A scream tore from her throat.
Her vision turned dark around the edges. She felt hot, then cold. The prickle of perspiration broke out on her forehead. And then her knees went weak. The door to her chamber burst open, and the faint sound of a deep voice calling her name reached her.
But it was too late.
Her world went black.
Devil was accustomedto all manner of violence. Knife attacks, gunshot wounds, fires. The only constant in the rookeries was that anything could happen at any time, and a man was never truly safe. He was always prepared, even in his sleep.
But the gunshots fired into his half brother’s Mayfair townhome?
He had not been expecting them.
Dom and Lady Adele were not at home this morning, having both gone to The Devil’s Spawn, leaving Devil to the work of beginning his new plan of protecting the townhome and its occupants. One moment, he was instructing his men on where they were to be stationed, and the next, the unmistakable sound of shots being fired erupted from the street. He was running before the shattering glass and the scream. Heart thundering in his chest, he plowed through the door of Lady Evangeline’s chamber.
One of the windows was shattered, shards glittering all over the floor as the window dressings blew in the wind. She was on the floor in a heap of cream-colored skirts and crimson blood.
Devil was on his knees at her side in an instant. The sleeve of her gown was torn, covered in red. Her fingers were coated, her face pale. But her breathing was steady, her bosom rising and falling. He wasted no time in lifting her in his arms and carrying her from the chamber, lest there was any further danger. Such a tiny thing she was, light as a bird in his arms. She felt like something fragile and delicate, fashioned of porcelain rather than human flesh. But she was all too real, capable of being harmed. Her blood spilled.
Fuck.
He needed to assess the extent of her wounds.
His men caught up to him in the hall.
“Get to the street,” he barked at them as he carried a limp Lady Evangeline toward his chamber. “Find the bastard responsible for this!”
They hurried to do his bidding. He stalked down the hall to the guest chamber he had been given and shouldered his way through the door. Lady Evangeline was coming to in his arms, groaning. He laid her on his bed, taking care not to jostle her.
Golden lashes fluttered. Gently, he brushed the curls framing her face aside. Her eyes opened, wide, brown pools. The color was returning to her cheeks. All good signs.
“Where are you injured?” he asked, assessing her bleeding wound.
Through the ruined fabric, he detected what appeared to be a long line on her upper arm.
“Just…my arm. I think.” She blinked, then struggled to sit up.
He kept her still by flattening his palm over her unwounded shoulder. “No moving.”
He needed to make certain she was not bleeding anywhere else. It was possible a lone bullet had grazed 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.
