Winter’s Whispers

by Scott, Scarlett

  “I do not require an escort,” Lady Felicity protested.

  Too bad. He was not allowing her out of his sight. This cursed female was nothing but trouble. He had known it from the moment he had first spied her rump poking out from beneath his bed.

  “I insist,” he countered, grim.

  To his surprise, no one argued.

  Not even Lady Felicity.

  Felicity was bedraggled, wet, and cold. The Duchess of Coventry’s suggestion she go for a walk in the south woods had seemed an excellent idea when Felicity began her sojourn. But one flying knife and a run-in with the Winter clan later, she was rethinking the wisdom of her decision.

  Now, she had a torn gown, she was soaked to the skin, and shivering.

  To say nothing of the fact that she was alone with Blade Winter.

  Again.

  “You are certain you are unharmed?” he asked softly as they crunched through the snow back toward the stately Abingdon Hall manor house.

  His concern for her welfare would have been sweet had he and his siblings not nearly maimed her with their dagger-tossing match.

  “My pride is terribly wounded.” She cast a glance toward him.

  A mistake.

  Blade Winter, with a lock of golden hair falling over his brow, surrounded by the brilliance of the snow, was nothing short of glorious masculine perfection. Curse him.

  His bright-blue eyes were on her too, studying. “That is all?”

  For a wicked moment, she wondered if he would lift up her gown and inspect her limbs again if she claimed an injury elsewhere. But then she quickly banished the notion.

  “That is all,” she agreed, swallowing down a knot of longing threatening to rise within her.

  This man is not for you, Felicity.

  Think of Esme and Cassandra.

  “How is Miss Wilhelmina finding herself?” he asked, not content to allow the silence to reign between them.

  And of course, all the ice she had attempted to resurrect inside herself melted.

  She stole another glance in his direction. “She is doing quite well. No recent escapes.”

  “I trust if she decides to hide herself beneath any other gentleman’s bed during the house party, you will notify me.”

  There was an edge in his voice. A curious one.

  She could not resist prodding him. “Why should I notify you, Mr. Winter?”

  He stiffened at her side. “I would help you to preserve your reputation, of course.”

  Her lips twitched. The notion of Blade Winter preserving her reputation was laughable.

  “Do I amuse you, my lady?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She turned her attention back to the path ahead of her, lest she lose her footing in the slippery snow. “I hardly think you suited to save my reputation.”

  “I am insulted.”

  She cast another quick glance in his direction to find him holding a hand over his heart. “Need I remind you of what happened in the yellow salon?”

  What are you doing, Felicity? Cease mentioning what happened between the two of you yesterday at once.

  “How could I forget? Have you given any thought to my question, love?”

  His low query sent a new shiver through her that had nothing to do with being chilled and everything to do with Blade Winter. His other, far more tempting question returned to her. Why not enjoy yourself before you sell your body and soul to save your sisters?

  She had scarcely thought of anything since.

  But those feelings were not meant to be. She must not indulge them. Instead, she needed to cleave to her future. Find a proper husband. That was the reason she was present at this house party. For Esme’s and Cassandra’s sakes.

  She tamped down her longing, forced herself to speak with feigned nonchalance. “Of course I have not, Mr. Winter. There is nothing to be enjoyed, and I will only be in danger of ruining my reputation forever by dallying with you.”

  “Do you know what I think, Lady Felicity? I think you are not so much worried about me ruining your reputation. I can be stealthy. Slip into your chamber better than any thief. No one would know I was ever there. Nay, you are afraid I will ruin you for any gentleman who would come after me.”

  The mere notion of this fascinating man inside her bedchamber, alone with her, was enough to make her knees weak. He was horridly arrogant. Smug, even. Handsome and tempting and everything she should not want.

  Her boot slid in the snow, and he caught her arm, steadying her. Felicity paused, turning toward him. “You are being fanciful, Mr. Winter. You make much of your prowess.”

  He grinned at her. “Is that what you tell yourself whilst you lie alone in your virginal bed, thinking of me?”

  How did he know she had thought of him when she had lain in bed last night? She was flushing quite furiously, she was sure. Giving herself away.

  “I do not think of you at all when I am in my bed or otherwise,” she lied. “Indeed, I had completely forgotten your entire existence until you came running to me through the snow today.”

  Another horrid prevarication.

  No one could forget Blade Winter. Especially not after he had kissed her. But the conceited scoundrel did not need to know that.

  He lowered his head, his warm breath fluttering over her lips. “You are bluffing, Lady Felicity. The pretty pink on your cheeks tells me so.”

  The ache within her blossomed and grew. This was foolishness. Dangerous. Reckless. They were halfway across the park, in plain sight of anyone who strolled past a window in the library of Abingdon House. She should not want to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.

  But she did. Of course, she did.

  “You wish,” she taunted him, aware she should not.

  They had reached the place where she should tell him she would continue on to the house herself. That if they were seen, alone—Felicity with a torn and stained gown—her chances at securing herself a husband not just at this house party but ever would be utterly dashed.

  Those words would not come. All that did was longing, fierce and intense.

  His head dipped a bit more. His lower lip brushed over hers in a fleeting prelude to a kiss. “You are the one who wishes, love.”

  “Here now, you two, wait for us!” called Miss Winter. “Demon found the dagger.”

  The moment was effectively shattered. Mr. Winter straightened to his impressive height without giving her a true kiss. Felicity blinked and turned to find his brothers and sister emerging from the woods and starting toward them.

  She told herself it was just as well they had been interrupted.

  That no good could come of kissing Blade Winter again.

  Only a little voice inside her remained.

  Why not enjoy yourself before you sell your body and soul to save your sisters?

  Why not indeed?

  “And then,” Christabella pronounced, reaching the dramatic pinnacle of her story, “Lady Felicity returned with them all, with a torn dress and looking as if she had taken a tumble. Apparently, they were having a knife-throwing competition, and it went awry.”

  “You told poor Lady Felicity to go for a walk in the woods, knowing the other Winter clan was already there?” Gill asked as he plucked a pin from her hair.

  Christabella pursed her lips and considered her handsome husband in the looking glass as he went about dismantling her careful coiffure. The Duke of Coventry occasionally enjoyed playing lady’s maid for her, and she had to admit, she loved his long fingers running through her hair. He had a special fondness for her red curls, and Christabella? Well, she had a special fondness for the duke himself.

  Still, when her husband put it thus, Christabella could not deny encouraging Lady Felicity to go for a walk where her half siblings had been gathered sounded quite irresponsible of her. However, she’d had good intentions at the time. She most certainly had not intended for Lady Felicity to return, bedraggled and with a slice in her gown. Looking quite as if she had been compromised. T
hank heavens none of the rest of the company had been about upon that merry band’s return.

  She sighed. “First, please cease referring to them as the other Winters. We are all Winters, Blade, Genevieve, Gavin, and Demon included. Second, I hardly expected them to be throwing knives about!”

  He chuckled. “Do you not know them by now, Belle? I daresay anything is possible.”

  “Well, I most certainly do know that they are all rather…eccentric and unique. Indeed, I shall endeavor to never forget that one must cease all matchmaking efforts when a group of Winters wanders into the woods. Heavens, I suppose it is a miracle they were not shooting pistols instead.”

  “Or worse.”

  She shuddered. “I have no wish to imagine worse.”

  “Making babies cry,” Gill suggested, removing the last of the pins from her hair.

  “I hardly think so.” Christabella frowned at her husband. “Grace said Blade held Lady Gwendolyn as if she were fashioned of porcelain.”

  “Stealing kittens from children,” her husband went on.

  “There are neither kittens nor children in residence, aside from babes,” she pointed out. “Ashley and Pru’s twins are scarcely toddling about.”

  “Are you certain? I could have sworn I heard a cat meowing the other night.” It was Gill’s turn to offer a thoughtful frown.

  When he was serious, he was more handsome.

  Her heart gave a pang. Her shy duke was beloved to her.

  “I do not think you heard a meow,” she dismissed. “Likely, it was your ears playing tricks upon you.”

  “Feline meows are quite distinctive, I assure you.” Gill drew her to her feet and into his arms then.

  Christabella’s hands settled upon his chest. Her belly was round and large between them. The babe chose that moment to deliver a sound kick. She gasped.

  “What is the matter, Belle?” he demanded, his gaze searching hers. “Are you in pain? Is it the babe?”

  “No and yes.” She took one of his hands in hers and pressed it to her belly. “Feel him move.”

  “What if she is a girl?” he teased.

  An old joke between them by now.

  “You know I change each day in the interest of fairness,” she reminded him. “Yesterday was a she day. Today is a he day.”

  Her husband chuckled, the look he bestowed upon her one of utter adoration. “You are ridiculous, my love.”

  The babe moved again, thumping beneath their pressed hands. “Apparently, he agrees with you. But I do not mind.”

  Gill smiled. “I love your ridiculousness. I love every part of you.”

  “And I love you too.” She wrinkled her nose. “Now do kiss me, if you please.”

  And he did. Oh, how he did.

  Chapter Seven

  Mayhap Blade was suffering from ennui.

  Or in need of quim.

  It had been a long time since he had last bedded a woman—months, in fact. Lady Penhurst, and that had ended in infamy. He hadn’t the time or desire to seek out another. Then, he had been cast away to the monkery.

  Yes, the countryside was making him spoony. There were no diversions worth a damn. The legitimate half of the Winter family thought it pleasant to light the yule log and sneak about beneath the mistletoe. The height of their drawing room revelry was games. But after hoodman blind, Blade refused to be lured into playing shoe the wild mare or snapdragon.

  He shuddered now to think of it.

  And he persuaded himself all those reasons explained why he was following Lady Felicity to the false ruins. His half sister Pru had told him about the ruins that morning at breakfast. She had also mentioned—unintentionally, he was sure—that Lady Felicity had expressed a desire to visit them following her morning meal. Pru had also relayed that the ruins possessed a cozy fire tended to by servants at regular intervals.

  Which meant that if he made haste and followed Lady Felicity quickly enough, he could have her alone. Again. And mayhap have the chance to persuade her with a kiss the way he would have done the day before, had not his cursed siblings interrupted him.

  Lady Felicity ducked into the ruins, closing the door at her back.

  Blade moved faster, his long-legged strides eating up the distance between them with ease. He made certain no one else was behind him on the path—why he cared was curious, because he had never given a damn about propriety before—and then he slipped inside the ruins as well.

  She was nowhere to be found in the main hall. Bemused, he tried the first door he came upon.

  Success.

  Her back had been to him. She stood before the merrily crackling fire in the heart of the small sitting room, hands outstretched for warmth. The false ruins were a fifteen-minute walk from the main house, and in the day’s unseasonable winter chill, Blade was cold as well.

  She whirled about at the creak of the door, pressing a hand over her heart. “Mr. Winter! Did you follow me here?”

  Yes.

  “No,” he lied, sauntering forward, moving toward her. “Did you follow me here?”

  She blinked. “That hardly makes sense. I was first to arrive.”

  “I was already here when I heard a door opening and closing.” He shrugged, allowing that bit of fiction to settle where it would. “I thought to investigate, and imagine my surprise to find you here.”

  He was not about to admit to following her, damn it.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I most certainly did not follow you, Mr. Winter. Indeed, I am endeavoring to stay far away from you, as proximity has proven quite dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” He stopped before her, shedding his gloves, coat, and hat. He dropped them to the floor. “If by dangerous, you mean delicious, then I agree, love.”

  There it was again, that exquisite pink on her cheeks.

  A woman innocent enough to flush—now there was a luxury he could not deny himself. She was so damned virginal and sheltered. He wanted to ruin her. To bring her to her knees. To steal a modicum of that innocence for himself. To devour her.

  Christ, had he ever wanted a woman more?

  The answer was painfully obvious—a decisive no.

  “I meant what I said, sir,” she insisted, shoulders going back in a defiant pose. “Being near you is dangerous.”

  “To your virtue? Mayhap.” He grinned. “But I promise you that you will not regret it. Not for a moment.”

  Her lips parted. “Mr. Winter!”

  But though she scolded him and pretended she was outraged, he knew better. He could still hear her sultry moan when he had sucked her nipples. He could have lifted her gown, touched her, and he would have found her wet. He could have stroked her until she spent, and he suspected she knew the truth of it as well as he did. Their connection was undeniable.

  “Do not pretend to be scandalized, Lady Felicity. We both know you enjoyed yourself in my arms.” He plucked the hat from her head, dropping it to the floor along with his shed outer garments. “We both know you want more.”

  He was playing with fire, and he knew it. Mayhap they would both get burned. He was not sure he cared at the moment. All he did care about was the hazel-eyed siren watching him with her steady, rapt gaze. Her scent reached him then—jasmine. Sweet and exotic. Like something he could never have.

  Something he very much desired.

  “You are astoundingly arrogant, Mr. Winter,” she accused, but there was no heat in her voice.

  He was, and he knew it. With good reason. He may not be a titled lord to the manor born, but he knew how to satisfy a lady.

  His eyes dipped to her lips. “Yet you long for me anyway.”

  “You presume to know what I feel?” she asked softly. “What I want?”

  He reached for the line of buttons on her pelisse, removing them one by one from their moorings. “Stop me if I am wrong.”

  She did not move away. Nor did she do anything to stay his progress. Instead, she remained still, allowing him to undo them.

  “What are you doing, M
r. Winter?”

  “Time you call me Blade, don’t you think, love?” He reached the final button at last and peeled the garment from her shoulders.

  He tossed the pelisse to the floor.

  Silence reigned for a moment, no sound save the fire popping in the grate. He wondered how much time he had until a servant arrived to tend it. He thought about latching the door.

  He would have, mayhap.

  But then Lady Felicity did the last thing he expected. She grasped his lapels in both her dainty fists and pulled him closer.

  “Blade,” she said at last.

  And then, she kissed him.

  Felicity had lost control.

  Had lost all sense of duty.

  Mayhap it was the distance from the main house that had emboldened her. Auntie Agatha would never follow her here—her arthritic knees would not allow the fifteen-minute walk, and nor would her gouty foot. They were alone. No Winter siblings to intrude.

  No interruption.

  Nothing but Blade Winter, smug and sinfully tempting and so handsome she ached.

  She should not have kissed him, and she knew it. But when he responded, kissing her back with so much fervor it stole her breath, she could not summon a hint of regret. As before, Blade Winter’s kisses were a revelation. Heat flared within her. She was hot all over, and it had nothing to do with the fire at her back.

  She felt alive in a way she never had before, as if all her life, she had been waiting for this man. Which was foolish, of course. She could not pursue anything with him. The gentlemen she needed to be speaking with—her husband prospects—were back at the main house, likely engaged in drawing room games or out riding. If there was any man who was unabashedly not the husbandly sort, it was the man kissing her breath away with such wickedness.

  And worst of all, though she knew she should stop, she could not. She did not want to. All she wanted was more.

  They kissed and kissed. He sucked her lower lip, licked into her mouth. Her tongue tangled with his. He kissed her as if she were a secret that belonged to him and him alone.

  And she wanted to.

  Then and there, in the freedom of the false ruins, the hush of winter blanketing the world outside, she wanted to be his. Wanted him to make her his. Wanted him to touch her, take her, do with her as he would.