Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9) Page 13

  Devil clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the old hurts. “Aye. I can count.”

  He barely refrained from adding you worthless arsehole to his response.

  And then, he did as he had warned. What else had he to lose? He had already lost Evie. There was precious little left. He moved, holding his breath as he went, at any moment expecting to feel the blast of Wilmore’s gun lodging in his head or spine.

  Instead, he spun, facing Wilmore and an ominous double-barrel flintlock.

  Still, he was not dead. There was that.

  “Stay where you are, Winter,” the other man warned.

  Devil had no doubt Wilmore would shoot him dead without a hint of conscience. However, he also knew men of Wilmore’s ilk. The bastard was likely fretting over Devil’s words, wondering what would befall him if he dared to kill a Winter. His concern for his own worthless hide was trumping all else.

  “Consider what will happen to you if I am injured,” he reminded his opponent. “Or worse.”

  “Not sure I give a damn about what will happen either way,” Wilmore sneered.

  A flash of movement caught Devil’s attention then. By God, he had never been more relieved to see Jasper Sutton. Presuming Sutton would aid him, that was. Hoping Wilmore had not taken note of Devil’s traveling gaze, he jerked his stare back to the man with the gun pointed at his heart.

  “You will give a damn when my brother is slitting your throat,” he told Wilmore smoothly.

  Meanwhile, Sutton took his position behind Wilmore, raising his own weapon.

  “Eh. Might be worth killing you to bring old Dom Winter out of ’iding. Married a fancy duke’s daughter and thinks ’imself too good for the rookeries, does ’e?” Wilmore taunted. “Mayhap spilling your worthless blood will get ’is attention.”

  “What is it you hope to gain?” he asked, attempting to drag out the moment, give Sutton enough time to act.

  Wilmore grinned. “Power. Coin. What does anyone want? I’ve had enough chatter, Winter. What did you come ’ere for?”

  Vengeance.

  To make certain no harm would ever come to Evie again.

  “To speak with you,” he said, and that was not entirely a falsehood.

  “Not in the mood.” Wilmore cocked his head. “Get ready to cock up your toes—”

  A feral cry interrupted Wilmore’s words, stealing his attention. He jerked.

  Everything unfolded in a hazy blur. Shots rang out. A blazing pain seared through Devil’s shoulder. He reached for his own hidden weapon, but in the next moment, he took a vicious blow to the head. Everything went black.

  His last thoughts were of Evie as he fell into the void.

  Chapter Twelve

  A tray of tea had been delivered, but Evie had not been able to stomach a sip. She was a massive knot of worry mingled with fear. The Winters had yet to return, and the scamp who was doing his utmost to entertain her was not distraction enough to serve as a balm for her frayed nerves.

  She paced the salon for what must have been the hundredth time—a habit she was engaging in with alarming frequency of late—and turned back to discover her reticule gone. Her gaze traveled to the urchin, whose face was still quite streaked with dirt, and who was in the midst of regaling her with a tale of a litter of kittens he had recently rescued from the streets.

  “Ashes, she’s the sweetest one of them all, milady. Gray with green eyes.”

  “Davy?” She moved toward him, brows raised.

  “Aye, milady?” He gave her a gap-toothed grin she suspected had gotten him out of any number of scrapes. “Want a kitten, do you? His nabs don’t want me to keep them all. Says we’ll be overrun if I do. Says I needs to find homes. I can go and fetch Ashes for you, if you like.”

  He was attempting to distract her, but she was not fooled in the least.

  She reached him and held out her hand. “Where is my reticule?”

  He blinked. “Rettycule?”

  “Shall I empty all your pockets? Or perhaps when Mr. Winter returns he can hold you upside down and see if my belongings fall out.”

  Naughty lad, thinking he could thieve her reticule without her realizing it. She was distressed, but she still had eyes, and her reticule had been on the settee where she had left it one moment and gone the next.

  The boy’s smile faded. “Don’t tell his nabs. I ain’t supposed to be filching here.”

  “Return my reticule, and he shall be none the wiser,” she allowed grimly.

  The little rogue plucked it from his coat and returned it to her with a grumble.

  “Thank you.” She looked inside to make certain he had not removed anything.

  But in the next moment, she forgot all about her reticule. A great commotion had risen in the hall beyond the salon.

  “Where is she?”

  She recognized that roar.

  Evie’s hand flew to her heart and she raced toward the door. It flew open to reveal a bloodied, pale Theo. There was scarlet on his face, staining his white shirtsleeves. So much blood. And this time, there was also a wound evident beneath the tattered remnants of his garment.

  Dear God, he had been shot.

  “Theo!” she cried out, rushing to him. “What has happened? I was so worried.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Lady Evangeline?” he demanded, his voice cold and harsh, bearing the lash of a whip.

  His countenance was ashen, but his blue eyes held the chill of ice. He appeared furious with her. And he had called her Lady Evangeline.

  Not Evie.

  Not even milady.

  But Lady Evangeline.

  “I…” She faltered, taken aback by his appearance and his reaction. “I came here to see you.”

  Dom and Blade Winter appeared behind him, Dom settling a hand on Theo’s uninjured shoulder. “Come, Devil. You’ve lost enough blood as it is. You need to see the doctor.”

  “Fuck the doctor,” he growled, his gaze never straying from Evie’s. “I want her gone.”

  The tender lover of the night before had vanished. In his place was a feral, angry creature. What had she done to warrant such a reaction from him? Where had he gone? And what had happened to him?

  “Theo,” she said, reaching for him. “What is happening? How badly are you hurt?”

  His lip curled. “I’ll survive. Go back to Mayfair where you belong.”

  “Not until you speak with me.” She shook her head. “I am not going anywhere with you wounded and bleeding. Your brother is right. You need to see a doctor at once.”

  He swayed but caught himself and did not fall.

  He was badly wounded.

  “You need to leave,” he told her, his voice as cutting as a dagger.

  “I will not leave when you need me.” How did he think she could go when he was grievously injured, bleeding and unsteady on his feet? Her heart could not withstand any more worry and fear this day. She could not stray from his side. No matter how biting and angry the words he directed at her.

  “I don’t need you.” He swayed again. “I never did. Get the hell out of here. You have nothing to fear any longer. The man responsible for the danger surrounding you is dead.”

  “Come, brother,” Dom urged him again. “You are bleeding all over the goddamn carpet.”

  So he was. Evie gasped as she realized blood was running down Theo’s arm, dripping off his limp hand, pooling on the floor.

  “Go home, duke’s daughter,” Theo snarled at her. “You do not belong here.”

  He listed once more, and then he went paler, his eyes rolling back in his head. He collapsed against Dom and Blade, who caught his large frame with ease.

  Fear washed over her, making her mouth go dry. She rushed forward, uncertain of what she could do for him, if anything. Needing to touch him, to be reassured he was still breathing. She swiped a lock of hair from his brow, absorbing the warmth of his skin.

  “He needs surgery,” Dom told her gently, but his expression was strained. “He h
as lost a great deal of blood, and we haven’t any time to waste.”

  “Of course.” She nodded, swallowing against a rush of bile. “Do what you must. I shall wait here.”

  With that, Dom and Blade hauled an unconscious Theo from the salon.

  Taking her heart with them.

  The wait was excruciating.

  Addy had arrived to keep Evie company, but not even the presence of her twin could diminish the fear and worry churning within her.

  “You must try to calm yourself, dearest,” Addy reminded her now, her voice tender but firm. “I am certain all will be well.”

  She wished she possessed her sister’s aptitude for thinking the best in a wretched situation. Addy was a ray of sunlight; she saw the goodness in everyone and everything. In the current moment, Evie was a storm cloud.

  “I cannot be calm,” she told Addy. “Will you check and see if Dom has any word yet?”

  “Darling, he promised he would come to us as soon as the surgeon has finished.” Addy put a comforting arm around Evie’s shoulders. “Shall I ring for some tea? Have you eaten anything today?”

  “I cannot eat.” Hunger had become obsolete. All she wanted was to know about Theo, how he had fared.

  If he would live.

  Dear God, he had to live.

  She could not bear to think of him dying, and all because he had been so intent upon saving her.

  “Just some biscuits, perhaps,” Addy tried.

  “This is all my fault,” Evie said, closing her eyes against a fresh rush of tears. “If it were not for me, he would not have been wounded.”

  “You must not blame yourself for what happened,” her twin told her, still remaining the calm Evie needed. “What is most important is that the man behind the attacks on you cannot hurt you any longer. Nor can he hurt any of us. Devil will be well, I am certain.”

  “I wish I possessed your certainty,” she said bitterly. “I am terrified, Addy.”

  “Nothing is certain, of course,” Addy said, giving her shoulders another squeeze of sisterly solidarity. “However, all we have is hope and faith. We must trust in both.”

  Her sister was too good.

  Too sweet.

  And Evie was all too fallible.

  She was about to respond in kind when the door opened and Dom Winter appeared on the threshold once more, looking weary and grim.

  Her heart fell to her slippers as she leapt to her feet. “How is he?”

  “The surgeon is finished with his work. It went well, he believes, and fortunately the ball passed through in a clean fashion, avoiding bone or muscle. If he does not suffer an infection, the surgeon is confident he will maintain the use of his arm.”

  Relief hit her. “Thank heavens. Where is he? I must go to him.”

  “Forgive me,” her brother-in-law said softly, his countenance softening with sympathy. “But he does not want to see you.”

  “Surely not. That cannot be.” She searched Dom’s dark gaze. “I know what he said before, but he did not mean it, I am certain.”

  “He is adamant.” Dom paused then, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture that suggested he was not as calm as he outwardly seemed. “In his state, I think it best not to cause him any further upset. He has asked that you return home.”

  “Without seeing him?” The despair she had been barely keeping at bay for hours returned, fiercer than ever. “Without speaking with him?”

  “It is what Devil wishes,” her brother-in-law said.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling dizzy. The combination of the extreme emotions she had experienced over the last few hours along with her refusal to take sustenance was finally having an effect upon her.

  Theo did not want her here.

  He was pushing her away, resurrecting all the walls keeping them apart once more. Why? Did he truly believe she could not be happy sharing her life with him? Did he fear the potential for danger? Or was it merely a more painful truth—that he was not in love with her?

  A strong hand steadied her. But it was not the hand she wanted.

  “Lady Evie?” Dom’s voice prodded. “Are you well? You look pale.”

  Inhaling slowly, she opened her eyes, hating the pity she saw reflected on her brother-in-law’s face. “I am as well as I can be. Will you…will you tell Theo I wish him well?”

  Her voice broke on the last word, as the possible finality of this moment hit her. Theo had not died today, but he intended to disappear from her life just the same.

  For now, she had no choice but to let him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The pain was scorching. Searing. Intense.

  He was dwelling in some manner of hell. That had to be the answer for it. He was hot. Aflame. Burning alive. Devil had never known such agony, such acute misery.

  But through it all, there was something, a presence, a lightness. And somehow, he knew that presence was her.

  Evie.

  He tried to say her name, but all he managed was a croak.

  A soft, soothing voice reached him. A cool cloth bathed his brow.

  And then he surrendered to the darkness once more.

  He was drowning in a sea. Struggling to stay afloat, to paddle to the distant shore. But his shoulder was weak and painful. His left arm hung limply. Would he ever be able to use it again?

  The mocking laughter echoed all around him.

  He recognized the sound of that bitter cackle, that voice. The scent. Blue ruin.

  The woman who had given him life had always stunk of it.

  By the end, it had stolen her looks and robbed her of life. Her eyes had been dull and lifeless, cold as her heart when he had seen her shortly before her death. She had come to ask him for coin, of all things. And Devil, stupid sod that he was, had given her some. Enough to keep food in her belly, to give her a roof over her head. But instead of spending it on such worthy necessities, she had used it to procure more spirits. The last penny he had ever given her had been poured down her throat.

  “Stupid,” she whispered, the taunt turning into a chant. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  The dream shifted, changed.

  He was no longer in the sea but at The Devil’s Spawn.

  Cora was there. Beautiful, faithless Cora.

  Telling him he was not worthy of her. That she would sooner be a lord’s whore than a thief’s wife.

  Her back was to him, and when he reached for her, she turned.

  It was not Cora looking at him, but Evie.

  Evie with her tousled golden curls and her tearstained face.

  “Live for me,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “Evie,” he tried to say, but his voice was hoarse.

  She fell away.

  That was when the flames returned, burning him into nothing.

  Devil woke in the night with a jolt, pain lancing him. His head ached. His shoulder was on fire. But hovering on the air was a sweet scent he recognized. Or at least, he thought he did.

  That scent tore him from the bowels of whatever perdition he had been inhabiting. It called to him like a siren’s song. He was in the grips of delirium again, he was sure. Delusional from the fevers attacking his body. Infection had set in, and he had been paying the price, torn between the abyss of mindlessness and terrible nightmares that threatened to steal his soul.

  He was cloaked in darkness, the chamber bathed in shadows. He could scarcely keep his eyes open—the lids were so damn heavy. Nothing made sense, and yet everything did.

  He recalled pieces of what had happened. Wilmore’s pistol against his back, the gunfire that had erupted as Jasper Sutton had struck first, killing their mutual enemy.

  Not before Wilmore had landed a bullet in Devil’s shoulder, however.

  None of that mattered. All that did matter was that Evie was safe. Wilmore’s power had been doused by his death, and his men would be left scrambling. The hell would close. The threat was over.

  And Devil had made certain she woul
d return to her aristocratic world where she belonged. To the lord she would marry. The thought was more painful than the ball that had torn through his flesh.

  He shifted on the bed, trying to find comfort for his aching back, but the movement was nigh impossible. His body felt as weak as a newborn foal’s.

  “Theo?”

  The hopeful whisper was familiar.

  Hers.

  He inhaled sharply, but even that movement brought him pain. He clenched his jaw to stave off a wave of nausea.

  Damn it, he had not been wrong about the scent. She was here, somewhere near to him in the darkness. He wanted to touch her so badly he shuddered. But then, he realized his teeth were chattering. And suddenly he was cold, so cold. Shaking with the chill. He could not get warm enough.

  Nor could he speak.

  Fingers gently stroked his hair. Soft, knowing, delicate fingers. He closed his eyes and thought of them, pale and elegant, the nails rounded, the pads silken. But she must not be here. Did she not understand? He was doing this for her. Because he could not bear for her to ever be in danger again. Because he could not make her his knowing she would one day resent him.

  It was better this way.

  She was too good for his sorry arse.

  Better off without him.

  She would see, one day.

  But for now, he could not muster the desire to send her away. Not when she was touching him with such tenderness. He could almost pretend she loved him. Stupid, he knew.

  No one could ever love Devil Winter.

  Still, he closed his eyes and sank back into the alluring depths of sleep as her fingers gently swept over him.

  Morning dawned over the East End just as it did in Mayfair. The East End was louder, brasher, dirtier, more crowded and dangerous. Smellier, too. But the sun rose all the same.

  Evie had pulled back the window dressings herself to allow light to filter into Theo’s sickroom. She had also opened the window, and the evidence of the East End’s sometimes pungent presence was making itself known as a swift breeze blew through the room. He needed sunlight. And fresh air. Unfortunately, the air was not terribly fresh. But it was better than the stale air of his sickroom, and it would have to do.