The Last Riders: Winter's Touch Part 24

"I didn't like the way he watched her play tennis."

"He was helping her with her serve."

"I'll serve him-"

Winter placed her fingers on his lips. "Then why did you change your mind and get Shade to take them out for ice cream?"

"I couldn't let my sweet girl think she wasn't as pretty as the other girls."

"Aw... I love you." Winter slid his soup away. "For that, I'm going to make you that steak I have hidden in the back of the freezer."

"I thought you said I had to watch my cholesterol."

Winter had been proactive about Viper's health since his cholesterol level had begun inching higher. He was still below normal, but Winter wanted as much time as possible with her handsome husband, planning for them to lead a long and healthy life.

Viper pulled the soup back. "Never mind. The soup is fine. I'm going to need to keep my strength up to keep John in line. Shade told me that he's up to bench pressing 260."

Winter ran her hand suggestively down Viper's thigh before going to the bottom drawer in the fridge and pulling out a chocolate pie. She cut a big piece and placed it on a plate. She carried the remaining pie back to the fridge, taking out the whipped cream. After squirting a huge mound on top of the slice, she reached into a drawer for a fork.

"I'm still not going to let her date until she's sixteen."

"I knew you were a big softie. I'll have to tell Knox he's not the only one who watches out for squirrels."

Viper ate a bite of the pie.

"Are you gonna share?"

Viper's eyes narrowed. "Did you save whipped cream for later?"

Winter took a bite of the pie Viper held out to her, licking the cream off her bottom lip. "What do you think?"

Epilogue.

Three.

The silence in the house was deafening. Putting on a brave face, Winter went out the back door, seeing Aisha sitting under the tree Viper had planted the year he had built their home. She quietly approached her sixteen-year-old daughter, sinking down onto the gra.s.s beside her.

Her girl had grown into a lovely young woman. Her brown hair curled down to her shoulders, and her body had grown, turning her from gangly and awkward to sleek and graceful.

"He's gone, and he's not coming back."

Winter put her arm around Aisha's shoulders at the heartbreak she heard in her voice. "Darling, he's going to be back in six months."

"It won't be the same."

Winter nodded, acknowledging Aisha's sentiment as they watched Viper talking to the three men who were leaving for basic training. Chance and Noah had worked in the factory for a year so that the three of them could go into the service together. They were leaving in the middle of the night to make the drive to Lexington, where they would catch their flight for basic training. Lily and Shade were driving with John, while Razer and Beth would take their boys, so they could spend an extra day shopping.

Viper gave each of the men a hug goodbye before walking toward the hill where they sat, watching.

He stared down at his women, and Winter scooted over to make room for him. He sat down, unfolding his legs and placing an arm over each of their shoulders.

"They're going to be fine. You sure you two don't want to go down to tell them goodbye again?"

Winter sniffled. "I told them last night. I don't want to start crying again. Lily's having a hard enough time as it is."

Viper turned to Aisha. "How about you?"

She silently shook her head, biting a trembling lip. "I told them goodbye when I helped them pack down their bags."

The Last Riders began waving as Razer's car pulled out of the parking lot.

Her heart broke along with Aisha's as she lowered her head to rest on her knees. Her hair covered her tears, but it couldn't mute the sobs.

"He's waving to you," Viper said so softly Winter laid her head on his shoulder, knowing how hard it was going to be to lose his baby girl. He cleared his voice. "Aisha, John's waving to you."

Aisha raised her head up from her knees then took off running when she saw John walking toward the path where she was sitting.

Winter and Viper watched as John said something before kissing her cheek then going back to his parents' car.

Aisha stayed on the bottom of the path until she could no longer see the taillights as the car disappeared around the corner. She turned toward them then, giving them a radiant smile as she walked up.

"What did he say?" Viper asked gruffly, as she came within earshot.

"John said he loves me, and he thinks I'm special enough to wait for."

TO WIN A SCOUNDREL'S HEART.

The Lords of Whitehall, #2.

Kristen McLean.

Available Now!.

1.

Paris 1824.

Celeste waited while her abigail nestled the pearl-studded gold comb in her hair amidst a low knot of dark curls. As she expected, it complemented her gown of blue with gold brocade that fit her slim figure with perfection. She ought to be pleased. She ought to feel her usual self-calm, collected, and in complete control-but a dreadful sense of foreboding tormented her, as though she were somehow stepping past the point of no return.

"You look lovely." Juliette examined Celeste's reflection in the mirror.

Juliette lived with Celeste as a companion, and had for several years. They were the dearest of friends. Even on the worst of days, Juliette could be counted on to chase away unwanted feelings. Grief, sadness, nervousness-they usually dissipated when she was with Juliette. The fact that Celeste still felt her stomach pitching violently despite her friend's soothing voice only frustrated her.

"I ought to," Celeste said. "I have been here for over an hour." She picked up an ivory handheld mirror to check the back of her coiffure. "What time is it?"

Juliette smiled sweetly. "Time for your guests to start arriving."

"Hmm." With a deep breath, Celeste set down the mirror, sprayed a touch of perfume on her neck, and grabbed her long gloves, the new ones. She needed all her armor tonight.

Juliette's fair brow knit suspiciously. "That isn't like you," she said as she followed Celeste to the door. "You antic.i.p.ate this ball every year. What did you do?"

Celeste lifted her chin, looking over her shoulder to send her friend a quelling look. "I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about."

Juliette turned her nose up mockingly. "I am sure you have every idea what I am talking about." The blonde beauty crossed her arms stubbornly. "Come now. What have you done to make you dread a ball so?"

Celeste sighed. "You are like a dog with a bone, are you not?"

Juliette waited silently for an explanation.

The corner of Celeste's lips twitched. No one else would have the audacity to mock and hound her. It was one of the reasons she loved the girl so much.

"The Duc de Bearn suggested I invite a friend of his, so I penned an extra invitation for him last week."

Because Celeste had no time to argue with her dearest friend, she chose to omit that this particular man was considered a capable investigator, and that Bearn thought he might be able to find some answers about her husband's death. The man was also renowned as a rogue. Celeste hated rogues. Nevertheless, she had run out of options, and she was now lowered to seeking help from a disreputable man.

Juliette lifted a brow. "And ...?"

"And, what? What more could you possibly want to know?" Celeste started out the door and down the hall, the patter of Juliette's feet following closely behind.

"Who is he?" Juliette probed.

"It is doubtful you would know him."

"Humor me."

Celeste had understated. Juliette was more like a starving dog with the only bone in existence.

"Lord Pembridge," Celeste answered, almost choking on the name.

"Ooo..." Juliette's brows lifted with sparked interest. "Is he a target, or do you have other plans for this dashing Englishman?"

"Nonsense. Bearn is a friend, and he asked a favor." Celeste tugged on her gloves as they began to make their way down the grand staircase.

"Yes, but Lord Pembridge is a very charming rake, and you have sworn to rid Paris of the like. Lady Dumonte's Crusade, they are calling it."

A crusade, indeed. All she did was drop a few hints, ask a few favors, and suddenly doors would close on the rakes and scoundrels plaguing Paris one at a time. Only once had she taken specific notice of Lord Pembridge before tonight. She had heard talk of him, and when she hinted at shutting him out she was met with resistance. It seemed he was exceptionally well liked. At the time, it was not a fight she was willing to have. If he chose not to help her, however, she would be very determined to try again, and this time she would fight.

"I shall say no more to him than necessary to be polite." Celeste frowned and stopped on the stairs to face Juliette. "How do you know how very charming-No, never mind that." She dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. "My guests will be arriving any minute, and the ton will not appreciate a tardy hostess, which is what I shall be if I keep answering your incessant inquiries.

"I spent all day personally decorating the ballroom, setting the dance cards perfectly in line on the entry table, and checking that the flowers are still fresh. I only hope no one notices I invited a scoundrel to my June ball, and the reprobate doesn't seek to somehow worsen his insidious reputation. Because if they do, and if he does, it will ruin everything."

If, at the tender age of nineteen, Nick had been told he would spend his thirty-sixth birthday cold and wet on the streets of Paris in ratty dishabille, he would have laughed in their face... and he would have been sorely mistaken.

William Nicholas Wells, the fifth Earl of Pembridge, was standing with his back pressed against an alley wall, waiting like a predator in the night. Heavy mist hung low, coating him in a vapor that chilled to the very bone. His damp, sandy hair stuck to his face, which had no hat over it, and his shirt clung to his torso, which had no coat protecting it. At this point, the linen stuck like a second skin to every dip and ridge of muscle. Thank heaven even poor b.u.g.g.e.rs wore waistcoats; otherwise, he would have labeled himself an exhibitionist. He refused to guess at what had been done to his already snug trousers.

Sharp shards of light cut the sky, followed by the loud crack of thunder. A full-fledged storm. Grand. If anyone he knew saw him, he would have to fake his own death. The humiliation would be unbearable.

Still, he supposed it wasn't the worst or most uncomfortable thing he had done. His years of doing dirty work for the Home Office kept him in a never-ending mire of uncomfortable things, the least of which were soggy rags. Though, not many people knew about that. Known spies were dead spies.

Nick shut his eyes for a moment as beads of moisture from the heavy mist dotted his face and neck. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness when night fell, but he had been straining them for too long and now felt them sting behind his lids. He had been waiting there for three hours at least, far longer than antic.i.p.ated. Normally, that would not be so much of a problem, but this little rendezvous was not his only engagement.

He very much wished it were his only engagement.

At that moment, a door slammed shut on the main street, a door he had been waiting on. Possibly the man he had been waiting for. He needed to chance a peek into the street to make sure.

Nick inched closer to the corner, feeling his heartbeat pick up at the promise of relieving his achy muscles with some exercise, if only a little.

Sure as day, it was Allard, and he was wearing smarter threads than Nick would expect on a lowlife stooge like him.

As he pa.s.sed, Nick reached out from behind and pulled him into the alley.

"What the-" The bruiser jerked his elbow back, aiming for Nick's ribs. With the other, he tried to hit Nick's face. Both were narrowly dodged. "You will regret this!" Allard warned.

"I shall if I am late," Nick replied, dodging another backward thrusting elbow. "You are hours behind schedule, you know."

Nick swung Allard around until his back was against the wall, cutting off a string of curses and knocking the air out of him. Nick struck hard with a right cross before Allard could recover, but the man was resilient, and Nick was thrust backward several steps by a powerful fist to the stomach. Air rushed from his lungs in a pained grunt.

"I say!" Nick coughed, stopping with his hands braced on his knees. "You have a first-rate swing, haven't you?"

Nick straightened instantly as Allard advanced. He dodged first one heavy fist then another before he found an opening to land a solid blow to Allard's temple.

The strike was hard enough to muddle the bruiser's mind and allow Nick an opportunity for another strike. He landed several powerful blows before sending Allard to the ground in an inglorious heap.