Devil clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the old hurts. “Aye. I can count.”
He barely refrained from addingyou worthless arseholeto his response.
And then, he did as he had warned. What else had he to lose? He had already lost Evie. There was precious little left. He moved, holding his breath as he went, at any moment expecting to feel the blast of Wilmore’s gun lodging in his head or spine.
Instead, he spun, facing Wilmore and an ominous double-barrel flintlock.
Still, he was not dead. There was that.
“Stay where you are, Winter,” the other man warned.
Devil had no doubt Wilmore would shoot him dead without a hint of conscience. However, he also knew men of Wilmore’s ilk. The bastard was likely fretting over Devil’s words, wondering what would befall him if he dared to kill a Winter. His concern for his own worthless hide was trumping all else.
“Consider what will happen to you if I am injured,” he reminded his opponent. “Or worse.”
“Not sure I give a damn about what will happen either way,” Wilmore sneered.
A flash of movement caught Devil’s attention then.By God, he had never been more relieved to see Jasper Sutton. Presuming Sutton would aid him, that was. Hoping Wilmore had not taken note of Devil’s traveling gaze, he jerked his stare back to the man with the gun pointed at his heart.
“You will give a damn when my brother is slitting your throat,” he told Wilmore smoothly.
Meanwhile, Sutton took his position behind Wilmore, raising his own weapon.
“Eh. Might be worth killing you to bring old Dom Winter out of ’iding. Married a fancy duke’s daughter and thinks ’imself too good for the rookeries, does ’e?” Wilmore taunted. “Mayhap spilling your worthless blood will get ’is attention.”
“What is it you hope to gain?” he asked, attempting to drag out the moment, give Sutton enough time to act.
Wilmore grinned. “Power. Coin. What does anyone want? I’ve had enough chatter, Winter. What did you come ’ere for?”
Vengeance.
To make certain no harm would ever come to Evie again.
“To speak with you,” he said, and that was not entirely a falsehood.
“Not in the mood.” Wilmore cocked his head. “Get ready to cock up your toes—”
A feral cry interrupted Wilmore’s words, stealing his attention. He jerked.
Everything unfolded in a hazy blur. Shots rang out. A blazing pain seared through Devil’s shoulder. He reached for his own hidden weapon, but in the next moment, he took a vicious blow to the head. Everything went black.
His last thoughts were of Evie as he fell into the void.
Chapter Twelve
Atray oftea had been delivered, but Evie had not been able to stomach a sip. She was a massive knot of worry mingled with fear. The Winters had yet to return, and the scamp who was doing his utmost to entertain her was not distraction enough to serve as a balm for her frayed nerves.
She paced the salon for what must have been the hundredth time—a habit she was engaging in with alarming frequency of late—and turned back to discover her reticule gone. Her gaze traveled to the urchin, whose face was still quite streaked with dirt, and who was in the midst of regaling her with a tale of a litter of kittens he had recently rescued from the streets.
“Ashes, she’s the sweetest one of them all, milady. Gray with green eyes.”
“Davy?” She moved toward him, brows raised.
“Aye, milady?” He gave her a gap-toothed grin she suspected had gotten him out of any number of scrapes. “Want a kitten, do you? His nabs don’t want me to keep them all. Says we’ll be overrun if I do. Says I needs to find homes. I can go and fetch Ashes for you, if you like.”
He was attempting to distract her, but she was not fooled in the least.
She reached him and held out her hand. “Where is my reticule?”
