“Horse piss,” she said, repeating what he had told her. “And rat shit? Mixed together?”
His gaze jerked to hers. Bluer than the sky and the ocean combined. “Pardon?”
Had he already forgotten his crude words? She was experiencing a curious combination of pain, spirits, and shock. The aftereffects left her feeling as if she were afloat in an ascension balloon. High above and giddy.
“The salve you applied to my wound,” she clarified, playing his game. “Is it horse piss mixed with rat shit? Or were you deceiving me, Mr. Nothing?”
He blinked. The corners of his too-full lips twitched. Almost as if he was tempted to smile. Evie did not think she had ever seen a true smile from Devil Winter yet. A challenge, that. The urge to cause one rose within her, warring with everything else.
“Mr. Nothing?” he repeated, tying off the bandage on her arm with easy, facile motions.
His fingers were long.
His hands were tremendous, just as large as the rest of him.
She found herself strangely entranced with them.
“Devil or nothing,” she reminded him. “That is what you said. Therefore, Mr. Nothing it is.”
A dark brow quirked. “Is that so, my lady?”
“Evie,” she said, and she did not know why.
A second brow joined the first. Such an exquisite display of emotion from his often-stark face. She was most pleased with herself for having caused it.
“Evie,” he repeated in his low baritone.
The voice that rumbled down her spine like a forbidden caress.
“Yes.” She was feeling deliciously warm and dizzy once again. “More whisky, if you please?”
“I reckon you have had enough.” He swallowed, his gaze dipping to her lips.
Or had she imagined it?
“One more sip.” Her tone was wheedling, she knew. The stuff tasted awful, but it had knocked the edge off her pain. Or mayhap that was his honey-and-herb concoction.
He stared at her, that impossibly blue gaze seeming to cut straight through her. An indeterminate span of time passed. She was certain he was going to deny her.
And then, he made a sound low in his throat. More of a grunt than anything, and he held the bottle to her lips once more. She took another long draught and thought that perhaps Devil Winter was not quite as horrible as she initially supposed.
Chapter Three
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
Devil’s lone, low denial rang out at the same time Lady Evangeline’s did.
Evie.
Damn it, why did her tap-hackled command he call her by her diminutive return to haunt him now? Didn’t matter. All that did was his canceling the poorly conceived, half-arsed, utterly shite idea which had just been presented by Lady Adele and Dom. A half brother ought to have more loyalty, the bastard.
“I know it is unusual for a young lady to suddenly be forced to take time away from the social whirl in the midst of the Season,” Lady Adele began tentatively, addressing her twin. “However, the events of two days ago leave us with little choice. Surely you must see the necessity of keeping your whereabouts hidden until we can be assured of your safety.”
“I most certainly do not.” Milady was at her best once more, sweeping through the drawing room as if she were a queen attended by her mere vassals.
Trifling matters such as gunshot wounds did precious little to dampen her aristocratic airs. Devil suspected they were bred in her. She was a duke’s daughter, was she not? She had probably emerged from the womb looking down her nose at everyone who was not a lord or lady.
Whilst he had been born fighting for his existence. The woman who had birthed Devil—he refused to think of her as his mother—had not given a bloody bean about him. After he reached a suitable age, selling him had proven a better prospect than attempting to feed an extra mouth had. And Anne Smythe had done just that, may she rot.
“Lady Evangeline, you are in grave danger,” his half brother Dom was saying now. “You were fortunate your injuries were not worse. Until we know who is behind these attacks, I am afraid there is no other way of keeping you safe.”
There were other ways, damn it.
Devil was certain.
He scowled at Dom. “I don’t go to the monkery. London is where I stay.”
He had made this clear when he had first been approached with this Bedlamite’s plan of secreting Lady Evangeline to the countryside with Devil as her squire. He did not like the country. Bricks, rats, and streets that stunk of desperation suited him fine. He knew what to expect here. Knew how to fight and protect himself.
The East End was his territory. This Mayfair business was a lot of donkey dung, but he had been willing to suffer it temporarily out of loyalty to Dom. Not the country, however. Not traveling with milady.
Not in this fucking century.
“London is where you have stayed, but there is no reason you cannot remove yourself from it for a time,” Dom was telling him in his calm, persuasive, I-can-make-you-do-as-I-wish, older-brother tone. “I traveled to Oxfordshire, if you will recall, and I returned whole.”
“Married.” Devil’s lip curled of its own accord.
He liked his brother’s wife, it was true. However, there was no denying that his brother’s trip to the monkery had landed him leg-shackled. As planned, yes. But thoroughly besotted with his wife.
Terrible state. Horrible example to offer.
Devil wanted no part of marriage. He had fancied himself in love once. But Cora’s defection had robbed him of any capacity to feel. He was invulnerable now. Cold as ice, hard as a wall.
“He returned married to me,” Lady Adele reminded Devil gently. “I do not think it such a horrid fate. There is nothing wrong with marriage, Devil. But it is not as if you need fear such a circumstance befalling you. Evie is betrothed to Lord Denton.”
Ah, yes, he thought acidly. How could he have forgotten? Not that a fine lady such as Lady Evie would ever deign to consider an East End criminal such as himself a prospect. She would never have allowed him to touch her after her wounding, had she not been incapacitated and in her cups. He was not fit to kiss milady’s soiled hem.
If indeed milady’s hems were ever soiled. He rather doubted it.
“That is why I must not leave London,” Evie countered, her voice triumphant.
She was dressed in a pale-pink gown, the bandage on her upper arm cleverly disguised by her sleeve. One would never guess anything ill had befallen her. Lady Evangeline Saltisford was the epitome of elegance and perfection. Even her golden curls were neat little screws framing her lovely face, nary a one out of place.
“Your betrothal to Lord Denton?” Lady Adele asked her sister. “You are not going to be married for another three months, dearest. We are only suggesting you remove yourself for a fortnight. Perhaps less.”
A fortnight with milady?
Christ no.
Devil suppressed a shudder.
“If I am to suddenly disappear for a fortnight, it will be remarked upon,” Lady Evie countered. “Widely. How do you propose I am to explain it?”
“There will be no explanation,” Devil bit out. “Because I ain’t squiring you anywhere. I don’t leave London.”
Dom sighed. “I was afraid you would prove unyielding on that. Fair enough. If you do not want to go to the country, Devereaux has offered the use of one of his townhomes.”