“Not force,” he bit out, his words and his tone clipped.
Almost angry.
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You did not force anything upon me,” he elaborated. “I…kissing you…’twas not a chore, milady.”
Not a chore.
She could not stifle the bubble of laughter rising within her, almost hysterical. Would his insults know no end?
“Not a chore? Next you shall tell me kissing me is not as dreadful a task as emptying chamber pots.”
He winced. “Christ.”
“I do think you are right, sir. We ought not indulge in any more lessons of any sort,” she said on a rush, hoping to get out the words before humiliation swamped her. “I am sorry for imposing upon your time and…mouth. I shall not repeat the insult. Good day, Mr. Winter.”
“My lady…”
She did not want to hear another word more. Evie was feeling foolish and furious and sad, all at once. She had managed her first kiss, but to a man who apparently had found little enjoyment in it. And she was betrothed to another who was wooing a mistress but had never attempted to so much as kiss her lips.
Evie held up a hand, silencing him, and then she dipped into a curtsy and fled.
Chapter Seven
Devil finished checkingin with the men he had charged with watching the perimeter of the townhome. He made his way back to his chamber using the servants’ stairs, determined to get an early night’s worth of sleep. To get any sleep at all, as it happened. The last two nights had been plagued with thoughts ofher.
He gritted his teeth and tamped down the reminder to settle his mind upon the task at hand instead. He was not meant to lust after his charge. He was meant to protect her. And protecting her thus far had proven far easier than before, now that they had moved to Devereaux Winter’s spare home.
The reports from his men had been excellent. Nothing had changed. No suspicious persons had been seen. All had been quiet. Another week and this nonsense would be over. His duty to Dom would be done. He would persuade his brother that everyone would be far better served with Devil returned to his post. If the Suttons had indeed been behind the shots which had been taken at Lady Evangeline, Devil would find out everything there was to know. He would discover who, why, and he would bloody well end them.
And then, milady would be someone else’s problem.
He ought to be relieved.
Except, the sensation roiling in his gut at the moment was not relief at all. Because as much as he relished his days at The Devil’s Spawn, presiding over the staff and aiding Dom in making certain all their family businesses ran smoothly, he had to admit, he hadenjoyedspending time with Lady Evangeline.
Which was why he had been spending as little time in her presence as possible since their lessons exchange had descended into pure Bedlam. The best sort of Bedlam. But altogetherwrongBedlam.
Kissing her had been a mistake. He never should have done it. She was not for him. She was going to marry a nib. And he was nothing like a nib. He was as far as one reasonably diverged from a fancy bloody lord.
But her mouth. Lord above, fucking fuck and all the saints and angels,her mouth. Having it beneath his for a few moments had been worth every bit of penance he would have to do. And anyway, he had committed enough sins for two men. What was the harm of one more? So long as he never repeated it…
Dom would kick his arse if he found out Devil had been playing at kissing lessons with his wife’s sister. Hell, Devil wanted to kick his own arse for the stupidity he had been indulging. He certainly had a knack for lusting after petticoats who could never be his.
On an irritated sigh, he opened his chamber door and slipped inside. Darkness greeted him. Unlike other evenings since he had reluctantly taken up residence at yet another Mayfair mansion, the manservant who kept a brace of candles burning for him had failed to do so.
The moment Devil crossed the threshold, the hair on the back of his neck rose.
His senses never failed him.
This time, they were alerting him to the fact he was not alone.
Someone else was in his chamber, waiting for him, hiding in the cloak of darkness. His hand went to the hilt of the knife he kept hidden in a pocket sewn into the lining of all his coats. There was also another tucked into his boot for the same purpose.
Tense, ready for a fight, he moved slowly, treading deeper into the chamber, the plush Aubusson silencing his footfalls. A floorboard creaked, giving away the location of the unseen intruder.
If Sutton had finally sent someone to murder Devil, he was far too late. And he had also chosen the wrong man for the task.
