“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 toDuchessonce 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.
“You brought me to a gaming hell that was on fire and there were gunshots in the streets,” she pointed out. “I hardly think the question unjustified.”
His sensual lips tightened at the reminder. “It will not happen again. If I had known what was awaiting us, I would have brought you here directly.”
“Why did you take me to The Devil’s Spawn?” she inquired, curious. “Why not this place?”
He had told her he intended for her to live with him in the gaming hell, but why would he not choose instead to stay here, in elegance? The interior of the townhome—presumably his, though he had yet to outright confirm ownership—had taken her by complete surprise. It was outfitted sumptuously with fine furniture. Handsomely carved mahogany, enhanced by gilt, thick Aubusson beneath her slippers.
The rooms were spacious and hung with fresh wall coverings and gorgeous paintings. The chamber in which they stood was dominated by a cheval glass running from floor to ceiling. With a decorative gilt frame surrounding it featuring two winged goddesses at the top, each holding a rose outstretched as if in offering.
“I needed to make certain everything was running smoothly.” Dom’s wry voice interrupted her thoughts and wandering eye, jerking her attention back to him. “If I had supposed, for a moment, you and the babe would have been in danger, I would have brought you here first.”
“I am glad you did not.” She moved toward him, drawn to him as ever, as if there were some hidden force propelling them together. “If someone is trying to harm you, I want to know. I want to know everything there is about you, Dominic Winter. The good and the bad and the terrifying.”
His lips twitched. “Ah, angel. What am I to do with you? You are too sweet for your own good, and far more than a wretch like me deserves.”
No longerDuchess. For the first time in a long time, she wasangelonce more. Adele liked the sound of that. She dared to reach out and brush her hand slowly down his coat sleeve. It was torn and marred with soot and—unless she was mistaken—blood.
His or another’s?
Adele gasped, forgetting her earlier question. In the tumult of his return to the carriage and their hasty retreat to the West End, she had somehow failed to take note of the stain. “Were you injured?”
He glanced down at the blood, looking unsurprised and unimpressed, as if blood on his sleeves were a commonplace occurrence. “Not mine. My brother’s.”
She inhaled again. “How badly was he hurt? That seems like a fair amount of blood.”
“The beast will live. Genevieve had to stitch him up. I suppose I got some of his blood on me in the process. Someone has to hold him down. He has a violent reaction to the poke of a hot needle. Always has his whole life.”
The calm manner in which he spoke of such matters—his brother being wounded deeply enough to require stitches, his sister being the one to administer the treatment, and Dom himself being forced to hold down his brother—had her confused once more. As confused as she was to be standing within the elegantly appointed chamber of this Mayfair townhome.
“This manner of unsettling circumstance happens…often…in your world?” she asked weakly, feeling rather ill at the notion of his poor sister having to thrust a needle through her brother’s flesh.
“Itcanhappen.” His expression had gone grim. He shook off her touch and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it to the floor. “If I have my way, it will never happen again.”
Beneath the jacket, the lawn sleeve of his shirt was also stained an undeniable shade of crimson slowly fading to rust. He began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat next, flicking them from their moorings one by one. The marking on his hand caught her attention, that wicked dagger drawn between his thumb and forefinger.
“How can you make certain it will never happen again?”
“By seeing my enemies crushed as they deserve.” He dropped his waistcoat to the floor, and then, he worked on the few buttons at the neck of his shirt. “Do not look so horrified, love. You knew what manner of man I was when you came to me the first time. You knew who I was when you married me, too. In my world, if I do not defeat my enemies, they will defeat me.”
