Winter's Warrior (The Wicked Winters Book 13)

by Scarlett Scott

  To the devil with Jasper.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I will clean it. I am at fault for my clumsiness. You needn’t fret.”

  “I am sorry for giving you a fright.” His tone was wry, his voice in her ear, so close that his hot breath skimmed over her flesh, sending a shiver of pure need down her spine.

  She turned her head, meeting his gaze. “You are meant to be resting, sir. Abed.”

  His fingers tightened over hers, and he gave her the most beautiful smile she had ever beheld on a man’s lips. “Ah, but being abed and alone is one of the true curses of this life. I could not remain there another moment.”

  Abed and alone.

  For some foolish, wild reason, she thought of joining him there. Of touching him freely and not merely with the intent to soothe, comfort, or heal. Of pressing her mouth to his. Of shedding her clothes and lying with him.

  Shocking.

  Sinful.

  Wrong.

  Delicious.

  Tempting.

  Dangerous.

  He was staring at her, waiting, and she realized he had spoken last, but her foolish mind had been too preoccupied with listing words to describe this moment, this man. Oh, why had she been the one to find him, the one to heal him, the one to deceive him?

  “You should not be here,” she said at last, hating herself for the breathlessness in her tone.

  “Here feels like a deuced fine place to be.”

  They stared at each other, the heat between them rising, a lone spark turning into a raging fire. The devil of it was, here felt like an awfully fine place to be for Caro as well.

  She swallowed against a fervent rush of longing. “How did you find me?”

  “I followed you.”

  His confession took her by surprise. He was wilier than she had supposed, even without his memory. A formidable opponent, she had no doubt. And a man she had been lying to from the moment his eyes had fluttered open, confused and bloodshot.

  “This morning?” she asked, trying to decipher when he had begun trailing her about The Sinner’s Palace.

  Her stops had been many.

  “You passed my door, and I followed. You went to the kitchens and emerged with a honey cake.”

  So she had. Her eyes narrowed. “You have been following me for the entire morning?”

  He cocked his head, studying her, hand still on hers, the touch strangely comforting. “I suppose I have been. You flit about like a butterfly, you do. Never staying in one place for long, flying just out of reach, and bright and beautiful.”

  He thought her bright and beautiful?

  Her breath caught. “I am not out of reach now.”

  “No.” He was unsmiling, his gaze intent. “You aren’t.”

  Duty and obligation warred with the desire burning to life within her. She knew she needed to persuade him to go back from whence he had come until she could speak with Jasper. That she should not enjoy his nearness, his touch. That she should be mopping up the spilled ink. And yet, she didn’t want to do anything she was supposed to just now.

  Loyalty was a cold comfort. Still, she was a Sutton before she was anything else. And keeping Gavin a secret was important for his safety. Someone wanted him dead, she reminded herself.

  She mustered up a protest. “You should return to your chamber—”

  The rest of her words were stifled beneath his lips. His lips on hers. His mouth moved. It was warm, supple. He was kissing her. Lord in heaven, Gavin Winter was kissing her, and it was…

  Wondrous.

  She forgot about the ink which had been spilled. His hand left hers, his good arm sliding around her waist. She settled her palms on his shoulders, so large, radiating strength and reassurance. He smelled of shaving soap and clean linen, and no scent had ever been more inviting.

  Caro had kissed before. But she had never been kissed quite like this before. Gavin Winter’s lips on hers… Oh, she could not find the words to describe it.

  Her mind was racing, tumbling over itself, her emotions colliding with sensation, reason and doubt and duty crashing together. She should not be kissing him, and she knew it. She was deceiving him. Their families were operating under a tentative truce which would be destroyed when the Winters discovered the Suttons had been keeping their lost brother from them.

  Yet, Gavin’s lips on hers were smooth and knowing, teasing and gentle, worshipful and masterful all at once. He kissed like an angel and the devil. He tempted and promised. Longing swept over her, so sudden and ferocious she trembled beneath the force of it.

  When his big hand splayed over her lower back, drawing her nearer to him, there was no mistaking the disparity between them. He was tall, all sinew and corded muscle, his chest a wall against which her breasts crushed. But there was another part of him that was equally hard. The same part of him she had done her utmost to forget about.

  He was thick and long, pressing into her belly with a prominence she could not deny pleased her. Caro knew an aching, tingling, unbearable answering need between her thighs. He traced over the seam in her lips, seeking, and she opened for him. His tongue dipped into her mouth, claiming and yet sweetly tantalizing.

  Weakly, she tried to summon some resistance. To remind herself of the myriad reasons why she should not be kissing this man. Why she should not be holding him close instead of tearing herself away.

  But all she could do was feel.

  Feel his hand gliding up her spine to caress the nape of her neck. Feel his lips delivering slow, tender kisses to the corners of her mouth. Feel the wet glide of his tongue against hers. Feel the sparks of passion lighting into roaring, uncontrollable flame.

  Everything else ceased to matter.

  Her heart raced. No kiss had ever been better. Nor had she ever hungered for another as she wanted this man. This man who did not know his name, who had no memories. This man she had found beaten and broken and bloodied in the cobblestones.

  Yearning unfurled. He kissed down her throat, and her head fall back of its own accord, giving him more of her skin. Surrendering to the passion blazing so brightly between them.

  He kissed his way to her ear. “Sweet Caro.”

  She became aware of her body in a new way. Her breasts were heavy and full, her nipples hard beneath her stays. Caro could not keep the sigh from fleeing her as he pressed a kiss to her throat, his tongue flicking over her skin.

  “You taste as good as you smell,” he whispered against her flesh.

  The room felt as if it were spinning around them. Everything was a tumult of sensation and color and light. She caressed his shoulders, needing more of him, needing to touch him everywhere.

  “Caro?”

  Her panic was as sudden as it was acute at the unexpected voice of her sister at the opposite end of the room. She tore herself from Gavin’s arms and turned to face Pen, who stood at the threshold of Caro’s work room, her expression slack with shock as she took in Gavin.

  “Pen,” she said quickly, smoothing down her skirts as she sought something to do with her hands.

  That was when she realized there was ink upon her fingers, and she had smeared a great deal of it over her gown. In horror, she glanced back at Gavin to see smears of black ink on his coat, cravat, and shirt. Everywhere she had touched him, there was the evidence of her wickedness.

  “A Winter?” her sister asked.

  More shock hit Caro, for she had not expected Pen to recognize Gavin. And now that she had—if she were to reveal Gavin’s identity before him—

  “Please go, Pen,” she said, imploring her sister with her eyes.

  But Pen was undeterred. She remained where she was, her gaze narrowing as it flicked over Gavin with blatant curiosity. “Is he the secret, then? I heard—”

  “Get out!” Caro blurted, startling herself with the vehemence in her tone.

  But what was she to do? She was conflicted, torn between the promise she had made to her brother and the newfound emotions roiling through her. Ga
vin Winter’s kisses had utterly ruined her. She could scarcely make sense of anything.

  Pen blinked. “Caro.”

  “Please,” she entreated, more softly this time.

  “Forgive me,” Gavin said, flicking a cautious gaze from Caro to Pen, then back to Caro again. “I should not have overstepped.”

  Yes, she wanted to tell him. You should have. And you should do it again.

  But she tamped down the unworthy sentiment. Had she learned no lessons at all after Philip? It would seem not.

  “Pen, I will find you in a few minutes. If you will excuse us?”

  “If I excuse you, are you going to smear more ink on him?” her sister queried with an unrepentant grin.

  “Pen, just go.”

  With a superior lifting of her eyebrows, Pen turned and left the work room, the door clicking closed in the silence that had descended.

  With another sigh, Caro faced Gavin, wincing as she took in the manner in which she had mussed him. Bloody blazes, she had stained a good portion of his garments and nearly untied his sullied cravat in the process. She had not recalled her fingers working the knot.

  “I am sorry, Caro,” he said softly, his gaze dipping to her lips, then back. “I should not have kissed you.”

  For a reason she could not define, the sentiment bothered her. She did not want him to regret their kiss. Although she knew she should regret it, and that it must not be repeated, she hated to think she had been alone in the kiss’s effect.

  “I am sorry as well,” she said nonetheless.

  “I have no right to kiss you when I do not know who the hell I am,” he said, frowning.

  Guilt pricked her anew.

  Tell him, urged her conscience. Tell him who he is now. Tell him he is Gavin Winter.

  She wanted to. Heavens, how she wanted to.

  But when she opened her mouth to speak, his name did not emerge. “We were caught up in the moment. Think nothing of it.”

  He nodded slowly, his countenance still unhappy. “Who was that just now?”

  It occurred to her that she had not introduced them. Partially because Pen had somehow already known who he was, and partially because she could not offer a name to her sister. She was not ready to discuss Jasper’s demand that she keep Gavin’s presence at The Sinner’s Palace a secret, along with keeping his name from him.

  “It was my sister, Pen,” she managed. “I must speak to her so that she does not go to our brothers.”

  That was only a partial falsehood, she reasoned.

  Gavin’s jaw tensed. “I need to speak to your brothers, Caro. My honor demands it.”

  She hated the deceptions she was perpetuating. “We will speak to them together when the time is right.”

  “The time is now. Do you not suppose your sister is already running to them?”

  Was Pen? Caro thought it unlikely, though she could not be certain.

  “All the more reason for me to seek her out now and for you to return to my room.” She studied her handiwork once more, the inky handprints on his chest and shoulders, the smears on the pristine white of his neck cloth. “You need to change before you confront anyone, I am afraid.”

  He glanced down at the ink and cursed.

  “Wait for me here,” she said. “I will speak with my sister and return.”

  “You were kissing Gavin Winter.”

  Pen’s proclamation made Caro wince and cast a glance around to make certain no one else was within listening distance. “Keep your voice down, Pen.”

  Her sister raised a brow. “All this time, I thought you were bedding Randall. But you’ve been keeping Gavin Winter in your room, haven’t you?”

  She had found her sister in the hall outside the kitchens, waiting for her. But Pen had refused to go elsewhere to speak, and Caro had felt oddly placated by the notion of remaining near to Gavin anyway. Now, she regretted her hasty capitulation.

  “Cease saying his name, if you please.”

  “Does Jasper know you’re bedding a Winter?” Pen asked, ignoring her.

  “I’m not bedding a Winter.” She scowled at her sister. “What you saw was…”

  Absolutely exquisite.

  The most stunning moments of my life.

  No, she must not say any of that.

  She cleared her throat, all too aware of the heat rising in her face, giving her away. “What you saw was a mistake, one which shan’t be repeated.”

  Pen crossed her arms over her chest, looking distinctly unimpressed and unconvinced. “You do know it is the talk of the East End, that Gavin Winter is nowhere to be found and he’s got a match with Jeremiah Jones.”

  Caro frowned. “How did you recognize him, and how do you know what match he has next?”

  “Lord Aidan,” Pen answered. “He took me to one of the matches. Gavin Winter is a ferocious beast of a man. You should have seen him pummeling the poor fellow.”

  A shudder went through her at the thought of Gavin facing an opponent with his fists. She did not like violence, and she never had. Mayhap that was one of the reasons she had so readily thrown herself into the business of being the Sutton healer. It was her means of making amends for that which was out of her control. The Suttons were a rough and ragged band, it was true.

  “He does not know who he is, Pen,” she admitted softly. “I found him nearly dead in the streets and had some of the guards take him to my room. Someone tried to kill him.”

  “He doesn’t know who he is? But how can that be?”

  “I have been poring over my books, and it is not unheard of for someone who receives a blow or blows to the head to suffer from this affliction,” she explained. “Sometimes, the memory returns. Other times, it may not.”

  She hoped, for Gavin’s sake, that his would, even if it meant he would realize the depth of her deception. Even if it meant he would never be able to forgive her for her complicity in the lies her brother had required her to tell.

  “He has no notion of anything?” Pen asked.

  “All he knows is what I have told him. You were right to think Jasper and I have been keeping a secret, and that Gavin Winter is it. But Jasper does not want Gavin to know who he is just yet. Nor does he want anyone else to know who Gavin is or why he is here.”

  “Why is he here?” Pen prodded. “Why not simply contact the Winters and see him gone?”

  Gavin and gone in the same sentence made a curious ache pierce Caro’s heart. How was it possible she had spent such a short amount of time nursing him back to health, and yet she felt as if she had always known him? Why could she not bear the thought of never seeing him again?

  She shook her head, as if so doing, she could dislodge the troublesome thoughts which had taken up residence in her stubborn mind. But that wasn’t so. They were there. Gavin Winter was there. So, too, the memory of his lips on hers.

  “Jasper has not seen fit to enlighten me.” And that still rankled, Caro could not deny it. “He claims he has a purpose but that I must trust him and remember my loyalty is as a Sutton first.”

  “Aye, and so it is,” Pen agreed. “You can trust me, Caro. I’ll not tell a soul Gavin Winter is here.”

  “Stop saying his name,” she muttered, for hearing it aloud brought a creeping sense of fear.

  Fear that someone would overhear. Fear that whoever it was who had attacked Gavin and left him for dead would return. But that this time, the monsters would not stop until they succeeded.

  “What shall I call him, then?”

  What indeed?

  “The patient,” she suggested.

  “The patient,” Pen repeated, a skeptical note in her voice.

  Frustration bit at her. “Have you a better suggestion?”

  Pen sighed. “I suppose not. The patient shall have to do.”

  “Do not tell Lord Aidan,” Caro said next.

  “But we tell each other everything. He is my dearest friend.”

  Bloody damn blazes. If they had to rely upon the honor of Lord Aidan Weir
, their ship was as good as at the bottom of the ocean.

  “You are a Sutton first,” she reminded her sister. “Lord Aidan is not.”

  Nor was he trustworthy. Or a gentleman. Or anyone in whom her sister should be placing such care and loyalty. But that was a matter for another day. Besides, it was not anything their brothers and their sister Lily had not already warned Pen about.

  Pen was stubborn as a mule.

  Pen’s jaw hardened. “As you wish it. But if he asks, I won’t lie, Caro.”

  “Why would he ask?”

  “He is perceptive.”

  “He is a drunken wastrel who spends all his waking hours gaming and whoring,” Caro countered.

  “If you are going to be hateful about Aidan, I’ll not keep your secret.”

  Caro glared at her sister. They were at daggers drawn. “Fine. I need you to do this for me, Pen.”

  Her sister raised a brow. “Then apologize for what you said about my friend.”

  Caro heaved a sigh and barely resisted rolling her eyes. “I am sorry.”

  “For?”

  “For speaking honestly about Lord Aidan Weir. Henceforth, I will endeavor to lie and tell you he is a paragon of virtue who is selfless, brave, and true.”

  “Caroline Sutton.” Pen scowled.

  “Keep my secret and I will not tell Jasper Lord Aidan has been sneaking you into prizefights.” It was Caro’s turn to raise a brow at her sister. “You must have dressed as a cove to find yourself in the audience.”

  Pen’s scowl faded. “I did, and it was glorious. I regret nothing.”

  “Pen,” she said softly. “I worry about you.”

  Her sister’s chin went up. “You needn’t. I do just fine as I am. And I will keep your secret for as long as I am able, Caro.”

  It was not the promise she wanted, but it was all she was going to wrestle from Pen, and Caro knew it. She inclined her head. “We have a bargain, sister. I won’t say a word about your excursions with Lord Aidan, and you will hold your tongue about the patient.”

  “Aye. I’ll hold my tongue about the patient. You just best keep yours out of the patient’s mouth.”

  With that, Pen swept past Caro, leaving her standing alone in the corridor, cheeks aflame.