. Dear God.

  Blade exited the carriage, his entire bearing changing. An ominous intensity poured from him and if he had not just traveled with her from Mayfair, civilized and polite as can be—aside from his dagger and the blood, of course—she would have sworn him a different man altogether. The misgiving within her blossomed and grew, flooding her.

  “What is it?” Blade bit out.

  Evie clambered out of the carriage as well, desperate for answers.

  Mr. Winter offered her an abbreviated bow. “My lady. Forgive me, but there is a matter of grave import my brother and I must attend. Davy will show you inside to a private salon where you can make yourself comfortable.”

  “You need not go to trouble on my behalf,” she said, hoping to garner some answers. To find Theo. “I only wish to speak to Theo.”

  Her brother-in-law’s brow furrowed. “Theo?”

  “Devil, apparently,” Blade said, raising a sardonic brow.

  Mr. Winter muttered an epithet. “God willing, he shall speak with you soon enough. However, for the moment, I must insist you go with Davy.”

  Something was wrong, Evie knew it.

  “I am not going anywhere until you tell me what is happening,” she countered. “If Theo is in danger—”

  “He is,” her brother-in-law interrupted. “And that is why you must go with Davy. Blade and I will do everything we can to help him. But for now, what he needs more than anything is for you to remain safe.”

  A gasp tore from her, fear clawing her from within. “What is happening? Where is he?”

  “Go with Davy,” her brother-in-law told her, his tone sharp enough for her to know he, too, feared whatever situation Theo had found himself in. “Devil will wish to know you are unharmed. Blade and I will do everything we can to bring him back to you.”

  She swallowed, looking to the lad with the soiled face. He grinned, offering her his arm. “This way, m’lady.”

  She glanced back at Addy’s husband, whose expression was grave.

  “Trust me, Lady Evie. He is our brother, and we will do everything we can to bring him back to you. But time is wasting, and we must go.”

  Of course. The bond between all the Winter siblings was incredibly strong. She knew that from Addy. And she knew it from Theo himself. Whatever the situation in which Theo had suddenly found himself embroiled, she had to trust her brother-in-law.

  “Go to him, then,” she managed, barely avoiding bursting into fearful tears. The tremor in her voice said enough.

  She took the filthy urchin’s proffered arm and allowed herself to be led into The Devil’s Spawn.

  The plan had been simple.

  But like all simple plans, it quickly become complicated. And then, it became downright deadly.

  The barrel of a pistol in his lower back told Devil he’d found Paul Wilmore in the instant before the bastard’s growl was in his ear.

  “Fine day to die, Winter.”

  Icy dread slid through him.

  Fucking hell.

  This was not the way he had intended to cross paths with Wilmore. The bastard was supposed to have been within his private rooms, bedding one of his harlots. Obviously that bit of information had been wrong.

  “Wilmore,” he bit out. “Coward’s way, is it?”

  “Smart way, the way I sees it. End an enemy before ’e ends me.”

  “I didn’t come here to kill you,” he gritted. Not entirely true. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have sent Blade to do the job, and you’d be bleeding on the floor as we speak.”

  Also not complete truth. Blade was no stranger to killing. However, Devil wanted to be the one to defend Evie. To make certain she was safe. He had to do that for her, because he could never have her for himself.

  “You’ll pardon me for not believin’ a word you say, Winter,” Wilmore spat.

  Devil did not blame him. Wilmore was no fool, even if he was reckless and ruthless. Else he would not have been capable of scraping and clawing his way up in the East End to where he was now, flush enough with power that he dared to torment the two most powerful families in the rookeries.

  Devil inclined his head, aware his position was precarious at best. Jasper Sutton was no solid ally, and although he had promised the aid of his men, Devil did not entirely trust him. And whilst he had sent Davy back to The Devil’s Spawn with an order to tell Blade and Dom what was unfolding, he was not certain the rascal would not find another tempting pocket to pick on his way home. Devil ought to have gone back to the hell himself to fetch his brothers, but Sutton had wanted to move on Wilmore immediately and Devil had not wanted his sometime nemesis to allow Wilmore to tip them the Dublin packet.

  “You don’t have to believe m
e, Wilmore,” he said calmly now, taking care to remain immobile as his mind whirled and madly plotted a means of saving himself. “But I would appreciate it if you hear me speak before putting a ball in my back.”

  “Less trouble to kill you now,” Wilmore returned.

  Also an excellent point, but Devil wasn’t about to admit that.

  “If you kill me, the Winters will have their vengeance,” he tried next, for this, too, was truth. His siblings were loyal. They were family. They were all they had. And they would—every last one of them, from Dom to Gen and Gavin or Demon and Blade—give up their lives to save one another. “There will be nowhere for you to hide that they will not find you and destroy you. Is that what you want, Wilmore? Dead men can’t get rich.”

  The man’s pause was telling.

  He was contemplating Devil’s words. Weighing his choices.

  “What the fuck are you doin’ in my ’ell?” Wilmore spat.

  “What the fuck were you doing having your men shoot at my brother’s sister-in-law?” he countered.

  How odd it seemed to refer to Evie in such bland terms. As if she had no relation to him, as if he scarcely knew her. When, in truth, he knew her. He knew her lips beneath his, her sweet curves, her scent, her taste, how to make her come undone.

  He bit his already abused lower lip hard enough to draw forth more blood. An excellent distraction. He could not afford to be weak in this moment. He had to be strong and firm, to deflect and defend.

  “Sister-in-law?” Wilmore asked then.

  “Lady Evangeline Saltisford,” he elaborated. “Daughter to the Duke of Linross. One of your lackeys shot at her once, nearly wounding Viscount Denton. And on the second try, he shot Lady Evangeline herself.”

  “Fuck.”

  Wilmore’s low curse said more than any other response could have.

  Understanding dawned on Devil. “You never intended anyone to be shot, did you? I am going to step away from your weapon and turn to face you at the count of five.”

  “You can count to five, can you?” Wilmore taunted. “Thought you was a simpleton.”