He had a brief glimpse at the paradise beneath her petticoats. Petite legs encased in stockings, curved thighs.
No wounds, so he settled her gown back into place. “Checking you for signs of injury.”
“I told you my only wound is my arm.” She wriggled, as if trying to escape him.
But he possessed more strength in his pinky finger than she did in her entire body. Keeping her where he wanted her proved no challenge. “Stop talking.”
“You are incredibly rude, sir!”
He ignored her, making quick work of checking her everywhere he could before returning his attention to her sole wound. She had been fortunate. If the bullet had lodged within her arm…
No, he would not think of that now.
The bleeding had already slowed, but there was the possibility she would need to be stitched up. His half sister Genevieve was a wonder with the needle. The wound would also require cleaning. He wondered if Dom had any whisky in this wealthy nib house of his.
“Stay here,” he ordered her. “Wait for me.”
Then he stalked off in search of supplies, aid, and answers.
He had issuedhis command to her as if she were a dog.
Even in pain, her wounded arm throbbing, Evie had no intention of doing Devil Winter’s bidding. He could go back to Hades where he belonged. Besides, was he not meant to be guarding her? And yet, during his supposed watch, someone had fired a bullet through her window.
And she was bleeding. Wounded. Part of her still felt as if it had all been a nightmare, and that any moment she would wake to find herself beneath the counterpane. But the pain radiating from her arm reminded her the predicament in which she found herself helplessly mired was all too real. As did her surroundings.
The arrogant oaf had carried her to a guest chamber she suspected was his.
Which meant…she was on his bed. The bed where he had slept last night. And his hands had been on her. He had looked beneath her gown and petticoats. He had taken shocking liberties with her person.
Lord Denton would not be pleased if he discovered, she had no doubt.
Evie slid from the bed, clutching her torn sleeve to the wound lest she bleed everywhere. The blood on her hand, already drying, made her feel as if her head were too light for her body. It also made the room swirl a bit around the edges as she swayed toward the door.
She had scarcely made it to the threshold when a loud growl, accompanied by the thud of large footsteps, told her that her unwanted bodyguard had returned.
“Damn it, I told you to wait.”
She was in his arms again, unceremoniously hauled sideways, the world upended. He carried her with ease, ignoring her protests as he placed her back on the bed, moving slowly to avoid jostling her wounded arm.
The care he showed her seemed quite at odds with the gruffness of his nature. So, too, the angry growl. Mayhap it was the dizziness still assailing her, or the loss of blood. But she found herself studying him. He was more handsome at this proximity than she had supposed. The concentration on his countenance heightened the sharp prominence of his cheekbones and jaw. He caught his lower lip between his teeth as he took her wrist in a tender grasp and removed her hand from the wound.
“You are not a doctor,” she told him. “I will wait for the family physician to examine me.”
In typical Devil Winter fashion, he ignored her. Using a cloth, he dabbed gently at her wound, mopping up the blood. Her breath caught at the pain his small action sent roiling through her.
“That hurt!” she accused, though in truth she knew he was doing his utmost to avoid causing her further discomfort.
He reached for a bottle of spirits he must have fetched during his brief disappearance. Slowly, he slid an arm behind her back, helping her to lift her head from the pillow. Then, he held the bottle to her lips.
“Drink.”
She hadn’t time to protest, and anything she may have said was drowned beneath a tide of burning liquid as he tipped the bottle and poured some of its contents into her mouth. Whatever it was, it tasted wretched. The urge to spit it everywhere rose, along with a gag. As if sensing her reaction, he pinched her nose. The action had her swallowing instinctively so she could inhale through her burning lips and tongue. Her eyes watered.
“What are you doing?” With her good arm, she attempted to push him away from her.
But the effort was no use. It was akin to an ant attempting to shift a boulder. Devil Winter was not going anywhere.
Instead of answering her, he put the bottle to her mouth once more. “Drink again.”
