She sighed. “I want you to promise me my brother will be safe. And I also want you to swear you will bar him from your establishment so he cannot lose any more funds. I want him forever free of debt to you.”
Her love for her worthless brother was almost admirable. Except it was misplaced. As was her belief in him. Lady Adele Saltisford knew nothing of the ways of men or gamblers. It was almost sweet, her insistence she believe the best of Sundenbury.
Sweet? Floating hell, what was the matter with him? Brother dearest had likely slipped poison into the wassail.
“You truly think if I refuse him at The Devil’s Spawn that he will not go elsewhere to have his pockets fleeced?” he asked her.
Lady Adele did not flinch, nor did she waiver. “I believe it will be a deterrent, especially after he realizes the extent of the sacrifice I made for him.”
She was a rarity, this woman he was going to marry. She was dipped in sunshine and the foolish belief everyone around her was good. The truth was, every last one of them, from brother dearest down to the footmen, was fucking horrible. What must it be like, such unending, misplaced belief in the innate goodness of others?
For a moment, Dom wished he shared in her delusions.
Until he remembered where they would leave him—dead in an alleyway, a Sutton bullet lodged in his back.
“Ah, my darling duchess.” He stroked the backs of his fingers down her silken cheek, the first touch he had permitted himself since meeting her in the library at her request. “I do hate to dismantle your idealism, but that is not the way of it for men who throw away their lives and fortunes upon the next flip of a card or roll of the dice. If I deny him, Sundenbury will go elsewhere, and he will lose his coin there all the same. Only, it will go worse for him as the owners of other establishments will not be members of his family.”
In truth, there was no chance her brother would be admitted anywhere else. Dom had made it known in the East End that Sundenbury must be refused at all hells except The Devil’s Spawn or risk facing retaliation from the Winters. He wanted the heir to the Duke of Linross in his debt, and not in the debt of any other. He would have Linross in the palm of his hand by more than one means, just where he needed him. And he would emerge victorious over the Suttons at last.
“Nonetheless, I demand your promise,” she said.
Her determination was another trait to admire. It was also the reason why he had paid all brother dearest’s servants to keep him apprised of her every move. He had foiled no fewer than six attempts to flee, all without her knowledge.
Lady Emilia Winter appeared at the threshold of the library. “The two of you will have an abundance of time to discuss what you wish in privacy after you wed.”
If Lady Emilia believed there would be any discussion following his marriage to Lady Adele, she was cut from the same foolish cloth.
But she was not wrong about her wish to get the marriage underway. The sooner Lady Adele was his, the better.
He turned back to his bride. “Very well, I give you my promise.”
He said it with ease because he had no intention of holding true to his promise. That was yet another lesson his future wife had to learn. Never trust someone who wants something from you.
She searched his gaze, apparently seeing what she wanted there before she nodded. “I will do it.”
With a curtsy, she turned and fled from the library, following Lady Emilia Winter.
In no time at all, he was going to be a married man.
And then, no one—not even Jasper Sutton and his army of bloodthirsty thieves—could stop the bastard Winters.
The carriage lumbered slowly over the icy roads leading from Oxfordshire back to London. There could be no complaints about the quality of the carriage. The squabs were fashioned of silk and leather. The newness of the paint and the surprising lack of sound within as it rattled over treacherous roads suggested it had been recently built. The floor was lined with lush carpet, heated bricks laid at her feet for warmth. Venetian blinds covered the windows, allowing in the gloomy light of the winter’s afternoon. It was, Adele had to admit, lushly appointed and elegant.
But it was not any carriage in which she traveled. No, indeed. This was her husband’s carriage.
Adele was married.
Her father was going to have her hide. Her mama would swoon when word reached her in Cornwall, where she had gone to look after her own ailing mother. Her sisters Hannah and Evie would be shocked. And Max? She could only hope he would appreciate the sacrifices she had made to keep him safe and that he would change his ways.
Just as she could only hope Mr. Dominic Winter would prove a good husband.
A hysterical burst of laughter fled her.
There was a limit to her hope, and believing the darkly handsome man across from her could ever be a good husband, the sort she had once wished for herself, was laughable.
“Are you weeping or are you laughing, Duchess?”
Her gaze flitted from the window to settle upon the man she had wed. “Mayhap a combination of both.”
“I prefer your laughter to your tears.”
His solemn pronouncement took her by surprise. “I would think a man such as yourself takes pleasure in tears.”
“The tears of certain others, yes.” He cocked his head to the side, a small, almost boyish smile curling his sensual lips. “Your tears? Never.”
“And yet you forced me to marry you,” she reminded him. “I know what you did, making certain Lady Emilia and Mr. Winter would discover where you had gone at just the right moment to create maximum damage to my reputation.”
“I may have paid a servant.” He gave an indolent shrug.
“Bribed, you mean.”
He truly was a wicked man. Conscienceless, willing to cross any boundary in pursuit of what he wanted. And what he had wanted had been her. What she did not understand yet was why. Adele meant to get to the bottom of the mystery.
Soon.
“Why quibble over a word, Duchess?” His grin deepened.
“Why indeed? A liar is no better than a thief, is he?”
His lips twitched. “Are you calling me a liar or a thief, love?”
There was deceptive calm in his voice, his tone smooth and mellifluous. And yet, there was also an undeniable edge. He was mercurial, Dominic Winter. She could not begin to understand him, and that terrified her. Because she was forever bound to him now.
Still, she refused to allow him to see the effect he had upon her. She could be brave. All her life, she had been the quiet twin, the wallflower. She had proven to herself, however, that when the situation merited her efforts, she was stronger than she had ever known.
She studied him now. “I have no way of knowing if you are either of those things. I scarcely know you at all, Mr. Winter.”
His brows snapped into a frown. “Dom.”
He could keep all London trembling in fear at the thought of his wrath, but she would not cower. “You forced me to marry you, but you cannot choose what I call you, Mr. Winter.”
“You will call me Dom,” he growled.
“No.”
“No?” His voice was steeped in disbelief.
She wondered if anyone ever denied him. Mayhap she would have to be the first. “No, Mr. Winter. I have been thinking about our marriage.”
“You have, have you?” There it was again, that barely leashed menace.
“Yes. I do think it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if we were to keep it a secret for a time.” Adele bit her lower lip, watching his reaction to her suggestion.
Truly, her initial plan had been to escape him. But he had thwarted her at every turn. Finally, she had decided there was no other means of saving herself aside from marrying him. At least she had gotten his promise that Max would be safe.
But her husband’s response was not what she had been hoping for.
“Never,” he vowed, vehement.
Curse him.
“Only thin
k of it, Mr. Winter. We will have time to make our announcement to society. I can return to my father’s townhome, and you shall go back to The Devil’s Spawn. In time, we can reach a suitable agreement between the two of us.”
“Who is it you think you have married, Mrs. Winter?”
Mrs. Winter. Good heavens, how strange it sounded.
His tone was a warning, and she knew it. But she was not in the mood to retreat. She was in the mood to fight. Battle was all she had left, because she feared what would become of her and her child. She could not raise a babe in a gaming hell.
“I do not know whom I have married.” He was a stranger, an enigma. She was fascinated by him, frightened of him, desperately drawn to him.
He was the wicked seducer every society mother warned her daughters about.
And she had given in to him.
Had given herself to him.
“Allow me to rectify, Duchess.” Grasping the straps, he rose to comical height, hunkered over, balancing himself with an ease that belied the state of the wintry roads. He bowed. “Dominic Winter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
With that pronouncement, he tipped the brim of an imaginary hat and settled himself once more on the expensive squabs opposite her. Heavens take the man. That had been…charming. Her lips wanted to curve into a smile.
She bit her lip again, hard, to keep that unwanted expression at bay. “I am more than aware of your name. You are being obtuse to irritate me.”
He grinned. “Is it working?”
Once more, her lips twitched. He had not been wrong when he had warned her she had made a bargain with the devil. Only the devil himself could be so smooth, so charismatic, so commanding and dangerous all at once.
“You are fortunate you did not strike your head on the roof of the carriage with your antics,” she told him instead of admitting anything.
“I never take risks unless I know they are in my favor.” His grin changed, deepening into a true smile.
The corners of his eyes wrinkled. Her breath caught.
Blessed angels, when he smiled, truly smiled, he was…the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
His words finally settled into the cracks he had created in her ability to concentrate. I never take risks unless I know they are in my favor.
Telling, that statement.
“Was marrying me a risk in your favor?” she asked him, wondering again at the reason for his abrupt desire to marry her.
He had not wanted to marry her when he had believed her a mere mistress. Was it because she was the daughter of a duke? And yet, he dismissed society and curled his lip at his own half brother.
“Marrying you was an excellent decision,” he countered softly, an appreciative light entering his intense stare. “Aside from your impertinence, I have no regrets.”
He was doing it again. Charming her.
Blast him.
“I am gratified you do not have regrets, some two hours after our nuptials, Mr. Winter.” She kept her voice carefully cool.
Colder than the January wind outside, howling and buffeting the carriage. The journey to London was not overly long, thankfully. However, with the unusual cold and the bouts of snow they had been suffering, travel was certainly not ideal.
“You are almost the most stubborn woman I have ever known,” he told her.
She could not be certain if this announcement was an insult or a compliment.
But she did know a sudden pang of jealousy at the notion of him consorting with any other women. Foolish, she knew. Burning in her breast like a hot coal, nonetheless.
“Who is the most stubborn woman you have ever known?” she could not resist asking, though she feared the answer.
“My sister.” He chuckled. “When you meet Genevieve, you will understand.”
Ah yes, there it was again. The specter of his family. A reminder of just how little she truly knew about the man she had just married. “How many siblings do you have, Mr. Winter?”
“Eleven in all that I am aware of. I would not be surprised if another half dozen rattled loose at some point. Old Papa Winter liked to dip his quill into any inkwell he could find.”
Her cheeks flushed at her husband’s plain speech, and she decided to ignore that particular statement. “How many brothers and sisters do you have, aside from the other Winters?”
“The respectable Winters, you mean?” His tone was grim. “Amongst the disreputable bastards, there is one sister, Genevieve. Then there is Devil, Demon, Blade, and Gavin.”
The name Devil brought with it memories of the hulking man who had escorted her to Dominic’s office that first night. “Do you have two acquaintances named Devil, or is the ferocious, scowling beast skulking about The Devil’s Spawn your brother?”
“I will have to tell him you think him a beast. He will be pleased.”
“But he is your brother, is he not?”
Now that she thought about it, the two men shared similarly massive, muscular builds. Both were tall, with dark hair. Both menacing.
“He is my half brother. Our mothers were Covent Garden doxies. Apparently Papa Winter had a certain preference. Young, pretty, and desperate.”
“Where are your mothers now?”
His jaw tightened. “Gone.”
She could not be certain if the glimmer in his dark eyes was grief or something else, but she felt the need to offer her sympathy. Life in the streets of London could not have been easy. “I am sorry.”
“I do not require your pity, Duchess. Our mothers sold us to one of their patrons for a bit of coin. Neither Devil nor I have mourned their passing.”
“Sold you?” Adele had never heard of such a thing, the selling of children. Surely it could not mean what she feared?
“To a man who wanted to…” He stopped, shaking his head. “It matters not. Devil saved us both before it went too far.”
She wanted to know more. Indeed, Adele was startled to realize she wanted to know everything there was to know about him. He intrigued her. He terrified her. He…made her feel things she had never felt before.
He was also the father of her child.
A child whose existence she had yet to inform him of.
Adele was going to tell him, she decided. But then, the carriage rolled to a stop outside a coaching inn, and he threw open the door to the conveyance as if he could not wait a moment longer to remove himself from it.
An icy wall of winter’s wind hit her.
Fitting.
She held her tongue and followed her new husband into the inn.
Chapter Ten
His wife was asleep.
Floating hell.
His first evening as a married man was not progressing as Dom had hoped it would when he had gone to the public rooms for ale. He had been doing his damnedest to be considerate. A new state for him, it was certain. She had suggested she needed some time to attend to private matters.
One pint had turned into another. Then another.
Until he had decided it would be prudent to return to his bride.
To his sleeping bride.
Dom had spent every second since he had bedded her the first time plotting and dreaming what it would be like to have her again. His need for her had only grown more pronounced, the more time he spent in her presence. The ale in the public rooms had been his attempt at being a gentleman.
It had been either get a bit tap-hackled in an effort to quell his raging cockstand or fall upon her like a starving beggar who had been deprived of sustenance for long enough to make him go mad. He had also made certain his pickpocket did not go about separating any of the guests at the inn from their purses.
Davy, as Dom had discovered the lad’s name was, had bedded down in the stables with his coachman for the night, each of them with a warm mug of cider and the rich meat pies of the proprietress filling their bellies. Dom was not entirely certain the lad’s word was good, but he fully intended to make certain the little thief had complied by the light of
the morning.
Still, the hour was early, and he had not expected Lady Adele to be in blissful slumber when he returned to their rooms. At least she had thought to lock the door. Her trusting nature did not apparently extend to fellow travelers, thank Christ.
With a sigh, Dom stalked toward the hearth where the fire had already gone low. The air had a pronounced nip to it, and he could not abide by cold. Mayhap it was the result of living on the streets for so much of his youth. There was nothing worse than a London winter with no roof and scarcely any food.
He stoked the fire, then stood before it, allowing the flames to warm him. Wondering what he would do. He ought to wake her and claim her. Strip her out of her travel weeds and sink inside her where he belonged. Fuck her until the sun rose.
The Dominic Winter he had always believed himself to be would have done so, he was sure of it. He would have had no quarter for a fancy duke’s daughter who had the effrontery to fall asleep on their wedding night. But ever since Lady Adele Saltisford had entered his life, he had gone despicably soft.
Not his prick, he thought grimly. That part of his anatomy had failed to change. He wanted her more than he had ever desired another woman.
But his mind, his resolve, his ruthlessness—those traits which had kept him in power amidst the bloodthirsty, grasping monsters of the rookeries—seemed to have been affected. What the devil was this sudden affliction? Did it have a name?
Grimly, he turned and stalked back toward the bed where Adele lay sleeping. Her lovely face was relaxed, her lips parted. She had not shed anything save her bonnet, gloves, and pelisse. And nor had she bothered to draw down the counterpane or remove her boots.
In the low, flickering light, she looked every bit the angel he had once believed her. She also looked bloody uncomfortable. Not that he cared, of course.
He was Dominic Winter. He cared for his siblings who shared his blood. He worried over his empire, his money, his power. He most certainly did not fret over a spoiled daughter to a duke who had lied to him, run from him, and then fallen asleep before he could enjoy his wedding night, curse it.
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