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

  “You should call me Mr. Winter,” he forced himself to remind her. “When our time here is at an end, you will forget me.”

  The smile faded from her lips. “I could never forget you.”

  He knew she was wrong about that. Cora had forgotten about him. Lady Evangeline Saltisford would as well.

  “We come from two different worlds.”

  Her lush lips parted, and for a long pause, she said nothing, merely searched his gaze. “Your brother is married to my sister. Our worlds are connected by that bridge.”

  How he wished that were the truth. Because he was a fucking idiot.

  “There will be no bridge you can cross to me when you are Lady Dullerton,” he pointed out. “Lady Adele may be accepted because of your father and my brother’s power. Your husband won’t allow you to consort with the likes of me. I expect our paths will not cross after this.”

  She looked as stricken as he felt at the realization.

  No more Evie in his life. No more golden curls, seductive scent, kind encouragement, sinful temptation. No more reading lessons or stolen kisses. The man he had become in her presence would once more cease to exist.

  Which was just as well, for the Devil Winter who allowed a slip of a girl to know his true name and call him Theo was a Devil Winter who would bleed to death on the streets at the next attack from the Suttons. Or any enemy with a blade or a pistol. Hell, even Davy, the thieving little rascal Dom had taken in, could slit his throat in his sleep.

  She had made him soft, Lady Evangeline Saltisford.

  And another part of him astonishingly hard.

  Damn, fuck, hell.

  Still, epithets did nothing to quell his rampaging lust.

  He inhaled slowly.

  “Lord Denton shall not have complete command over my life after we are wed,” she said, with all the naïve assurance of a lady who believed her nonsense. “I will be able to continue our lessons if it pleases me.”

  What manner of lessons, he wanted to ask. Reading or kissing? He suppressed the urge, telling himself she spoke of reading, naturally.

  And then he bit out a bitter bark of laughter at the notion of her believing she could do as she pleased as Denton’s wife without the lord being the wiser. “My lady, I can assure you that your husband will not allow any lessons between us.”

  She frowned. “Then I need not tell him.”

  He raised a brow. “You do not think he will know? Your servants will be his. Wherever you go, whatever you do, will be reported back to him. Suppose his servants inform him his wife is disappearing in the rookeries to teach a tremendous, uncouth beast how to read. Or worse. What would you do then?”

  He would not describe their other lessons in greater detail aloud, for fear of the visceral reaction his body would have. Also, some foolish part of him—the part that had not learned a goddamn thing from the hell Cora had put him through—refused to acknowledge the fact that Lady Evie was suggesting she would marry Dullerton and continue her lessons—presumably the reading sort—with him.

  “You are neither tremendous nor uncouth,” she said softly. “And certainly not a beast.”

  Breaking him. That was what she was doing. Cutting him with her kindness. Making him weaker still.

  He brushed it all aside, forcing himself not to think of the inevitable end of their time together. Or her looming union to Dullerton, which felt akin to a blade in his chest. “I am all those things, and it would be wise of you to remember that. I ain’t a nib. I’m the bastard son of a whore. You’re the daughter of a duke.”

  “You are more than that, Theo. So much more. I wish you could see yourself as I do.”

  Curse her. He summoned all the ugliness within, years spent in the rookeries fighting for his life, for that of his family. Cora’s betrayal. She’d had the opportunity to be his wife, and she’d chosen to be an earl’s mistress instead.

  “I do not need your pity, milady,” he told her, maintaining his pride.

  “I do not pity you. Nor do I see any reason why we cannot continue as we have. Indeed, after I am a married woman, I shall have more freedom than I have ever had.”

  His lip curled. “You truly think to continue our lessons after you are Lady Dullerton?”

  Once more, he could not bring himself to directly mention the kisses they had shared, fearing his weakness for her would take hold.

  “Lady Denton,” she corrected primly. “Yes. Why not?”

  Devil could think of a whole bloody list of reasons why not. An endless fucking list of why nots. “Has it occurred to you that I may no longer require your lessons?”

  The color fled her cheeks. “Because you will not wish to see me any longer?”

  Something shifted inside him. It felt, for a brief, dizzying moment, as if the entire earth had moved. What was the matter with him? What had she done to entrance him as she had? He was already plotting ways their paths might cross, to the devil with his pride.

  Wrong, all of it.

  He had been down this ruinous path before. And he had emerged with a distrust of all women. A hatred of tender emotions and longing and lust, but above all love, that temperamental, fickle fucking witch.

  A witch who would never again cast her spell over him as long as he lived and breathed. At least, that was what he had been telling himself until this golden-haired beauty had appeared in his life.

  “Theo?” Lady Evie prodded, encouraging him to answer.

  Reminding him who they were, where they were, everything that was at stake. So bloody much. More than he could have ever imagined. And at the height of it all, her welfare. He was no closer to discovering who had been behind the shots taken at her now than he had been a fortnight ago. But all too soon, he would have to say his goodbye to her, to wish her the best. Return to East London where he belonged and forget he had ever met a woman as wonderful as Lady Evangeline Saltisford.

  He forced himself to recall her initial query. Because you will not wish to see me?

  There would never come a day.

  But he said none of that. Instead, he forced himself to remain calm. Cold. To be as impenetrable as he had supposed himself to be.

  “Thank you for the reading lessons, milady. Now, it is my turn to deliver in kind.”

  What he meant was whittling lessons. Not that a lady such as herself would ever need them. A knife and wood—it was laughable, a duke’s daughter taking on such a talent. Hell, even he knew ladies were taught to ply their talents in needle and thread. In the ballroom. In the drawing room. Ladies were fashioned of silk and satin and propriety. He was made of wood and iron and wickedness.

  “How do you propose to deliver in kind?” she asked him.

  Setting him more aflame than he already had been with her innuendo, blast her.

  “Well, Theo?” Her gold-brown gaze had settled upon his lips. Her stare was a touch, a brand. “How shall you deliver?”

  He forgot to fret about everything in that moment, about the danger lurking like a shadow, about her society’s notion of rules, about what would happen later, about her becoming another man’s wife. For a moment, she was his. They were the only two people in the world. And he could not stop himself from taking her lips with his.

  The marriage of their lips was hot, sending a jolt straight through him. He pressed harder, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He had missed her lips. He had missed her responsiveness, the way her generous curves melted against him.

  She tasted of sweetness, sugar, tea, bergamot, Evie. Everything that was delicious. Devil barely suppressed a groan as he deepened the kiss, their bodies aligning. He wanted every part of him to burn into her. To remind her what she would be missing, what she would lose, when she became Lady Dullerton.

  He ended the kiss before he lost control, tearing his mouth from hers. The thought of her marrying another made bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it down, forced himself to think of Cora and her betrayal.

  “There,” he forced himself to say. “Have I not
delivered? Mayhap your Lord Dullerton will wish to thank me. If you will excuse me, milady. All our lessons are at an end.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he stalked from the chamber, nettled with her. More furious with himself for the weakness he had for her. For being stupid enough to allow himself to want her. If Cora, who had been born to the rookeries as he had, had been too good to marry him, what the hell did he think would come of dallying with Lady Evie?

  Nothing that was good.

  Devil stalked down the hall, deciding it was time for him to return to where he belonged before he did something even more witless.

  The hour was desperately late. So late, the faint strains of dawn were lighting the sky where Evie had been keeping a window vigil in between frantic pacing of the chamber as the knot of worry in her stomach doubled, tripled, and finally quadrupled in size.

  Theo had left their lessons without a backward glance earlier that day, and then he had left the townhome entirely. What was worse—he had yet to return. She knew because the window at which she stood, the carefully made bed behind her, and the chamber she had been pacing were all his. She had gone to his chamber after he had not accompanied her in the library as had become his habit to listen to the conclusion of Romeo and Juliet.

  Without him there, Evie had not had the heart to continue on. It had not felt right. Nothing without him felt right. She could not explain the change that had come over her this last fortnight. Devil Winter made her feel the way Romeo made Juliet feel. But she had no wish for their tale to be a tragedy.

  She never wanted her fortnight with him to end.

  But the evidence it already had was before her. Unless something had befallen him, which was worse. The healing wound on her arm throbbed, a constant reminder of the unknown danger swirling around her. If something had happened to Theo because of her, she would never forgive herself.

  Evie bit her lip to stave off a stinging rush of tears.

  The brace of candles she had lit hours ago was down to scarcely any wick and wax. She turned away from the shadows in the street below and paced the Aubusson some more.

  Where could he have gone?

  When would he return?

  Before her troubled mind could continue whirling with any more questions, the door swung open at last. And there he stood.

  A gasp tore from her.

  His face was bloodied, his white cravat hanging loosely about his neck, also stained scarlet, as if it had been sprayed with blood. The linen of his shirt was similarly marred. A dark bruise colored the flesh beneath his left eye, rendering the blue more startling as their gazes clashed.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? I told you never to come to my chamber again.”

  She swept forward as he kicked the door closed behind him without caring to blunt the sound. The portal slammed shut, echoing in the stillness of the night. The worry that had sunk its vicious teeth into her over the course of the night relented, but only a bit. He was injured. She had no idea where he had been, what he had done, or how he had received his injuries.

  But he had returned.

  He was here with her now, and that was the most important fact. She would fret over the rest later.

  “What happened to your face?” she asked, not giving a care for propriety or the manner in which they had last parted.

  She reached for him, rising on her toes to cup his face in her hands.

  He winced. “Careful, milady. I’m a bit bruised.”

  “Where were you, Theo?” She searched his gaze, frantic for answers, heart thudding rapidly. “Have you been set upon by footpads? Are you injured anywhere else? How can I help you?”

  As she fired off the questions, she made certain her fingers were gentle. They traveled over his jaw, finding a lump hidden by the layer of whiskers which had grown since the morning.

  “Too many questions, milady.” He winced again as her fingertips skimmed his cheekbone, where another purple bruise appeared to be forming beneath a cut. “And you have yet to answer mine. What the hell are you doing in my chamber? Again?”

  If she were not so worried about him, mayhap she would have allowed the curtness in his voice to hurt her. However, after spending hours fearing the worst, she did not care if his tone carried the stinging lash of a whip. Her pride fled. He was all she cared about.

  “I was here awaiting you, of course,” she answered him primly. “Where have you been? Where did you go? I was worried about you.”

  “Worried about me.” He released a bitter laugh, then winced when the action apparently caused him pain.

  “You have cuts and bruises all over your face,” she pointed out.

  All over his beautiful face. And despite the blood and lacerations, he was the most handsome man she had ever beheld. A rush of forbidden longing hit her as she held his face in her hands. Their lips were so near, his gaze fierce and intense upon hers.

  “Aye,” he said.

  One word.

  Low.

  Dangerous.

  There was an indefinable menace rolling off him this evening. All the tenderness he had shown her during the last fortnight, the gentle side he possessed, seemed to have disappeared. In its place was a stark, angry, wounded man.

  Had she done this to him? Had she pushed him too far? Was this her fault?

  “What happened?” she asked him again.

  His lip curled. “Nothing for you to worry over, milady. I ain’t your betrothed, am I?”

  There was an edge in his voice she did not think she misunderstood. Jealousy. But surely not, from this enigmatic man who could not stop reminding her about the disparate worlds they inhabited.

  “No,” she agreed. “You are not.”

  Lord Denton was.

  But you could be, she wanted to say.

  Though she bit her tongue, she had come to a realization this evening as she had been pacing Theo’s chamber. And it was that she no longer wanted to marry Denton. She wanted happiness. Love. She wanted a man who did not keep a mistress whilst professing his undying devotion to her.

  She wanted Theodore Devil Winter. He was the Romeo to her Juliet. She just had to persuade him. And find a way out of her looming nuptials to Lord Denton. And convince her family—already outraged by Addy’s sudden marriage to Mr. Dominic Winter—that her happiness was far more important than any match she could make or coronet she could snare.

  But that was all going to have to wait for another day.

  Because Theo was battered and bloodied. And it was nearly dawn.

  “Get out of my chamber, Lady Evangeline,” he told her coolly.

  The dismissal in his voice should have cut her deeply. But she had not slept all night, and she had spent all the time since he had stalked away from her worrying over him, their relationship, their future. To the devil with tragedies.

  “You missed the end of Romeo and Juliet,” she told him, pretending he had not just ordered her to vacate the room.

  Instead, she stroked a thick lock of hair which had fallen over his brow from his forehead.

  He swallowed, and with his cravat untied, the subtle dip of his Adam’s apple briefly riveted her. What a beautifully masculine throat he had. She wondered what the rest of him would look like, similarly bare. His chest. His arms. Lower…

  “They’re both going to die,” he growled, and then he jerked from her touch as if she were a bee who had stung him.

  It took her addled mind a moment to realize he was speaking of Romeo and Juliet. She frowned at him. “How do you know?”

  “It is a tragedy.” His lip curled. “Life is a tragedy. That is how it ends. And this is how we end, milady. Now return to your chamber with your innocence intact. One day you can entertain your grandchildren with the fable of how you once spent a fortnight with an East End rat and still lived to tell the tale.”

  “Life does not have to be a tragedy,” she countered. “And you are not an East End rat. You are a gentleman with a kind an
d gentle heart.”

  He threw back his head and laughed as if she had just told him the greatest sally. “What rot. You amuse me, milady. Truly, you do.”

  He was trying to hurt her, she thought. Attempting to put as much distance between them—physically and emotionally—as he could. But she was not going to let him, damn it. She was going to fight him every step of the way.

  Because she loved him.

  The realization thundered through Evie with a physical jolt, as if she had been struck. Somehow, over the course of her fortnight with Theo, she had lost her heart. A heart she had once foolishly believed she would give to her husband in time. But it was no longer hers to give. Like Juliet, who had fallen desperately in love with a Montague when she was a Capulet, Evie had fallen in love with a man who should be forbidden to her.

  She loved Theodore Winter.

  Once, she had suspected Addy’s mind of turning to pudding. Now, she suspected her own. It was the only explanation.

  “Theo,” she said softly. “Tell me where you went. Tell me what happened. Let me tend to your wounds.”

  He shook his head. “I told you not to come to my chamber again.”

  His eyes had darkened to a deep, stormy shade of blue. A flare of answering heat unfurled within her. “I was worried about you, Theo.”

  “Damn it, do I look like a Theo to you?” he roared.

  His voice was like a crack of unexpected thunder. Evie flinched, taken aback by the fury in his tone, his countenance. In this moment of raw, unadulterated emotion, he did not look at all like the Theo she had come to know. Instead, he looked the part of the raw, rugged East End gutter rat he purported to be.

  But it mattered not to Evie. She loved that part of him, too. She loved all the facets of his personality. She loved his imperfections and flaws, for they made him into the man he was. Loved the scar over his brow, the inked dagger marking on his wrist.

  “Yes,” she told him firmly, “you do. You look like my Theo. Now do stop hollering, else you shall bring the entire household down upon us.”