He could not lie.
He loved that she was his wife, that she wore his name, that she was his.
Hell, he just loved her.
Desperately. More with each day, in fact.
“I have given them the evening to do as they wish,” she told him, her smile turning secretive. “I was hoping we might celebrate the opening of your boxing academy alone together.”
He was not accustomed to having a housekeeper, a footman, a cook, and a maid. He suspected in time he would ease into the novelty. But Caro, in typical Caro fashion, knew what he needed before he did.
She helped him with his coat, hat, and gloves, the moment wonderfully intimate. He pulled her back into his arms and stole a kiss, groaning when her tongue teased his. Damn it, he could not make love to his wife in the entrance hall.
Could he?
The instant cockstand in his trousers told him he could.
But the gentleman in him said he ought not, even if the servants had been dismissed for the evening.
He broke the kiss, staring down at her upturned face, falling into her hazel eyes. “How was your day, my love? Have you settled your work room to your satisfaction?”
They had converted the library to become her new space. The shelf-lined walls were filled with books of her choosing, and there were plenty of tables, good natural light, and places to store her herbs and other healing materials.
“I have.” She smiled. “Will you come and see?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Of course.”
Taking his hand in hers, she led him down the hall to her work room. She had certainly put her mark upon the chamber. It was neat, tidy, and it smelled of lavender just as she did. On one of her work tables, she had pots lined up, some filled with unguents she had perfected.
“What do you think?” she asked as he made his way about.
“I think it is perfect,” he said, taking her in his arms again.
The subtle swell of her belly, small but growing subtly larger with their child each day, brushed against him, reminding him of how very blessed he was. He was going to be a father, and he could not be happier.
“How was your first day at the boxing academy, my love?” She caressed his jaw, down his throat, finding the knot in his cravat and plucking at it.
“It was excellent.” His cravat was undone by his wife’s wicked fingers, and she was undoing the three buttons at the neck of his shirt so she could torment him by caressing the slice of his chest she had exposed. He swallowed. “Teeming with lords ready to learn from the old champion.”
He had not fought another match. Recognizing he would likely never regain the full strength of his wounded arm, and in the wake of the disaster with Jones, Gavin had retired from the sport. But using his fame to attract young aristocrats desperate to practice the art of boxing had proven a boon. He had no doubt his academy would thrive, and he could not be more pleased with all the future held.
“You are happy with the academy, my love?” Her touch slid beneath his shirt, over his collarbone. “You do not wish to return to prizefighting?”
Her hand settled over his madly beating heart.
“I am happier than I could have imagined,” he reassured her. “I do not want to fight any longer. All I want is to earn my keep and love my wife.”
“I am glad. I want you to be happy, Gav.” She pressed her mouth to his.
“I would be happier if I were making love to you,” he murmured against her lips.
“No dinner?” she asked, breathless.
“Dinner can wait.”
Caro took her time admiring her husband as she helped him to shed his clothes. She kissed the inking he had added to his biceps. A lone C to represent her name and her place in his heart. His body was as beautiful as his heart, his chest strong and broad, covered with a light dusting of dark hair, his abdomen taut and sinewy. She kissed her way to the puckered scar of his wound, thankful for the pink, healing flesh, grateful anew that she had found him that day, and that he had lived.
They had been through so much together. But she would gladly weather all those storms again, just to have this man at her side.
“You undo me, butterfly,” he said in a low voice laden with desire.
A welcoming warmth unfurled within her, settling between her thighs. “Good.”
She kissed down his chest, helped him from his trousers and smalls. His cock jutted forward, long and thick and ruddy. Ready for her. She grasped him, stroking the silken length until he groaned.
“Why are you still wearing your gown, love?”
She would shed it soon enough, but first, she had another activity in mind. Caro sank to her knees before him.
“Caro,” he growled.
“Hush, husband. Let me love you.”
She glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes. Holding his verdant gaze, she brought the tip of his shaft to her lips. A pearl of his mettle leaked from the slit, and she swirled her tongue over him. He was salty and musky and delicious. She sucked his cockhead, and he grew stiffer between her lips. His fingers caught her hair, holding her chignon.
“Mmm,” she murmured, taking him deeper into her mouth.
His hips moved, sending him to the back of her throat. She sucked, swirled her tongue, worked him in and out of her mouth, the slide of his thickness making her desperately wet and aching. She lost herself in Gavin, inhaling the wonderful, masculine scent of him, holding his hip as she took more of his cock. But just as she brought him to the edge, he withdrew, gently pulling her to her feet.
“Off with the gown,” he said thickly.
Together, they shed her gown and undergarments until she was as naked as he. Gavin sucked her greedy nipples, his fingers delving into her folds to tease her already swollen nub. She whimpered and jerked into that knowing hand, clutching at his shoulders to keep from turning into a limp puddle of lust at his feet.
He fluttered his tongue over her nipple, chuckling against her breast. “So slick and ready for me.” His finger traveled down her seam, pressing against her entrance with a light, teasing touch. “You want me inside you, don’t you, wife?”
“Oh yes.” He gently tugged on the peak of her other breast with his teeth, sending a white-hot burst of passion soaring through her.
He slid inside her, sweetly tormenting them both. “First, I need to return the favor, love.”
With that pronouncement, Gavin was on his knees. His hands were on her hips, guiding her backward until her bottom connected with the bed, and she sat perched on the edge as he caressed her inner thighs, spreading her wide. With a velvety sound of approval, he lowered his head and licked along her seam, all the way to her pulsing bud. His tongue worked over her in whisper-light licks that made her wild and desperate.
She thrust herself into his face, shamelessly seeking more. How beautiful it was, this man she loved on his knees before her, bringing her pleasure, devouring her as if she were the most decadent sweet. When he slid a long finger inside her and sucked on her pearl, she lost all control, bliss crashing over her with a potency that had her crying out. He continued licking and teasing her, drawing out her spend until she was shuddering with the power of her release.
He rose to his considerable height, then guided her to the center of the bed, his cock rigid and ready. She held her arms out to him, and he tenderly guided himself over her, taking care to balance himself on his good arm to keep his weight from her.
But she loved the feeling of him on her, warm and strong and vital. She urged him nearer, wrapping her legs around his waist as she welcomed him into her body. He slid inside with ease, filling her, stretching her. Glorious sensation exploded. Love, desire, happiness.
So much love.
They moved together, finding the rhythm that had them soaring. Their mouths met in a furiously passionate kiss as their bodies joined, and she felt in that moment they were truly one, in mind, body, spirit, heart.
She reached her pinnacle suddenly, moaning as
another crescendo of passion overwhelmed her. Gavin’s thrusts quickened, and then he stiffened against her, throwing back his head and crying out as he spent. The warm rush of his seed sent a flurry of new tremors through her, drawing out the moment, the connection.
He withdrew and rolled to his side, gathering her against him and holding her there. Their hearts beat fast together, their bodies slick with perspiration. Love swelled within her, overflowing.
“I love you,” he said, gently caressing her belly. “I love our little Winter, too.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair, smiling. “I love you both so very much.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her slowly, lingeringly.
“For what?” she asked, breathless, when their mouths parted.
“For finding my sorry arse in the alley and saving me.”
“Oh, Gav.” She smiled, her love for him stronger than ever. “You saved me, too.”
Author’s Note
Thank you so very much for reading Winter’s Warrior, and thank you for loving my Winter family as much as I do. I hope Gavin and Caro’s happily ever after moved you. This is goodbye for now to the Winter clan, but if you’ve enjoyed this series, then I have a feeling you’re going to fall in love with the spinoff series, The Sinful Suttons. Much change is in store for the Sutton clan. For a sneak peek at Jasper Sutton and Lady Octavia’s story, Sutton’s Spinster, do read on!
Some notes on history before you turn the page…
Caro’s knowledge of healing and herbs is owed to Culpeper’s English Physician and Complete Herbal, which was first published in the seventeenth century and subsequently modified and published in various forms. I’ve again borrowed the cant used by the Winters and Suttons from The Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux (1819) and Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1811). Bare-knuckle prizefighting was a dangerous and popular sport in the Regency era, drawing large crowds. Some fights did indeed lead to the deaths of the boxers involved. I drew inspiration from real-life prizefighters such as “Gentleman” John Jackson, who owned a boxing salon, and others such as John Gully, Tom Molyneaux, and Tom Cribb.
Now, what are you waiting for? Keep reading on for more Regency scoundrels and rogues and the daring ladies who love them…
Until next time,
Scarlett
Preview of Sutton’s Spinster
Jasper Sutton, London’s most dedicated scoundrel, needs a wife. He needs one quickly. He needs one yesterday, in fact. His requirements are precise. She has to be capable of mothering the wild twin daughters who have unexpectedly appeared in his life. She must also possess the patience of a saint and the understanding of an angel. Better still if she is plain and has no expectation of a true marriage. He is not about to reform his ways. But how is he to find such a paragon of womanly virtue when a troublesome, maddening baggage keeps haunting his gaming hell and getting herself into scrapes?
Lady Octavia Alexander, the ton’s most dedicated spinster, has no need of a husband. She is quite firmly and happily on the shelf, a devoted aunt to her beloved nieces and nephews. But she does harbor one illicit dream: she wants to start her own newspaper devoted solely to scandal and gossip. What better way to do so than to immerse herself in the sordid underworld of the East End? There is just one problem standing in the way of her plans, and his name is Jasper Sutton. But Octavia won’t abandon her independence and her future for an unscrupulous rogue. No matter how handsome he is, and regardless of how irresistible his kisses.
Between running his family’s gaming hell, chasing after his wayward daughters, and keeping Lady Octavia from being robbed, spirited away by some enterprising criminal, or worse, Jasper is losing his patience. Even more concerning? He’s beginning to fear the only woman he truly wants to marry is the vexing lady who has sworn she will never wed. All he has to do is change her mind and win her heart.
Chapter One
Not bloody again.
Jasper Sutton’s booted foot had connected with something soft as he seated himself at the desk in his office at The Sinner’s Palace. The gaming hell he and his siblings owned together was teeming with drunken lords. The hour was despicably late by anyone’s standards, even for a voluptuary such as himself. He wanted gin and he wanted quim, and not necessarily in that order.
What he did not want was one of his twin daughters hiding beneath his desk when she was supposed to be abed.
“Elizabeth,” he guessed, for she was undeniably the naughtiest of the two children who had been unexpectedly delivered to his hell a fortnight ago.
Abandoned was a better fucking word for what their mother—whomever she was—had done. That was the trouble with possessing an insatiable appetite for rutting. Sooner or later, the rutting produced brats.
And sometimes, the mothers of the brats decided they did not want the burden of extra mouths to feed. And also sometimes, the mothers abandoned their daughters on the steps of a gaming hell at dawn and left them there for any despicable bastard to abuse, without a thought or a care. Until, thank the Lord, his men had arrived and taken the girls within before something had befallen them.
Jasper had always tried to take care to avoid siring a bastard. But he could admit the resemblance the children bore to him was apparent. Black hair, hazel Sutton eyes, the dent in his chin. There had been nights when he had been too deep in his cups to know where he’d spent his seed.
And now, he had daughters to look after. Twin devilish imps who were six years old and filled with mischief.
Still, no child emerged or responded. He tapped the girlish lump beneath his desk with the tip of his boot. “Anne?”
The rustle of fabric met his ears, followed by two sets of giggles.
Christ. The both of them were at it tonight. Sinner that he was, he sent a silent prayer for patience heavenward. And then with a scowl, he rose from his chair and hunkered down to peer beneath the massive piece of furniture which had only recently been repaired after a pistol had blown a portion of it apart. Two sets of grins and hazel eyes greeted him.
“Girls,” he chastised sternly, “you are meant to be sleeping. What the devil are you doing hiding beneath my desk at this time of the evening?”
“We miss playing ’idey,” Elizabeth announced, unrepentant.
Hidey, as he had come to learn, was a game his daughters had established to enliven their evenings when one of their mother’s gentlemen callers paid a visit.
“Ma always told us it were fun to ’ide when the gentlemen arrived,” Anne added brightly.
It was clear their mother had been a Covent Garden nun. Could have been one of the doxies employed by The Sinner’s Palace for the entertainments of his patrons. Could have been someone else. The girls said her name was Ma Bellington.
Bellington was a right fancy name for an East End whore. He suspected the woman had never told their daughters her true name, as Bellington did not mean a thing to him. Not that he expected it to. There had been occasions when he had not bothered to exchange names with his bedmates, it was true.
He wasn’t proud of his past now that he was older and wiser. But he’d been a reckless, wild rakehell in his youth. No denying it. Just as there was no denying these hellions were his.
“Out from under the desk,” he ordered the twins sternly. “We’ve talked about this before, no?”
“We wasn’t tired,” Elizabeth announced, crawling from beneath the desk in her nightdress and standing to eye him balefully. “It’s right dull ’ere, it is.”
Anne emerged from beneath the desk as well, frowning. “I told Lizbeth I didn’t want to do it, but she made me.”
He sighed. It had only taken him hours to discover that Elizabeth was the twin who delighted in galloping all over the hell, leaving mischief in her wake, and asking him so many questions he feared his head might explode like a melon tossed from a roof. Anne had a saucy disposition, was quick to turn into a watering pot, and liked to blame everything on her sister.
“What did I tell you y
esterday when I caught you hiding beneath the hazard table?” he asked with as much calm as he could muster.
He’d been furious at the sight of his children wandering about the gaming hell, disrupting confused patrons. The discovery had made his need of a wife—someone to tame and look after his wayward offspring—all the more apparent.
“You said we couldn’t go where the fancy coves be,” Elizabeth said.
“You didn’t say nothing about your desk,” Anne added mulishly.
Before he could address either of them, a knock sounded on the door. Three raps in quick succession, which signified more trouble.
“Christ,” he muttered.
“That’s the Lord,” Anne told him.
“I am aware,” he said, silently praying for strength. And patience. And strength.
“You owe ’im an apolology,” Elizabeth announced with a superior air.
Sodding hell. “Apology, Elizabeth,” he corrected.
“What’s sodding mean?” Anne asked.
Damnation. Had he said that bit aloud? To his utter shame, he discovered that he—Jasper Sutton, scourge of the East End—was bloody flushing.
He coughed to cover his embarrassment and called out to Hugh, who was on door duty this evening. “What is it now?”
“She’s returned,” Hugh called, his tone grim.
Jasper did not need to ask who his man was speaking of. Over the last few months, one woman had continually appeared, ignoring his warnings, his threats—hell, even his kisses.
Lady Octavia Alexander.
And damn him if the mere name of the dark-haired beauty did not make his cock twitch to life. Until he recalled his children were still standing before him.
Children.
His.
He was yet growing accustomed to this abrupt change of circumstances.
“Tell her to go back to Mayfair where she damned well belongs,” he ordered Hugh, for he had far more important matters awaiting him this evening.
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