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

  Evie bathed Theo’s feverish forehead with a damp, cool cloth.

  For days, she had stayed away, following his wishes. Until at last, Dom had told her Theo’s condition had taken a grave turn. Infection had settled in. She had gone to The Devil’s Spawn, determined that no one would get in the way of her seeing him and tending to him.

  She had never felt more helpless in her life than she had when she had first entered his chamber to find him lying so pale and still upon his bed, his dark hair soaked with perspiration, the bandage on his shoulder soaked through with the balm she had applied and streaks of blood. The felled beast.

  And she was responsible for everything that had happened to him.

  That had been two days ago.

  She had not left his side since, and she was determined she would not. Not until he opened his eyes and demanded she go. Or not until he breathed his last. She was more determined never to allow the latter to occur, to do everything in her power to see him live.

  The horrible reality was that it was possible Theo would not survive the infection that had claimed him. That he would succumb to the fevers ravaging his body. A sob rose in her throat, but she forced it down, refusing to allow herself to cry. She had wept enough during the days she had honored his request for separation.

  His skin felt cooler today than it had the day before, and she had sworn in the depths of the night that he had been awake. He had been moving, not thrashing in his bed as he did when in the grips of his delirium. But rather, his motions had seemingly been deliberate and slow. The actions of a lucid man.

  At least, that was what she dared to hope.

  She had stroked his hair until at last, his steady, reassuring breathing had lulled her into a brief, dreamless sleep. When the first strains of dawn had filtered through the curtains, she had been awake, checking him for any signs of change.

  Praying and tending and loving—that was all she could do for him, and she was willing to perform them all, in any order, repeatedly, until he was well.

  He shifted beneath her ministrations, a groan tearing from him, along with a hiss of pain as he attempted to move his injured shoulder.

  Hope soared. “Theo?”

  Long, dark lashes moved on his pale cheeks. Slowly, they rose, revealing his beloved blue gaze. Bluer than the summer sky in the country. Bluer than blue. And clear, lucid. No trace of fever in their depths.

  “Why?” he rasped, attempting to say more but then stopping, running his tongue over his lower lip, which was cracked and dry.

  “Water?” she asked.

  He gave a jerky nod, and she rose with haste to fetch him some, bringing it back to the bedside and helping him to lift his head so he could take a proper drink. She allowed him three gulps before withdrawing the cup, not wishing for him to be ill after so many days of precious little water, and nothing but dribbles of broth spooned down his throat. He was weak and ill, and he needed to proceed slowly, as any invalid would.

  “Why are you here?” he growled.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, ignoring his question.

  “Why are you here?” he demanded once more.

  Did she dare tell him the truth? That she was here because she loved him? She did not think the weary, broken stranger glaring at her wanted to hear those words now. Mayhap not ever.

  She needed to tread with care. “I am here because it is my fault you were wounded. It is my fault you suffered the infection and were so gravely ill these last few days.”

  “I told you to go.”

  His curt, cold voice did nothing to stay the hope and relief welling within her. He had not been this lucid since her arrival. And though he looked weak and pale—understandably after all the trauma he had just endured—there was a vitality about him which had been previously absent.

  “Yes,” she agreed calmly. “You did.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t want you here.”

  “So you have said repeatedly.” Once more, she kept her tone bright, nary a hint of the hurt blossoming within her showing.

  “Get out.”

  It was not the first time Theodore Winter had ordered her from his chamber; different room, different day. But Evie was not heeding him this time. She had before, and she had almost lost him. She was not about to lose him now.

  “No.”

  His lip curled. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Nevertheless, I am here. Remaining.” She held the cup to his lips. “More water?”

  He lifted his right hand and swatted the cup away, spilling its contents all over his counterpane and sloshing on her bodice in the process. It was terribly childish of him. And part of her she dared not reveal—the part of her that loved him desperately and had been terrified he would die all whilst she had been getting scarcely any rest—longed to cry. To run from the chamber and hide from his wrath.

  But she reminded herself he was only trying to do what was best. The Theo Winter she had come to know was not a beast but a man. A good, kind man. A handsome, wonderful man. The man she loved.

  “You have spilled the water all over your bedclothes,” she observed calmly. “All you needed to do was say you were not thirsty, Theo. No need for theatrics.”

  “Devil,” he gritted.

  “You shall always be Theo to me,” she told him pointedly, holding his gaze and daring him to defy her. To offer argument.

  “Go,” he ordered her again.

  “As we have already established, I am not leaving.” And damn him for waking from days of fever—for being at the edge of life and death—and then demanding she remove herself from his presence the instant he was awake. Part of her longed to box his ears. But another part of her longed to kiss him. She was so relieved he was awake and himself.

  Surely this meant he was going to survive this.

  “You do not belong here.”

  “I belong wherever you are.” The impassioned words fled her before she could think better of them.

  She had revealed too much. Made herself far too vulnerable.

  He stared, his jaw rigid. “You don’t belong with me, milady. I’m too stupid, an East End bastard born of a whore. Can’t even read.”

  She flinched at his description of himself, but forged onward, needing him to see the difference. To see himself for the man he was instead of as the worthless boy his mother had taught him to believe he was. “Of course you can read. You have been making great progress, and you are not stupid at all, Theo. Your brain sees the letters in a different order at times, and I believe that is what has caused you difficulty in the past.”

  He sneered. “Made you come and it’s fogged your mind.”

  His crude words made her flush. “Do not make a mockery of yourself or what we shared, I beg you.”

  He stared at her, and she had to once more stifle the urge to weep. This was a different sort of misery altogether. “I’ve a lame arm.”

  Her gaze flicked to his wounded arm. She had seen him move it in the depths of his fevers, so she knew it was possible. Not to mention what the surgeon had told Dom. “Your brother said the surgeon was confident you should not lose any movement. The ball passed through, avoiding muscle and bone.”

  “Don’t give a goddamn what the leech said. I know how my arm feels. Dead.” As if to punctuate his words, he attempted to move the arm in question and then stopped, inhaling sharply, his expression clouding with pain.

  “Stop, Theo,” she said. “You will injure yourself further.”

  “Who bloody well cares?”

  “I do!” She pressed a shaking hand over her heart, trying not to allow him to see how badly she was trembling just now. “I care, Theo.”

  But he remained impervious. “Go, milady. You aren’t wanted or needed here.”

  He was breaking her heart, but she refused to allow him to see it. “You risked your life to see me safe. The least I can do is show you my appreciation.”

  “Don’t want gratitude or pity from you.”

  An
ger rose within her swiftly, usurping the pain for a heartbeat. “Then what is it you want from me?”

  “For you to leave me alone. Marry Dullerton. Give him half a dozen brats.”

  “Theo,” she began, intending to tell him she had ended her betrothal to Lord Denton.

  But he interrupted her by taking up the spilled cup in his right fist and hurling it to the wall behind her. It shattered into hundreds of pieces, raining to the floor.

  “Get out,” he roared.

  She flinched, rising from the chair she had been occupying at his side. “I will fetch your brother.”

  Evie dipped into a hasty curtsy and then fled the chamber. She was not going to give up on him. But it was apparent that she needed to form a battle plan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Theo woke again, it was to find Dom keeping vigil at his bedside. But the scent lingering on the air was undeniable, mixed with the medicinal tang of the sickroom. Warm, ripe fruit.

  Evie, curse her beautiful, maddening, wonderful hide.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice nothing more than a rusty croak. As weak as his body felt.

  “Who?” Dom asked as if he did not already know the answer.

  There had never been another woman who had moved him, who affected him, the way Lady Evangeline Saltisford did. Pity she was a lady, betrothed to another man, and could never be his.

  “Lady Evie,” he bit out, his tongue feeling rough, too large. Dry. “Water?”

  “Of course.” Dom rose, crossed the room to a table where all manner of vials and tinctures and salves had been laid out, and poured water into a cup.

  Devil supposed it was the same place Evie had fetched the water, but he had been a reckless knot of confusion, anger, good intentions, and feverish stupidity then. He had been furious to find her defying him, hating that she was once more where he wanted her, and yet he could not truly have her. Mind dulled by fever and sickness. When she had fled the room, he had fallen asleep once more, claimed by more nightmares.

  This time, the flames had not engulfed him. The fevers attacking him seemed to have waned and thank Christ for that. He had been close to death, and he knew it.

  Dom returned and held the cup to Devil’s lips.

  He drank greedily but slowly.

  “Where is she?” he asked again after he had swallowed all he could manage and his voice was less than a reedy rumble at last.

  “You were terrible to her,” his brother observed instead of answering Devil’s query. “A vicious arse.”

  He had been. Devil did not deny it.

  “She will leave me anyway,” he said instead of answering to what he had done. “May as well do it now.”

  He hated the notion of causing Evie pain. Everything he did was to make certain she was safe and happy. Even if her happiness was with another man, though the knowledge nearly flayed him alive.

  “The lady seems to believe otherwise,” his brother said calmly.

  Of course she would. A duke’s daughter knew nothing of hardship. A fortnight alone with him, and she fancied him what she wanted. A mere sennight in the rookeries, and she would change her mind, he had no doubt.

  He did not possess an impressive house in the right part of town the way Dom did. He was not a gentleman, with a fancy cove’s airs. He was not charming or smart. He answered adversity with his fists. He was a danger to her. His world was too dark, too grim, and there was no place for her light within it.

  “Why have you allowed her to remain here?” Devil demanded, irritated anew.

  “She is family,” his brother said simply.

  “To you. Not me.” He scowled, the action making his already aching head hurt more. “I don’t want her here.”

  “So you said, in quite cruel fashion, I understand.”

  “Because she is a lady and I am the bastard son of a ruthless merchant and a Covent Garden whore, neither of whom gave a damn about me,” he said. “And I have nothing to offer her.”

  It was the bitter truth.

  Undeniable.

  “We are what we make of ourselves,” his brother said. “You know that. You are a fine man. Lady Evie sees that. She cares for you.”

  Christ, how he wanted to believe that. The weakest part of him wanted to seize upon it with both hands. But the realistic part of him knew only one of his hands was currently in working order.

  “She can’t know that after a fortnight.” He frowned at Dom.

  Falling in love with Lady Adele had turned his brother into a dreamer.

  “How can you make that decision for her, brother?” Dom returned.

  Because he had to, but Devil did not say that aloud. One of them had to be the voice of reason. He could not bear to watch her leave him. And so, he would thrust her away. Then, her inevitable defection would not hurt so goddamned much. A clean break, now, was what they both needed.

  “This world isn’t for the likes of her,” he told Dom. “I’ll not have her resenting me, or growing to hate me for who I am the way Cora did.”

  He could still recall that long-ago day when she had left him.

  When she had chosen to be a mistress instead of his wife.

  The pain was old, the wound long healed into a scar. But the lesson remained. Cora had claimed to love him once. Evie had not suggested such tender feelings. If anything, she seemed to view him as an object of pity.

  “If you think Cora and Lady Evangeline are anything alike, you’ve nothing but air betwixt those big ears of yours,” Dom snapped, shaking Devil from his thoughts.

  “I know her sort,” he said simply. “I don’t want her here.”

  “Then you must tell her that for yourself.”

  That was the problem, was it not? Or one of many, so it seemed. “I already have, and yet she remains.”

  Dom quirked a brow. “Mayhap you ought to think about that, brother.”

  Fuck.

  He hated when Dom was right.

  He glared at his half brother. “Mayhap,” he allowed grudgingly, too tired to argue the point any further.

  “You love her,” Dom guessed.

  Accurately, damn it. Devil did not know when he had realized the warmth inside his chest whenever she was near was love. That the fierce need to protect her from everyone and everything—including himself—had emerged because she owned his heart.

  What a stupid twat he was. A hypocrite, believing Evie could not possibly know what she wanted after only a fortnight when that was all the time it had required for him to realize she was everything he had ever wanted but never dared to hope could be his.

  She still couldn’t.

  Or could she?

  “Devil?” Dom prodded, intruding on his madly whirling thoughts.

  “I do,” he admitted, a sense of finality washing over him, along with something else. It was tranquil and bright, like the sun after a vicious storm. “Bring her to me.”

  “He has asked to see you.”

  Thank God.

  Evie’s heart leapt. She instantly quashed the elation. Joy and hope had no place until she heard Theo telling her he loved her.

  Too much to hope at this juncture, she knew.

  “How is he?” she asked her brother-in-law, desperate to know.

  Hours had passed since this morning, when Theo had come to. She had kept her distance in deference to his wishes for the time being, but every moment she had spent waiting for word on his convalescence had been pure torture.

  “He is on the mend, I believe,” Dom told her, his expression pensive. “But there are some things I wish to tell you, Evie, so you can understand Devil a bit better.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, eager for anything her brother-in-law would share. The Winters were quite protective of each other. She had noticed that already. Their bond was unbreakable.

  Commendable, as well.

  Forged of iron and love and pure determination.

  “Devil and I…” Dom began and then paused, inhaling slowly, before exhaling. �
��Forgive me. It is a painful tale. We shared a father, it is true, but our mothers were not the same. When they discovered we shared the same sire, they decided to sell us both as brothers. They could fetch more for us that way. We were sold to an unscrupulous scoundrel who intended to use us in all manner of evil. We escaped thanks to Devil. He saved me, and from that day forward, I have owed him…”

  “That is why you are telling me all this now,” Evie guessed.

  “Aye,” Dom agreed. “And also because I love my brother, and I can see quite plainly that you love him too. I want him to have the happiness I have found with your sister, the happiness he deserves. But there is also another painful part of his past, one which I doubt he has shared with you either.”

  Evie stiffened. “Another lady?”

  Her brother-in-law nodded. “He fancied himself in love with her. It was a long time ago, and he was scarcely more than a lad. But she left him because she did not want to live this life, and instead she went on to become some fancy nib’s mistress.”

  “I see.”

  Good heavens, she had never imagined there was a woman in Theo’s past whom he had loved. She did not know what to do with this information. Indeed, she wished she had never had it foisted upon her.

  “All I meant to say was that he has been hurt before by the women who should have loved him most, by those closest to him,” Dom said then. “If he is…reluctant and gruff and cruel, it is not because he does not care. He does care for you. A great deal, I would wager.”

  She would prefer to hear all that from Theo himself.

  But for now, she supposed it would have to be enough hearing them from his brother. “Thank you for sharing those bits of his past with me.”

  “I know you care for him, Evie,” Dom said solemnly. “And I know he is an arse. But he is a good man. Give him a chance.”

  She smiled then. “I know he is a good man. And that is why I have fallen in love with him.” Evie paused, her smile widening wryly at the expression on her brother-in-law’s face. “And no, I have not informed him yet. I am awaiting the right time.”

  “Trust me, my lady,” Dom said, “there is no right time to be had. Just tell him. Those are the words he needs to hear more than any others.”