Wanton in Winter

by Scott, Scarlett

  The earl’s expression was inscrutable, as always. He was rigid and beautiful and perfect, as if he knew not a care in the world, when all Eugie knew was cares. Bearing a fortune for one’s dowry was not as trouble-free as others would like to believe. She was renowned and reviled in equal measures, and half the polite world believed horrid falsehoods about her.

  Likely, the earl was among them.

  “Forgive me, Miss Winter,” he offered suddenly, breaking the hollow quiet of the silence that had descended between them.

  “Only if you forgive me, my lord, for my inexcusable lapse in judgment,” she forced herself to say.

  But her swollen mouth disagreed. And so did the heat boiling through her veins. Everything else said kissing him had been wondrous. Perfect.

  “Of course,” he told her, sounding horridly stilted for a man who had just kissed her until her knees had turned to pudding. “We shall strike it from our minds, and it will most assuredly never happen again.”

  “Eugie!” called Grace once more.

  “Most assuredly not,” she agreed, still lingering in spite of her words, mesmerized by his mouth. His handsome face. That way he had about him, so unlike any man she had met before, which made her feel beautiful and graceful and worthy all at once. And not just because he wanted her fortune, either.

  But that was all a fantasy as well, wasn’t it? For surely, every gentleman in attendance at this godforsaken house party was looking for a wealthy wife. Namely, herself or one of her sisters.

  And thinking of her sisters reminded her she needed to protect them.

  And thinking of her sisters made her think—

  “Eugenia Flora Winter!” Grace hollered, her voice growing nearer. “You may as well answer me, for I know you are the only one mad enough to go traipsing in a frozen garden.”

  “Apparently, she is wrong,” Eugie blurted to the earl. “There are two of us mad enough to do so. Three, if you count Grace.”

  “Eugie!” Grace’s tone was becoming exasperated.

  “Go to your sister, my lady,” Lord Hertford urged her, his countenance grim. “It would be most unwise for us to be caught alone together. I should not wish to cause further damage to your reputation.”

  His choice of words was not lost upon her. Further damage. She knew for certain then that he was all too aware of the spurious rumors the baron had been spreading about her to everyone who would listen.

  She should have said something to that. Something to defend herself. Something to correct his assumptions about her. Assumptions she had likely just enhanced by her unspeakably forward conduct.

  But in the end, she said nothing. It did not matter, after all. She had only kissed him to strike him off the list. She curtseyed and then fled. By the time she nearly collided with her sister, her heart was almost back to its normal, even pace.

  Only her burning lips and the memory of the earl’s mouth on hers remained.

  Chapter Three

  The library at Abingdon House was immense. Two stories, lit with floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows at one end and warmed by the cheerful comfort of a massive stone hearth at the other, it was just the sort of place one hid one’s self at a country house party. Especially when the rest of the guests were otherwise occupied and when the gentleman in need of hiding was boiling in a scalding pot of his own shame.

  In his distress, Cam had paced the length of the library at least a dozen times. He had scoured the shelves for distraction and found none which could sufficiently serve such a purpose.

  Reasoning all the tomes on the first floor were histories, Latin, and religious treatises, he had gone upstairs. The second level held no more diversion than the first had. Now, he was pacing a different carpet with the same set of worries weighing upon him.

  Because he had done the unthinkable.

  He had kissed the Winter with the worst reputation. The one who had worn the red evening gown. The lively, beautiful one with warm, brown eyes that deepened to molten chocolate after she had been kissed. The one with the full lips and the charming brunette curls that fluttered over her face when the wind blew. The Winter who liked gardens and libraries and who had allowed that despicable blighter Cunningham untold liberties.

  The notion of the baron having touched her first ought to have been enough to send him running in the opposite direction. It should have made his only response to the sudden press of her lips to his in the garden a hasty step in retreat.

  Yes, he should have ended it before it had begun. One did not go about kissing unwed ladies in gardens. One did not go about kissing unwed ladies at all. Kisses and passions and lust decidedly lived in the realm occupied by a gentleman’s mistress.

  Not that he had one. He and Cecily had parted ways months ago when he had been unable to afford to keep her in the home and jewels she required. Perhaps that was the problem.

  Mayhap going so long without bedding a woman had rendered him incapable of determining right from wrong. For surely, he would never have reacted in such a fashion to a woman like Miss Eugie Winter, who was bold and improper and altogether the opposite of what he wanted in a wife.

  He would never have kissed her back if he…

  Oh, Christ. He passed a hand over his face. Who was he fooling? Yes, he would have. Even with a hundred Cecilys warming his bed, he would have. He would always kiss Miss Eugie Winter back. Because she was beautiful, and she forgot to tie her bonnet in place, and she was daring. Because she held her head high when every room in which she stood abounded with whispers.

  He was still pacing when the library door clicked open and the sound of feminine giggles reached him. He stopped, mid-stride, wondering if there was an assignation about to take place below.

  Sweet Lord, please no.

  “Do you not think Dev will notice we are missing?” asked a female voice he recognized all too well. After all, it had only been a scant few hours since he had last heard it.

  Eugie.

  An indelicate snort followed her question. “He is far too occupied making eyes at Lady Emilia to notice we exist,” said her companion, presumably one of her sisters.

  Eugie sighed. “Thank heavens. I find myself growing weary of all this nonsense. Why does he not simply have us all stand in the great hall and accept the winning bidder for each of our hands?”

  “Do not suggest such a thing to him, I beg you,” said her sister, though which Winter sister it was, he could not say. “Tomorrow morning, we shall all be trotting out to the great hall to await our miserable fates, no better than the heads of all the wretched animals hanging from the walls.”

  That was rather a grim notion of matrimony, he thought, frowning to himself as he edged nearer to the railing lining the upper floor of the library. The floor creaked. Of course, it did. He stopped, holding his breath, hoping he remained sufficiently out of sight from below.

  “Did you hear that?” Eugie asked her sister. “It sounded as if there was someone walking above. Do you suppose we are not alone?”

  He moved backward, avoiding the loud floorboard and blending with the shadows as he heard the ladies below move about.

  “You see?” The sister’s voice was triumphant. “There is no one there. Everyone is occupied with charades.”

  “I did not see Lord Hertford,” Eugie said quietly.

  It was awful of him to eavesdrop upon such a dialogue, he knew. But now that his name had been mentioned, he could not very well descend to the floor below and make himself known. A gentleman would have done so before now.

  Apparently, he was not a gentleman. Not where Eugie Winter was concerned.

  “Speaking of the arrogant earl,” said the sister, “you never did tell me what you thought of him after the dance you shared at the ball.”

  “I thought nothing of him,” Eugie replied, her tone light. “He is a fortune hunter like all the rest, of course.”

  Eugie’s words nettled him.

  Because they were true.

  But also, because he had
no choice in the matter. He had never wanted his dissolute sire to deplete the familial coffers until there was almost nothing left. Until he was forced to count tallows and beg creditors for additional time. Until he had been forced to prepare the selling off of estates that were not a part of the entail just to keep food upon the table.

  And because she had kissed him. Surely their kisses had meant something to her…

  “Nothing at all?” her sister was saying. “I did think you were watching him with a queer expression on your face afterward.”

  “You and your observations,” Eugie said dismissively. “I know you fancy yourself incredibly skilled at reading faces, but I hate to tell you that you are wrong. Wildly so.”

  “Come now,” said her sister. “Do you not think him handsome, in a suitably arrogant fashion?”

  Arrogant? It occurred to him that this was the Winter sister’s second use of the word to describe him in less than the same number of minutes. His jaw clenched. What a bit of baggage she was. He hoped it was not the sister Aylesford intended to make his pretend bride. The dowager would never accept such a cynical creature for her beloved grandson.

  “I suppose he is, if one likes brown hair,” Eugie said, her tone nonchalant.

  She supposed he was handsome? If one liked brown hair? The minx had brown hair herself. Who was she to cast judgment?

  “His hair is rather too light for me,” said her sister. “I prefer black hair myself.”

  “That is because your heart is black,” quipped Eugie.

  And on this matter, for a change, he could not disagree.

  “I am pragmatic,” argued the sister. “There is a difference.”

  “Oh, and now you shall next tell me your pragmatism is the reason for considering the notion of a feigned betrothal with a rakehell like Viscount Aylesford.” Eugie scoffed her disapproval.

  Dear Lord. Aylesford had attempted to put his plan into motion. Which meant the Winter sister mystery had likely been solved. It was Miss Grace Winter below, chatting with Eugie.

  Unless Aylesford had changed his mind since this morning. And, well, when it came to scoundrels like Aylesford, one could never be sure.

  “Think of the beauty of it,” Grace Winter was saying below. “All I have to do is agree to a betrothal. Though I am enjoying making Aylesford squirm about what I will decide, it seems a flawless plan. Dev will be overjoyed at the prospect of me becoming Viscountess Aylesford and the future Duchess of… Oh, I do not recall. There are so many of them, you know. The titles all blend.”

  “Like a patch of weeds in an otherwise sound garden,” Eugie added.

  What the bloody hell? Impertinent minxes! Did they not realize they were the weeds in the garden, and not the other way around? How dare they?

  “Precisely,” agreed Miss Grace Winter. “But the loveliest thing of all is that I can have my freedom. By the time I end the betrothal with Aylesford, Bea will be wed, and I expect you, Christabella, and Pru shall be well on your way. I will be free to pursue my own destiny. Lord knows I have no wish to marry anyone, least of all a witless aristocrat whose greatest concern is the knot of his cravat and how much coin he can divert to his mistress.”

  “No one will wed me on account of the odious Baron Cunningham,” Eugie countered.

  Just the utterance of the bastard’s name was enough to set Cam on edge.

  “Oh, pish,” dismissed her sister. “You are lovely and smart and kind and funny. Any man who is concerned about the drivel that fool spews is not worthy of you.”

  Strange, but he was inclined to agree with Miss Grace Winter on this matter, if not any other.

  “I wish everyone thought the way you do, Grace, but they do not.” Eugie’s voice held an undeniable note of sadness. “More than anything, I want to make certain none of the rest of you suffer as I have. It is why I have embarked upon a plan.”

  He did not like the sadness in her voice. It did not suit her. Happiness and laughter and smiles suited a woman like Miss Eugie Winter. But he could not say anything now. Not when he had been silent for so long, lingering and overhearing her private dialogue with her sister.

  “A plan?” Grace rubbed her hands together, the sound unmistakable. “Do tell. I adore plans, as you well know.”

  “Yes.” Eugie hesitated before continuing. “I am working my way through all the eligible gentlemen in attendance and kissing them. I began with Lord Hertford, if you must know.”

  A low sound of denial left him before he could contain it. Surely she had not kissed him as part of some ludicrous plan to protect her sisters, had she? Surely the kiss had been real. The things he had felt, the spark between them, the way her lips had moved in response, the way her tongue had writhed against his, had not been all part of some bloodless, passionless plan.

  Had it?

  “Did you hear that?” Grace queried below, her voice curious.

  “Hear what?” Eugie asked.

  “That noise,” elaborated her sister. “It sounded like a wounded animal.”

  Good Christ. He leaned his head against the wall of books behind him and closed his eyes, sure his ignominy could not grow any worse.

  “Probably the wind outside,” Eugie dismissed. “It has been howling since this morning. I nearly lost my bonnet.”

  He recalled, all too well, retrieving her bonnet for her, their heads bumping, fingers brushing, their stares melding. The kisses that had come afterward. Part of her plan, it would appear. It required every speck of control he possessed to remain where he was instead of stomping down the spiral staircase and making his presence known.

  No good could come of this, he was sure.

  “You never did remember to tie your ribbons,” her sister was saying below. “But tell me about this plan of yours. Kissing all the eligible gentlemen, you say?”

  “Yes,” Eugie agreed. “I will happily spare you the misery of a marriage predicated upon nothing more than your fortunes. A man cannot woo one sister and then move on to another, after all, and if he does, woe to him, for he has not yet met the Winter sisters.”

  “A sound plan,” Miss Grace Winter offered grudgingly. “Except it sounds rather taxing. Only think of how many gentlemen are in attendance. Do you truly mean to kiss them all?”

  “If I must. I would do anything to save you from the suffering I have endured at the hands of the baron,” Eugie said.

  “A dreadful little toad of a man he is,” agreed Grace. “But forget that rotter. I am chiefly concerned with you. How do you propose to go about kissing so many gentlemen? Your lips will grow chapped and withered.”

  The thought of Miss Eugie Winter kissing all the gentlemen in attendance made him want to do violence. The notion of her soft, supple lips going dry with the effort had him clenching his fists. He told himself he ought not to be affected by her. After all, she had just admitted to her sister that kissing him had been a part of her scheme to save her sisters from heartache.

  Noble, he supposed.

  But foolish, also.

  And he could not deny the blow his pride received upon the revelation.

  He thought she had kissed him because she wanted to, because she had been moved by the same odd connection between them he had felt. Altogether unwanted, and yet equally undeniable.

  He could still feel her kiss upon his lips. Her taste was yet upon his tongue. Tentative and deliciously sweet, like a ripe berry plucked in the heart of summer. She had kissed him as if she would never kiss another again. As if kissing him was all she required, more than her next breath.

  And the way her fingers had settled into his hair, grabbing tufts and pulling with such exquisite, painful pleasure…

  “Do you not think the idea a sound one?” Eugie asked her sister below, cutting into his wild thoughts.

  Tell her, he urged Miss Grace Winter in his mind. Make certain she abandons this ludicrous plan altogether.

  “It is brilliant, I agree,” Grace said, shattering his hopes she would have enough common sense
to overrule her sister and make her see the error of her ways. “I wish I had thought of it myself, in fact. But to be perfectly candid, I would far prefer a false engagement with a scoundrel like Lord Aylesford than having to kiss my way through all these spoiled lords.”

  “I do not blame you,” Eugie told her sister. “Finding what you need in a feigned engagement ought to suit your purpose perfectly. Because I am the only one among us with a tarnished reputation I am the one who must do it.”

  “You began with the Earl of Hertford, you say,” Grace ventured, her tone curious now. “How was it? The kiss, I mean. Aylesford did not make an effort to try just yet. For a supposed rake, he has an appalling lack of motivation.”

  “Oh, it…” Eugie paused, and Cam held his breath as she sought words.

  Defied explanation.

  Changed everything.

  Shook me to my core.

  Any of those would have been acceptable responses.

  Instead, Miss Eugenia Winter said, “It was passable, I suppose.”

  And the battle lines were most distinctly drawn.

  Chapter Four

  The afternoon following the kisses she had shared with the Earl of Hertford, Eugie had decided upon her next target. She had forced herself to realize Lord Hertford was an unrepentant fortune hunter, regardless of the way his kisses had seemed to alter her world, just the same as all the other gentlemen in attendance, men who were either desperate for a bride or a fortune.

  For some of them, it was both.

  Either way, her devotion to her sisters was complete. She would do what she must to make certain none of them would find themselves being taken advantage of by a scoundrel who thought nothing of their true hearts.

  Her brother Dev was fair and just, but they had all tried disabusing him of the notion they must wed, and he had remained convinced he had gathered the best of the best for this house party, all the better to find them husbands.

  Sometimes, Eugie knew, her brother could not see how wrong he was. Sometimes, arguing with the stubborn but beloved man was not worth the effort. And so, she would step into the protective role in a way he could not.