Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters #9) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,46

heat slide between her thighs. Her cheeks also went hot.

She shifted on her seat, attempting to get comfortable.

Blade stroked the pad of his thumb over the fearsome point of his dagger, eying her. “Why do you ask?”

“Devil’s true name is Theodore. It stands to reason that your name is not Blade,” she said.

Blade stilled, then cried out. Scarlet dripped form his thumb, running down his wicked-looking dagger. He must have pressed too hard upon the point. Mayhap distracted by her question. He held the wounded flesh to his lips and sucked. But it was too late. Blood had already dripped down his wrist, staining his shirtsleeves, and fallen upon his breeches, marring the otherwise faultless fabric.

“Oh dear.” Evie pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and offered it to him. “Here you are, sir. This ought to stem the flow.”

“I’ll mark it with my blood, my lady,” he pointed out.

Did he truly fear she would mind? Good heavens, the man had cut himself because of her, and all she wanted was to stop the bleeding.

“I do not care if the handkerchief is ruined,” she assured him. “Tend to yourself, please.”

He wrapped it tightly about his thumb and then pinned her with a searching gaze. Like Theo, Blade’s stare was bright, striking, and blue. He, too, was a handsome man. But he was golden haired to Theo’s dark, masculine beauty. She could see they shared a father rather than a mother—their frames, all broad shoulders and sinuous muscle, were the same.

“Devil’s name is Theodore?” he asked at length.

Did he not know?

Could it be possible Theo had shared a secret with her that he had never allowed another to know? Not even his own brother?

Evie tried to quell the hope rising within her—foolish and futile at this juncture—and failed, nonetheless.

“Of course it is,” she said calmly, impressing herself with her lack of emotion. “Surely he must have told you, Mr. Blade?”

He grinned, as if she had just said something amusing. “No mister. Blade will do. And no, Lady Evangeline, my brother Devil has never told me his Christian name is Theodore. I can understand why.”

She frowned at him. “Why?”

“Theodore is a soft name. Would hardly strike fear into the hearts of enemies.” Blade Winter chuckled.

“He is not as ferocious as he seems. Theo suits him far more than Devil does.”

He gave her a strange look, one she could not decipher. “You seem quite familiar with Devil.”

Her cheeks went hot as she recalled just how familiar she was. But she would not look away. If she was to be a part of Theo’s world, she would have to familiarize herself with it. There was no room for shame or propriety and rules.

“If I am?” she asked Blade.

He studied her for far longer than she would have preferred, until her ears went hot beneath the force of his scrutiny. At long last, he nodded, as if he had reached a decision of some sort. “Aye. You’ll do.”

She would do?

What did that mean?

Before she could ask either question, their carriage rocked to a halt. “We’ve arrived, my lady. Flip down your veil and do not stray from my side.”

She did as he directed. “Thank you for bringing me here, Blade. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kindness.”

“I ain’t kind, Lady Evangeline,” her escort bit out. “But I love my brother and if you’re his woman, then you’re family to me.”

Her heart swelled at his words—and at the notion, utterly wondrous—of being Theo’s woman. But before she could respond, the door to the carriage opened abruptly. Dom Winter stood there with a troubled countenance, a young boy with an impossibly dirty face at his side.

“I need you, Blade,” he said curtly without acknowledging Evie’s presence.

She had shielded her face, it was true, but he knew Blade had been acting as her bodyguard in Theo’s stead. This was a side of her brother-in-law she had never seen, and it filled her with misgiving, tying her stomach in knots. Mr. Winter had always been gentlemanly and considerate in her presence, charming and sweet with Addy. A worried Dominic Winter could only be a harbinger of something bad.

Something—mayhap—that related to Theo. Dear God.

Blade exited the carriage, his entire bearing changing. An ominous intensity poured from him and if he had not just traveled with her from Mayfair, civilized and polite as can be—aside from his dagger and the blood, of course—she would have sworn him a different man altogether. The misgiving within her blossomed and grew, flooding