Winter’s Whispers

by Scott, Scarlett

  He raised a brow, waiting.

  “Kiss me,” she ordered him, grinning.

  “With pleasure.” His head dipped and he took her mouth with his, there beneath the mistletoe.

  Yes, he was collecting each one of those bloody berries for his own before he was done. One for every kiss.

  And then some.

  “I refuse to believe it.” Auntie Agatha threw her hand to her brow. “Where is my hartshorn? I fear I shall have need of it again.”

  “I am reasonably certain you didn’t swoon the first time, madam,” Blade said wryly at Felicity’s side.

  He was right, of course. Auntie Agatha had not truly swooned. Her aunt was merely being, well, Auntie Agatha. Melodramatic, grumpy, and rude, not always in that order. She had good intentions, but her execution was often lacking.

  In this instance, Felicity could not blame her aunt for her shock.

  Even Felicity could still scarcely believe she was marrying Blade Winter, the man she loved. The man who loved her too. The sight of him awaiting her in the library would forever be imprinted upon her memory—an inking of her own.

  “You, sir, are a scoundrel,” Auntie Agatha announced, opening her eyes to pin Blade with a disapproving glare. “My beloved niece cannot possibly marry you.”

  “Auntie Agatha,” Felicity intervened, “I have already agreed to wed Mr. Winter.”

  “Your father has not given his approval of such a match,” her aunt argued. “Nor would he.”

  “My father will be happy for me to wed Mr. Winter, particularly when he learns Mr. Winter is willing to provide Esme and Cassandra with dowries and help to ease his debts. Truly, I could not ask for a better husband.”

  Not because of those reasons, but Blade’s generosity was undeniably sweet.

  “He is a bastard,” Auntie Agatha exclaimed, sotto voce.

  Unfortunately, her whisper carried to Blade.

  “The bastard son of a Covent Garden doxy, if you must know,” he said, shrugging. “Fortunately, Lady Felicity is willing to overlook my sins and give me a chance to redeem myself.”

  I love you, she mouthed at him.

  He winked.

  “Saw that, dear girl,” Auntie Agatha said with a harrumph, banging the floor of the yellow salon—where they had chosen to privately deliver their news to her—with her cane. “You cannot possibly be in love with this rakehell. He has a terrible reputation.”

  Yes, he did.

  But Felicity loved him anyway. He was more than the sum of his past. More than his parentage or where he lived or what he had done. He was the man who kissed her with such gentleness, it made her want to weep. The man who held her heart in his hands.

  “He is a fine man, Auntie Agatha,” she defended Blade. “I could not ask for a better husband.”

  Her aunt snorted. “You could certainly ask. What happened to Lord Chilton?”

  “I do not love him,” she said. “I love Mr. Winter.”

  “If Chilton would prefer his nose to remain unbroken, he will never again sneak away to the mistletoe with my future wife,” Blade clipped.

  Auntie Agatha fanned herself. “You see, my dear? The man is a brute.”

  He was hardly a brute.

  “A brute turned gentleman,” Blade corrected, grinning, his dimple reappearing.

  Was it her imagination, or was Auntie Agatha flushing beneath his rakish regard?

  Her aunt fanned herself some more. “A gentleman, you say? Hmm.”

  “When you get to know Mr. Winter as I have, you will realize he is perfect for me in every way,” Felicity told her aunt, and that much was the utter truth.

  Her future husband’s gaze connected with hers. His smile said more than words could, and it warmed her heart.

  “I love your niece, and I promise to do everything I can to be a good husband and make her happy,” Blade told her aunt.

  Auntie Agatha flapped her fan with more determination than ever. “You had better, Mr. Winter. Or you will answer to me and my cane.”

  She thumped it on the floor to emphasize her point.

  The door to the salon clicked open to reveal Lady Emilia, wearing her angelic smile. “Do forgive me for the interruption, but I was wondering if we might get started talking about modistes for Lady Cassandra’s and Lady Esme’s seasons.”

  “I am generally considered an arbiter of fashion,” Auntie Agatha disclosed with the air of a queen.

  Lady Emilia settled in with Felicity’s aunt, and the two began a discussion about the merits of lace. Felicity had not realized Blade had drifted nearer to her until his lips hovered at her ear, making her shiver.

  “Come away with me,” Blade whispered, his hand finding hers, their fingers lacing together in a gesture that felt as natural as it did familiar.

  “Where to?” she asked softly.

  His bright-blue eyes were warm with sensual intent. “Anywhere I can kiss my future wife.”

  Oh, she liked the sound of that. Kissing him and the notion of her future as his wife both.

  “You can kiss me everywhere,” she murmured as they collectively began easing away from Auntie Agatha and Lady Emilia.

  “Everywhere?” he teased with a smirk that made heat slide through her. “Do not tempt me with a good time.”

  Another few steps, and they had quietly extricated themselves from the yellow salon. Still holding hands, they made their way to the nearest chamber, which was blessedly empty. The door was scarcely even closed before Felicity threw herself into Blade’s arms.

  This was where she belonged, in the arms of the man she loved, his wicked lips on hers.

  Epilogue

  “I have a gift for you. Two gifts, actually.”

  Blade’s heart, which was already ridiculously full and large after having finally made Lady Felicity Hughes his earlier that morning before their families—Winters, Hughes, and even her curmudgeonly aunt—swelled larger. He was grateful, so bloody grateful, for Felicity’s love.

  He took his wife, who was wearing a thin night rail he could not wait to peel off her lovely body, into his arms. Her hair was unbound, sending chestnut curls down her back, all the better for him to bury his face in. He inhaled deeply of her floral, beloved scent, and relished the feeling of her softness pressed to his body.

  “You are gift enough,” he said tenderly, rubbing his cheek over the silken skeins of her tresses.

  Her arms went around his waist, holding him tight. She pressed her face to his throat, kissing him there. “I am part of the gift.”

  His cockstand was instant. “I like the sound of that, love.”

  “Naughty man.” Her throaty laugh only made him harder.

  She kissed his pulse, which had begun to pound in anticipation. He had played the gentleman—mostly—whilst awaiting their nuptials. He had licked her until she spent in the carriage back to London after cleverly orchestrating Auntie Agatha’s mistaken placement in a carriage with Gen, Demon, and Gavin. His trick had only been successful until they had reached the coaching inn.

  Auntie Dragon had not been amused.

  Felicity had been sated.

  Worth it.

  “Let me show you just how naughty this man can be,” he said. “I promise you will appreciate my efforts.”

  That was not an exaggeration. He had every intention of making her come until she could not move this evening. The day had been long, with the wedding, the celebration with their families, and then settling in at their new Mayfair home, which was quite near to Dom’s and Devil’s homes.

  That had been a feat that required Blade selling his ownership in The Devil’s Spawn and stepping down from his position there. Now, he was overseeing the waterworks for his family and beginning a partnership with Devereaux on a cutlery factory. Their marriage had not been as hasty as he would have preferred, but he had also known he needed to enter this union with her as a new man.

  No more troublesome Blade Winter, fighting duels, carving up cheats and scoundrels at the Devil�
�s Spawn with his blades. No more rakehell and scoundrel. From the moment he had realized he was in love with Felicity, all he had wanted was to be her man.

  The man she deserved.

  He was not quite that man yet, but he would continue working at it, and he would continue loving her.

  “I know I will appreciate your efforts, my love.” She kissed her way up his throat to his ear. The minx’s tongue ran over the shell. “It has been far too long since we have been alone. Lying in bed, touching myself while I thought of you, was dismal comfort.”

  “Hell,” he groaned, thrusting into her so she could feel the length of his throbbing erection through the thin barriers of his banyan and her night rail. “You touched yourself, love?”

  The mere thought was enough to make a bead of mettle seep from his tip, and he had not kissed her yet.

  “I did.” She kissed across his jaw now.

  By God, she was seducing him. So much for being the seasoned rakehell. All it took was one woman to bring him to his knees. The right woman. This one.

  “Where?” he rasped, though he knew he should not.

  It was so wicked, the notion of her lying alone at night, touching herself until she spent as he had done.

  “My pearl,” she said, using the word he had taught her for that special, plump bud.

  She kissed her way to his lips, her tongue flicking over the seam.

  “Did you spend?” he asked on a growl of pure need.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and then she kissed him.

  The union of their mouths was deep and dark and carnal, filled with promise and love. He was thankful every day that her kitten had chosen his bed to get lost beneath and that his half siblings had done their damnedest to matchmake and throw them together. She was everything he wanted, everything he had needed without realizing it.

  Their tongues tangled. The thought of Miss Wilhelmina had him lifting his head prematurely.

  “What is the matter?” she asked, breathless.

  She knew him so well.

  “How is Miss Wilhelmina getting on with Mr. Spoony?” he asked.

  He did not think it was a mistake that a little orange cat—scruffy and starved—had found its way to him in the rookery whilst he had been awaiting the Mayfair House’s purchase to be completed. He had taken the bugger in, feeding him, cleaning him. And the furred scamp had rather made his imprint upon Blade’s heart.

  “I still cannot believe you named him Mr. Spoony.”

  “It was either that or Arsehole,” he defended. “The first three nights I had him, he kept me up all night with his caterwauling, and then he attacked my window dressings with his claws.”

  Felicity smiled up at him. “You have a good heart, Blade Winter. Just as I’ve always known. Our mister and miss were getting on quite well when I checked on them earlier, but I am not certain Miss Wilhelmina will ever like him well enough to share her liver. But never mind that. Let me show you your gifts before you distract me.”

  Hell. Although he had already given her his gift—a room just for her to sketch in, decorated with all her favorite colors—he still felt guilty for not having something else.

  “Fair enough,” he grumbled.

  She extricated herself from his arms and crossed the chamber, retrieving something she kept behind her back, before handing it over with a shy smile. “Here you are. I do hope you like it. As I said, I am not talented, but I enjoy the art.”

  He stared down at the sketched likeness in his hands. It was him, holding the kitten-sized Miss Wilhelmina by the scruff of her neck in his chamber at Abingdon Hall. Her talent was astounding. And undeniable. He had not pressed her to share it with him, sensing her shyness. Now, he could not fathom why.

  “My God, love, this is incredible.”

  “It is you,” she said, her cheeks going pink.

  “Aye, I’d recognize my sorry gob anywhere. But that is not what is incredible. ’Tis your talent. I am…astounded.” He paused, searching for finer words and finding none. “Thank you for this beautiful gift. I love it, and I love you.”

  She beamed, rising on her toes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I am so pleased you like it, darling.”

  “Like does not begin to describe the way I feel.” Humbled, he took the sketch to a nearby table and placed it there. “It is incredible, just as you are.”

  “Good. Now here is the other part of your gift.” She stepped back and lifted the hem of her night rail, putting her right ankle forward.

  For a moment, he could do nothing but admire the elegant point of her toes and the curve of her calf, without the hindrance of stockings. All that creamy skin. Christ. Her ankles.

  But then he spied it—an inking just above the protrusion of her anklebone. A dagger.

  “My God, Felicity.” He dropped to his knees, taking her foot in his hand, examining the beautiful work. “Did Gen do this?”

  “Yes.” Felicity nodded, her expression hesitant. Almost shy. “Do you like it? I wanted something to show I am yours, now and forever. It seemed…right.”

  He was speechless. The ink was healed. She must have asked Gen to give her the mark shortly after their return to London.

  “You do not dislike it, do you?” Her tone was nervous. “Pray do not be angry with your sister. She was hesitant to do it, but I insisted.”

  He rubbed his thumb over the blade, the hilt. Such intricate detail. So beautiful. And she had done this for him. The inkings were painful, an arduous process. His brave, beautiful lady. He could not love her more.

  “Dislike it?” He pressed a reverent kiss to her there. “I bloody well love it.”

  Her smile returned. “I wanted to make you happy.”

  “Always. You always make me happy.”

  “Oh, Blade.” There were tears glistening in her eyes, and that was not what he wanted now.

  What he wanted was her utter, absolute pleasure.

  “Since I am already where I belong, on my knees for you,” he said, giving her his best rakish grin, “take off your night rail, love.”

  Her lips parted, her hazel eyes darkening. “If you insist.”

  She grasped her demure gown in both hands and lifted it over her head, tossing it behind her. His beautiful wife was naked before him. Fuck, he was the luckiest chap in England, and he knew it.

  “I insist,” he said as he cupped her arse and pulled her forward.

  He sucked her pearl and sank a finger deep inside her slick channel simultaneously. Crooking his finger, he found the place he knew she was most sensitive. It had been too long since he had last pleasured her, and she did not last. She came gloriously, crying out, her fingernails digging into his shoulders through the silk of his banyan.

  He rose to his full height and claimed her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue as he kissed her. They fell into the bed together, and he worked his way to her beautiful breasts, sucking, licking, and nipping, while he played with her cunny. Slipping a finger deep, then another, working and stretching her. Toying with her pearl until she spent again.

  At last, he guided his cock to her entrance. “I love you, Felicity Winter.”

  “Oh,” she said on a moan, body arching from the bed as he entered her in one swift thrust. “I love you too. So much.”

  They came together, her sheath tightening on him, the white-hot desire taking him by surprise. Heat licked up his spine, and he exploded, burying himself to the hilt and filling her with his seed.

  Breathless, boneless, and mindless once again, he collapsed against her, reveling in the tandem pounding of their hearts, the closeness of their bodies, the intimacy of skin on skin. Her arms went around him, holding him tight.

  He had found the place where he belonged. With this woman.

  Nothing had ever felt so real, and nothing had ever felt so right.

  She was his, and he was hers.

  Forever.

  The End

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Winter’s
Whispers! I hope you loved this tenth book in my The Wicked Winters series and that Blade and Felicity touched your heart and made you laugh along the way. We all need more laughter, don’t we? And love. We need that, too. I also hope you enjoyed the glimpses of previous couples in the series. If this is the first book you’ve picked up in the series, you can catch the happily ever afters of all the other couples mentioned in Winter’s Whispers in books 1-6. As always, thank you for spending your precious time reading my books!

  Please consider leaving an honest review of Winter’s Woman. Reviews are greatly appreciated! If you’d like to keep up to date with my latest releases and series news, sign up for my newsletter here or follow me on Amazon or BookBub. Join my reader’s group on Facebook for bonus content, early excerpts, giveaways, and more.

  There are more Winters on the way. If you’d like a preview of Winter’s Waltz, Book Eleven in The Wicked Winters series, featuring fierce, eccentric, breeches-wearing Gen Winter and the ne’er-do-well lord she’s about to reform, do read on.

  Until next time,

  Scarlett

  Winter’s Waltz

  The Wicked Winters Book Eleven

  By

  Scarlett Scott

  The Marquess of Sundenbury needs to stay out of trouble. Genevieve Winter needs a favor. What could go wrong? Only everything…

  Sundenbury has a gambling problem. Genevieve has a Sundenbury problem. Namely, she has been tasked with keeping an eye on the scandalous lord. Gen has plans to open a ladies’ gaming establishment, and while she’s saddled with London’s biggest ne’er do well, he has to make himself useful. In exchange for her aid, the marquess must help her gain the ladylike polish she requires to lure in her lucrative clientele.

  Max, Marquess of Sundenbury, is the undisputed black sheep of his family. With his gambling debts mounting and a ducal father who has cut off the purse strings, he needs to reform his reputation and find a wealthy bride. His plan? Take a month away from society, give the wagging tongues time to settle down, then reemerge a changed man, and all that folderol.