“Not as disagreeable as you supposed,” he repeated grimly. “And affyble, aye?”
“Affable,” she corrected him gently. “Forgive me. That was discourteous of me. I meant to say I…like you, Mr. Winter.”
She…liked him.
Lady Evangeline Saltisford. Daughter of a duke. Blonde beauty. Diamond of the first water. Liked him.
Devil stared at her, at a loss for how he might offer proper response. The need to kiss her thundered through him, brash as any storm. He tamped the desire down. Ignored it. Had to. There was no place for desire here. Lady Evangeline would wed her Lord Dullerton. He would carry on guarding and protecting The Devil’s Spawn. They came from different worlds.
Like Romeo and Juliet. Wasn’t going to end well for either of them.
He stared at her, searching her face. Committing it to his memory, in truth. There would come a day, all too soon, when he would not see her with such regularity. When he would perhaps never see her again. The knowledge was a physical ache, tearing through him.
“Have you nothing to say, sir?” she asked softly, plumbing his gaze with her deep, mahogany-and-honey stare.
He had been silent again, he realized. All too often, he held his tongue in a show of power. He had learned long ago that what was left unsaid could be more powerful than words. But when he was silent with Lady Evangeline, more and more, that lack of speech was down to the way she made him feel instead.
He did not like it. Not one damn bit.
But he liked her. Far too much.
The last time he had allowed himself to feel anything had been with Cora.
He inhaled sharply at the reminder. “You like me, milady?”
Her cheeks went pink. He could not look away. When she was flushed, she was more beautiful. What must it be like, to have such a woman to call one’s own? He had never in his life coveted what another man had before. Not even Devereaux Winter, who had been born on the right side of the blanket. The legitimate heir to their sorry sire’s empire. But part of him raged at Dullerton making Lady Evangeline his wife.
“I do not think you as vexing a man as I once supposed, when I first met you,” she said softly. “There is far more to you than you allow anyone to see and know, I suspect.”
The urge to wrap his hand around her nape, pull her mouth to his, and claim it as his own was strong. Strong and mad in equal measures. He had no business longing for a proper lady.
“Not as vexing as you supposed,” he repeated wryly, though he knew he should not.
Knew he ought to leave it alone. To leave her alone. To do everything in his power to dispel this ridiculous desire pulsing to life within him. Entirely unwanted. Wrong in every way.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth, then released it. “You are misunderstanding me, Mr. Winter.”
“Am I?” He studied her, giving no quarter. “How?”
“I like you. Not because you are no longer as vexing as I supposed. Not for any other reason than yourself. Forgive me for suggesting otherwise. I find you to be a most agreeable companion.”
A most agreeable companion.
As if he were a duenna. A governess. Someone in a gown and petticoats seated in the corner of the room instead of a man thrice her size who was drowning in unexpected—and unwanted—desire for her.
He shot to his feet, needing to be anywhere other than near her. “Thank you for the honor you pay me, my lady. Your most agreeable companion has had quite enough of lessons for today. Mayhap we can try again tomorrow.”
But when he would have departed from the study in which they had found themselves for his cursed reading lessons, a small hand on his arm stayed him. Hers. On a growl, he turned back to her, ready to unleash his displeasure.
Her countenance had him stopping, turning back to find her watching him, her expression stricken. Her heart was in her eyes. And what a heart it was. Unscarred, unscathed. Whole and untouched, ready to be broken. But not by Devil. Never by him. Her husband would shatter that heart for her, likely within the first month of marriage. Lord Dullerton would turn to his mistress, and milady would be left crying into her pillow.
Why should he give a damn? It was the way of the world, cruel and cutting, rife with bitter disappointment.
“What?” he demanded, feeling churlish. Feeling as if his skin were suddenly too small for his body, as if he had been dipped into flames.
“Do not go, Mr. Winter.”
Her sweet entreaty irritated him. Because it burrowed inside his chest. Reached him in a way no woman had. Not since Cora. The two women had nothing else in common. Cora had been dark-haired, bright-eyed, and impossibly sweet.
Until her sweetness had fled her.
And until she had fled him.
“No more lessons today,” he snapped.
He was beyond his limits. Feeling things he had no wish to feel. Thinking thoughts he had no right to think.
With that, he shrugged free of her touch and from her presence altogether. He stalked from the room, leaving her behind him, all too aware of her stare on his back as he went.
She had displeased him somehow.
Evie watched Devil Winter’s long-limbed stride taking him from the study, a feeling of helplessness overcoming her. She had intended to help him. To spend some time with Mr. Winter, understand him, get to know him. Instead, she had unwittingly chased him away.
And she hated it.
Loathed the way his handsome face had closed. Detested the hardness that had come into his sky-blue eyes, the tension in the bold slant of his jaw. Despised anything and anyone who made him feel inadequate, or as if he could never measure up to a peer of the realm.
She chased after him before she realized what she was about, catching his arm. Staying his retreat. He turned toward her, his expression thunderous. The man was not pleased. Through his jacket and shirt sleeve, his warmth burned into her. She removed her hand.
But Evie was not a wilting flower. She tipped her chin up, met his glare with a bright smile she little felt.
“Do not forget this is an even exchange, sir. You have promised to teach me your skill as well,” she reminded him.
Not because she had any desire to wield a blade against a hunk of wood. But because she did not want him to hide himself away. Because she wanted him right here. With her.
Evie would worry about the meaning of that later. Devil Winter intrigued her. He…
Nay, Evie! Cease all such inappropriate thoughts at once.
She must not travel any further down that ruinous path. Mr. Devil Winter was not for her. She was going to marry Lord Denton, who was the epitome of elegance and polite manners. He was handsome, sought after, a most eligible parti.
Not as handsome as Mr. Winter.
She banished the unwanted, wicked voice. Even if it was true, she had no right to be entertaining such thoughts. Devil Winter was not for her. He could never be for her. Her sister may have married beneath her, wedding Mr. Dominic Winter in a bid to ease their madcap brother’s gambling debts. But although their union had turned into a love match, Evie was firm in her path. Lord Denton was perfectly polite. He danced well, was the heir to a noble title, and her father approved of him.
Pity she was not in love with him.
However, love would grow. She was certain.
Devil Winter was watching her intently now, fixing her with a stare that yet again seemed to see far too much.
“You want to learn to whittle now?” he asked, as if the mere suggestion irritated him.