Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters #9) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,4

her and that was the extent of the damage. But he had also seen men with bullets lodged in their backs who had been in shock and hadn’t realized they had been wounded.

Devil tore off the remainder of her sleeve and pressed it lightly to her wound, staying the blood flow. She inhaled sharply, her body tensing at the pain. Anger sliced through him. Someone had dared to shoot through the window of Dom’s home in the midst of fancy Mayfair. And Lady Evangeline had been injured. Someone intended to do her harm. And Devil had failed to protect her.

“Do you have pain anywhere else?” he asked her, his voice more gruff than he intended.

He was bloody furious. Furious at the unknown enemy who had hurt her, furious at himself for not preventing it from happening.

“No.” She shifted again, trying to sit up.

Once more, he flattened his hand against her collarbone, preventing her from moving. “Stay still. I need to make certain you aren’t hurt anywhere else.”

“Where did you bring me?” she demanded, some of her queenly ice returning. “I cannot be alone with you in a bedchamber, Mr. Winter.”

Milady was back.

He released his pressure on her wound and made a cursory search of her person, ignoring her outrage. She’d been shot, damn it.

“What are you doing, sir?” she asked as he flipped up her skirts.

He had a brief glimpse at the paradise beneath her petticoats. Petite legs encased in stockings, curved thighs.

No wounds, so he settled her gown back into place. “Checking you for signs of injury.”

“I told you my only wound is my arm.” She wriggled, as if trying to escape him.

But he possessed more strength in his pinky finger than she did in her entire body. Keeping her where he wanted her proved no challenge. “Stop talking.”

“You are incredibly rude, sir!”

He ignored her, making quick work of checking her everywhere he could before returning his attention to her sole wound. She had been fortunate. If the bullet had lodged within her arm…

No, he would not think of that now.

The bleeding had already slowed, but there was the possibility she would need to be stitched up. His half sister Genevieve was a wonder with the needle. The wound would also require cleaning. He wondered if Dom had any whisky in this wealthy nib house of his.

“Stay here,” he ordered her. “Wait for me.”

Then he stalked off in search of supplies, aid, and answers.

He had issued his command to her as if she were a dog.

Even in pain, her wounded arm throbbing, Evie had no intention of doing Devil Winter’s bidding. He could go back to Hades where he belonged. Besides, was he not meant to be guarding her? And yet, during his supposed watch, someone had fired a bullet through her window.

And she was bleeding. Wounded. Part of her still felt as if it had all been a nightmare, and that any moment she would wake to find herself beneath the counterpane. But the pain radiating from her arm reminded her the predicament in which she found herself helplessly mired was all too real. As did her surroundings.

The arrogant oaf had carried her to a guest chamber she suspected was his.

Which meant…she was on his bed. The bed where he had slept last night. And his hands had been on her. He had looked beneath her gown and petticoats. He had taken shocking liberties with her person.

Lord Denton would not be pleased if he discovered, she had no doubt.

Evie slid from the bed, clutching her torn sleeve to the wound lest she bleed everywhere. The blood on her hand, already drying, made her feel as if her head were too light for her body. It also made the room swirl a bit around the edges as she swayed toward the door.

She had scarcely made it to the threshold when a loud growl, accompanied by the thud of large footsteps, told her that her unwanted bodyguard had returned.

“Damn it, I told you to wait.”

She was in his arms again, unceremoniously hauled sideways, the world upended. He carried her with ease, ignoring her protests as he placed her back on the bed, moving slowly to avoid jostling her wounded arm.

The care he showed her seemed quite at odds with the gruffness of his nature. So, too, the angry growl. Mayhap it was the dizziness still assailing her, or the loss of blood. But she found herself studying him. He was more handsome at this proximity than she had supposed. The