Winter’s Wallflower

by Scott, Scarlett

  “On the floor? Why?”

  He rose from the bed without offering a response, stalking away from her. Adele was briefly shocked by the sight of him, tall, nude, commanding. His body was well-muscled. She had never seen a naked man. But her surprise was not just in his nudity, which did not appear to concern him at all.

  Rather, it was in the scars marring his back and legs. Long, diagonal scars marked his back in a pattern. On his thighs and calves, a map of slashes covered him.

  She gasped.

  “Fuck,” he growled, bending down to retrieve his discarded breeches from the threadbare carpets and donning them. “Forgive me. I was so damned upset at nearly harming you that I forgot what a monster I am by the light of day.”

  “You are not a monster,” she hastened to correct him.

  But he was already throwing on his shirt, stalking to the far end of the room, putting distance between them. She gathered the counterpane around her for modesty and slipped from the bed, following him, determined not to allow him to create a deeper chasm than that which already existed.

  The haste of her movements proved a mistake.

  The vile sickness that had been affecting her returned in a flash. Nausea churned. Her belly tightened.

  No, she would not retch now.

  Do not be ill. Do not be ill, she charged herself.

  Adele swallowed. But the bile was rising. A wave of dizziness hit her, heightening the severity of the nausea. She needed a chamber pot.

  Now.

  Scrambling, she located the unadorned porcelain basin just in time to fall to her knees and cast up her accounts into it. She heaved again and again, eyes watering as she emptied her stomach. Humiliation washed over her as the sickness subsided.

  She became aware of a presence at her side. A cool, damp cloth passed over her face.

  “Not a monster, am I?”

  Her husband’s grim voice did nothing to assuage her misery.

  Dear God, he thought she had been sick at the sight of his scars? And still, he was on his knees at her side, tending to her. The notion hurt her heart on his behalf.

  But before she could respond, another heave swept over her. She hunched over, attempting to keep her hair from the chamber pot’s contents. Another wave of wretchedness swamped her. Her body convulsed, but there was nothing left to bring up into the pot.

  And still, he was there, passing the cool, calming cloth over her face once more. His hand traveling up and down her spine in steady, comforting strokes. Even when he believed she was having a violent reaction to his body, he was there for her.

  Her heart ached.

  The time to tell him the truth was now.

  Here.

  This moment.

  She inhaled through her mouth, then exhaled slowly through her nose, willing her turbulent stomach to calm. A few repetitions, and the aggressive grip of nausea relented. She turned toward her husband, who watched her with an expression that was equal parts guarded and concerned.

  “I was not ill because of your scars,” she told him.

  His expression shuttered. “I do not give a damn if you were. I wear my past with pride. Every mark brought me to the place where I am today. If it disgusts you, you would not be the first. Nor shall you be the last.”

  His callous words had their intended effect upon her. She wanted to rail against him, but she understood it was only his wounded pride speaking and not the man who had been so patient and gentle with her. For all that he was a feared lord of the East End’s criminal enterprises, he was also good. He was the man who kissed her with such sweet tenderness, the man who held her in his arms, the man who made her shatter.

  The father of her child.

  She must not forget that.

  “I am with child.”

  His swift inhalation cut through the stillness following her revelation.

  Adele waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. “Dom?”

  “You are carrying a babe.”

  The words, leaving his lips, seemed to be sharp as blades. They cut her to shreds.

  “Your babe,” she said. “What did you suppose? I gave myself to you in London. You are the only man I have known.”

  “You are carrying…my child?”

  The question left him slowly, as if the mere asking caused him undue effort. As if his tongue were rusted, when she knew quite well it was not.

  She nodded, breathing slowly again herself to stave off a second rush of nausea. “Of course the babe is yours.”

  His hand was on her arm, then. The grip was not punishing. But neither was it tender. “You have been carrying my babe for three months and you have yet to inform me of it?”

  When he summarized it thus, her actions sounded awful. Unpardonable, even. However, he was forgetting one salient fact.

  “I never expected to see you again, Dom. You believed me to be a gentleman’s mistress. I gave you my innocence in return for my brother’s safety. What happened between us was never meant to be more than what it was that night. And yet…”

  His nostrils flared, his gaze searching, holding hers. “And yet?”

  She swallowed. “And yet you changed me. You made me see a different side of the world I believed I had known.”

  He raised a brow. “So different you disappeared and ran off to Oxfordshire?”

  “I did not run anywhere.” She held his gaze, willing him to see, to understand. “I was an unwed lady who suddenly found herself growing ill in the mornings. Who was hungry and tired. It did not take me long to realize what had happened. I may have been an innocent, but I am not entirely ignorant. I knew I was with child, and so I sought some time. The Winter country house party was the perfect opportunity to escape and plan what I would do next.”

  Every word she had just spoken had been the truth.

  Dom stared at her, his expression harsh, unforgiving. His dark eyes seeking, plumbing, probing. “You knew you were carrying my child, and instead of coming to me, you fled to Devereaux Winter’s country house party to make merry with a bevy of worthless, spoiled aristocrats?”

  The seething tone of his voice was a warning.

  Her knees ached, and her belly surged again, but this time she was determined to keep her nausea at bay. She did not move, did not flinch.

  “How should I have come to you?” she asked him. “I had already brought myself near enough to ruin by finding my way to your gaming hell on two separate occasions without my family being the wiser. I could not risk another trip.”

  “What was your intention, then?” he demanded, jaw rigid, voice harsh. “If what you say is true, you intended to keep my child from me, did you not?”

  She scarcely tamped down the urge to flinch away from the sharpness of his words, the bitter accusation. She could not blame him, because he was not far from the mark.

  “I had few choices,” she told him evenly, daring him to argue. “I was an unwed lady who found herself in a delicate condition. My father would have never accepted your suit, even if you had been willing to marry me.”

  He sneered. “Not good enough for you, am I, Duchess?”

  She was all too aware he had settled back into his familiar, mocking routine. Was it easier for him to keep her at a distance when he called her by some nonsensical sobriquet? Adele wondered.

  Still, she would not allow him to intimidate her. “I have married you, have I not, Mr. Winter?”

  “Call me Dom, damn it.”

  “Then call me Adele, curse you.”

  They stared at each other, once more at an impasse.

  Two stubborn people. Two hearts that seemed to beat as one, when the moment was right. She had to believe there was a reason they had come together. That there was a reason for the child they had created.

  “I never supposed I would be a father.”

  His admission was raw and hoarse, taking Adele by surprise.

  “Nor did I suppose I would be a mother just yet,” she offered softly, an olive branch extended betw
een them.

  His hand closed over hers, their fingers entwining. “Were you running from me?”

  “I was running from my father,” she confessed. “He would have taken the choice from me. I know what happens to unwed ladies. They are sent to the country, and when they have their lying in, the babes are given to other families so the ladies may return without shame. Few ever know the truth, but the child is gone.”

  “Is that not what you wanted, to abandon the child to strangers so you could carry on with your life?”

  She knew the subject must be particularly painful, given that his own mother had abandoned him. And not just left him, but sold him to someone who would have harmed him in a fashion she did not even wish to comprehend.

  “Of course that is not what I wanted, else I would have already been gone. I traveled away from my parents, my father especially, so I could make the decision that suited me best. It is also why I remained in Oxfordshire even after my sisters had left. I did not merely wish to be present at the Duke and Duchess of Coventry’s nuptials, though I consider the duchess my friend. I intended to find a cottage somewhere, a place where I could raise the babe and never fear being separated from my child.”

  His jaw clenched anew. “Instead of coming to me?”

  “I did not know you then.”

  “And do you know me now?”

  A strange question. One that was difficult to answer. Nigh impossible, in fact.

  But she held his gaze. “I do not think you allow anyone to know you, Dominic Winter. Not truly. Not the entire you. But I want to know you. There is so much more to understand. So much you need to explain. I cannot say what would have happened had you not come to me at Abingdon Hall. But what I do know is that you did, and we are here now, in this moment. We have the opportunity to begin again, together. Will you take it?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “You should have sought me out instead of disappearing from my life, Duchess.”

  “I feared your response, and I feared you, the terrible Mr. Dominic Winter.”

  “Do you fear me now?”

  Her answer was easy. She did not hesitate. “No.”

  He sighed. “A babe.”

  “Yes.”

  Their entwined fingers tightened. Something strange happened in her heart. The last of the fight seemed to have drained from him.

  “Ours.”

  “Ours,” she echoed, her heart giving an extra thump.

  His expression shifted, softening even more than she had ever seen from him before. “I am going to be a father.”

  The smile curving her lips was instant. Joyous. Right. “Yes, you are.”

  He kissed her forehead. “And you shall be a mother.”

  She nodded, rolling her lips inward as a rush of emotion swept over her. Yet another symptom of her condition, along with the sickness of each morning. “Yes.”

  “You will be the sort of mother every babe deserves, Duchess.”

  His quiet words filled her with strength. And something else.

  Something that felt a whole lot like love.

  Chapter Twelve

  The carriage came to a halt in the mews behind The Devil’s Spawn not a moment too soon. Smoke was billowing from one of the upper windows and men were pouring from the back doors.

  He had returned to mayhem.

  Fucking, floating hell.

  “Stay right where you are,” he ordered Adele.

  Her eyes were wide. “I will do nothing of the sort. I will go where you go. If you are in danger—”

  “Damn it, Adele, trust me in this. There may be danger within. If there is, I need to know you will remain where you are safe, that no harm will come to you. Do you understand?”

  Her expression turned mulish. “No. I refuse to be relegated to the carriage while you go and face whatever is happening within on your own.”

  He caught her face in his palms and kissed her swiftly before breaking free. “Listen to me. I…care for you, Adele. I need you and the babe to be safe, and there is no safer place for you than here. This is not a problem you can solve, and every moment I stay here arguing with you is a moment in which one of my men or family could die.”

  She went ashen at the ruthlessness of his words. “Die? Dom, what is happening?”

  He would do all he could to protect her and their child. But he would not lie to her about the seriousness of the situation. He did have enemies. The Suttons would do anything to overthrow his rule and destroy him. She needed to understand.

  Shouts reached him, along with gunfire.

  “Fuck.” He kissed her again. “Promise me you will stay here. The coachman will protect you. He has instructions to move if the risk of staying here is too great.”

  She nodded, tears glistening in her dark eyes. “Very well. I promise.”

  Satisfied, he turned from her and tore open the carriage door.

  “Dom?”

  Heart pounding, he chanced one last glance at her over his shoulder. “What is it, angel?”

  “Stay safe and come back to me.”

  He gave her a jerky nod. “I will.”

  With that vow, he turned and leapt from the carriage, slamming the door closed. He would try his damnedest to come back to her. But nothing was certain in his world. Promises were broken. Lives were lost. Power and happiness were fleeting.

  He shouted further instruction to the coachman, making certain O’Leary would look after Adele and Davy both. Then he raced into the bedlam surrounding The Devil’s Spawn.

  There was smoke rolling from the lower hall, but men with buckets of water were everywhere, and the chaos it seemed to be from the outside was actually far more organized within.

  “Where is Devil?” he shouted above the din. “And what the hell is happening here?”

  One of the men, a sloshing pail hefted on his shoulder, stopped. “Mr. Winter ’as returned, lads!”

  A chorus of Mr. Winter, along with some huzzahs, echoed in the hall.

  It was a reminder this was where he belonged. These were his men. Men who were infallibly loyal. Men who depended upon him for the food in their bellies and the roof overhead. He had not realized how much he had missed The Devil’s Spawn until he had returned to find it in an uproar.

  “Part!”

  The familiar growl rose over the din, and the men obeyed, separating for Devil to stalk through their ranks. His brother was sporting an angry-looking wound over his brow—the blade had scarcely missed gouging the eye and costing him his sight.

  “What the hell is going on?” Dom demanded.

  “The fire is out now. The damage has been controlled. No one was hurt.” Three whole sentences. More than Devil typically said in a sennight.

  The blood running down Devil’s face suggested the opposite of his calm proclamation. But this was Devil talking, and Dom knew he would never show weakness before their men.

  “Back to your posts, you lot,” Dom ordered the men, needing to speak with his brother alone. “I heard gunshots when I arrived. Are you certain everything is secure? My wife is waiting in the carriage outside.”

  “Wife?” Devil’s look of disgust could not be misconstrued. He had warned Dom against his plan.

  “You knew I was going to marry her. It was my reason for going to Oxfordshire. Now tell me what the hell is going on. This place is bloody Bedlam, and you are just bloody.”

  “Suttons. Do not concern yourself. Jasper Sutton found out you were mucking about in the monkery with fancy coves, playing duke. He took the opportunity to strike. I have been fighting back.”

  There was much in his brother’s snarled words which needed addressing.

  “First, I was not mucking about in the countryside. Nor was I playing duke. Second, since when have I given you leave to start a war with the Suttons, Devil?” The last emerged from Dom as a bark.

  “Seeing as how everything was falling apart in your absence and I had no notion of when you planned to return, it seemed the best course.” Devil scow
led at him. “What would you have me do? Allow The Devil’s Spawn to fall into ruin?”

  “And how is this not ruin?” Dom snapped. Ordinarily, he was close to his brother and loyal—mayhap even to a fault. However, this…it went beyond. “I have returned to gunfire and flames, smoke billowing out the windows, mayhem everywhere, my own brother bleeding from a wound above his eye…”

  “This is not ruin. Ruin would be the whole place in ashes on the ground. Ruin would be you with your throat slit, Jasper Sutton dancing on your corpse.”

  “I am going to bloody well kill that worthless fucker for this,” Dom spat.

  “Leave it to Blade,” Devil counseled. “The Suttons were behind another attack before this one, which is why I retaliated and burned down one of their warehouses. We will prove they were behind this one as well, and then we will go after them.”

  “This time, I am not going to stop until they are destroyed,” Dom vowed. “Jasper Sutton will wish he had never been born when I am finished with him.”

  And to accomplish that, he was going to have to put his plan into motion sooner than he had previously envisioned.

  He was going to have to see Adele’s father, the Duke of Linross.

  “This is your home?”

  Adele took in the sumptuous townhome with wide eyes.

  “You’ve caught me, Duchess. I picked the lock and paid off the charleys. Hopefully the fine lord and lady who live here won’t return for the next day or so.”

  Dom’s sardonic drawl had her turning toward her husband. It did not escape her that she had returned to Duchess once more. Ever since the horrible, terrifying scene at his gaming hell earlier, he had been in a foul mood. She could well understand, for her own heart was still pounding.

  Those endless moments in the carriage, awaiting his return, had seemed an eternity. She had been worried over his safety, terrified something would happen to him. Hands clasped in prayer. She had not realized until that moment, tired and worn from their journey, uncertain of whether or not her husband would return to her unscathed as he had promised, just how much she had already come to rely upon him.

  Still, she had no intention of allowing him to resurrect the icy distance that had so recently existed between them. They were husband and wife. Over the last few weeks, more had changed than their marital status. They had grown closer, and her feelings for him…well, they had blossomed as well.