He swallowed. That was new.
“To the Devonshires!”
A voice rang out at the other end of the table. Wynn jolted back to the moment and reached for his glass automatically.
“To the Devonshires!” the gentleman repeated with a smile. “Here’s to their recent marriage, for a recent child, and against a recent end!”
There were chuckles around the table as they drank.
The Duchess of Devonshire raised an eyebrow. “My, my, Braedon, you are bold this evening.”
Wynn glanced at the man who had made the toast.
“I seek only to please you, Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head.
She smiled. “I know, and I thank you. Our wedding was truly incredible.”
“And we never saw it coming!”
Wynn did not see who had spoken, but their voice cut through the noise. He glanced at the Duke of Devonshire, but Monty did not seem concerned.
“Neither did I,” he said with a laugh. “I was as surprised as you all were!”
The laughter became more relaxed, and Wynn leaned back in his chair. The meal was over, finally. Perhaps now he would be able to have an intimate conversation with—
“Of course, ’tis not the most surprising marriage of the season so far,” Braedon said, interrupting his thoughts. “That surely has to be the Chester marriage.”
The gentleman seated opposite Wynn nodded, but Monty did not seem so perplexed.
“I do not believe so,” he said, his voice cold.
The table fell silent almost immediately. Monty’s displeasure could be felt as well as seen.
After an awkward moment, someone spoke further down the table, and a small amount of chatter grew there.
Under its cover, Wynn murmured, “There is a story there.”
Tabitha nodded. “The Duchess of Devonshire, Harry—Monty’s wife—is the sister of Josiah, the Duke of Chester. One has to remember, Wynn, we are all related somehow, when one reaches a certain level of society. Why, even you are a distant cousin of my husband, I think.”
“I still do not fully understand. Why the sudden chill at the mention of the Chester marriage?”
“Ah, now there is a story,” murmured Tabitha. “His bride is Honora, sister of the Duke of Mercia. She was abducted years ago, and when Chester encountered her, it was…well, at a brothel house. She was a courtesan there. That is how they met.”
Wynn’s eyebrows raised, but his smile did not disappear. He was a man of the world. He may even have visited the place.
The ways of the world and the ways of its gentlemen were, after all, quite different.
“’Tis still not the most scandalous thing that has ever occurred,” he said quietly. “Nor is it the most scandalous way a husband and wife have met—at least not that I have heard.”
“What say you, Wynn?”
Wynn started and looked around the table. What he had considered a private conversation with Tabitha had evidently been overheard, and now every pair of eyes were staring—some curious, some defensive.
He swallowed. He was a guest here, evidently an interloper. His pulse quickened, and his neck suddenly felt stiff. This was not the moment to speak the truth—but then he could hardly lie either, not if he had been overheard.
Wynn smiled. “I said, sir, that the Duke and Duchess of Chester’s love story is not the most scandalous way a pair have ever met. Their health.”
Raising the glass was a good idea. It propelled the entire table into drinking their health, not a single one of them willing to be bad-mannered enough not to join in.
“I do not agree.”
Wynn looked down the table to see a gentleman he vaguely remembered being introduced to him as the Earl of Marnmouth. He was staring calmly with an eyebrow raised.
“You do not?” Wynn attempted to say lightly. Damnit, how had he managed to spark a debate at the table of Letitia’s close friend?
Marnmouth shook his head. “I do not think it likely that people so unmatched can often fall in love. It rarely works.”
“And yet, I am almost sure they can,” Wynn found himself saying, almost to his own surprise. “It is rare, naturally, and if ever found, should be guarded. Such a connection is precious.”
Silence fell after his words, his honesty perhaps out of place in good society. Wynn forced himself to remain quiet.
The Duchess of Devonshire rose in a rustling of silk. “I believe it is time for us to retreat. Ladies?”
There was a soft flurry of movement as the women around the table rose with her. Letitia determinedly avoided his eyes, despite Wynn’s gaze following her.
When the door closed behind the ladies, Braedon laughed. “My God, Wynn, it almost sounded like you had someone in mind there! Any secrets you would like to share?”
Laughter echoed, but Wynn found his embarrassment had disappeared. Now that Letitia was not in the room, he had nothing to lose.
Even so, it was remarkably odd that a gentleman he hardly knew could make such an impertinent remark.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked mildly.
Most of the gentlemen stopped, and Wynn felt a little pride in his reputation. They cared enough about his opinion to ensure he was not entirely slighted.
“My dear, sir, you must understand your reputation as the greatest rake in town is well known,” the gentleman opposite him said with a lazy smile. “You cannot seriously expect us to believe you are earnest about just one woman.”
There were further chuckles at these words, and a prickle of irritation crept around Wynn’s heart. Why could he not? Why could Letitia not be that woman?
Tiredness swept over him. His blood felt like lead, his bones as though he had ridden twenty miles.
Without a word, he rose.
“Dash it all, Wynn, you are not leaving so early?” Monty stared in genuine disappointment. “I have some fantastic cigars about the place, somewhere, if you are willing to stay.”
Wynn bowed. “I, unfortunately, must leave, but I have felt welcome, Monty, and I would be grateful for a repeat invitation from you or your dear lady.”
His host nodded.
“Gentlemen.” Wynn bowed to the room, and as he turned to leave, he felt no regret. There had been nothing of interest in this room the moment Letitia had left it, and he was not going to waste an evening sitting with gentlemen who knew nothing beyond his rakish reputation.
“Thank you,” he said curtly to the footman who opened the door into the hallway—and stopped as a door opposite him opened and revealed Letitia.
He stared for a moment, genuinely unable to speak. She colored, and her hands immediately clasped together.
“D-Do not let me detain you, sir,” she managed, her eyes affixed on the carpet.
Wynn heard the door shut behind him. They were completely alone. He could say anything. He could sweep her into his arms and—
“You are leaving?”
Wynn nodded. Why in God’s name was he unable to speak? His eyes raked over her face. She did not look away. She wanted him, surely. Why did she resist it?
“I am leaving,” he said, voice finally returning as he stepped toward the front door. “As are you. May I offer you the comfort of my carriage, Lady Letitia?”
If her cheeks had been pink before, they were crimson as she pulled on her pelisse.
“No,” she said, far more firmly than he had been expecting. “No, thank you.”
“My lady, the nights are dark, and you should not be walking home on your own.” Wynn did not attempt to hide the concern in his voice. “Have your parents sent a carriage for you?”
He could almost see the thoughts in her mind. Desperate as she was to lie, she could not bring herself to do it.
“No,” she whispered. “No, they have not. Thank you, sir.”
What was he doing? As Wynn reached out to open the front door, any excuse to be close to Letitia felt like a good one.
“Here we are,” he said as they stepped into the n
ight.
His driver opened the carriage door, but it was Wynn who reached out to help Letitia. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and placed her hand in his.
Magic sparked between them—heat and wonder, and something that pulled at Wynn’s gut, which he did not understand.
Then it was over. He coughed and clambered into the carriage, closing the door behind him, and tapped on the roof to set them going.
Letitia was seated opposite, watching him carefully.
He smiled. “Do you make a study of my face for a portrait, Lady Letitia?”
She blushed prettily, gaze dropping to her hands. “I…I have heard all sorts of stories about you, Viscount Wynn. Some I cannot believe. Some I would rather not.”
“Have you indeed?” For the first time, Wynn cursed his reputation. “And what are those stories?”
The intimacy of the carriage seemed to draw the same confidence he had seen at the dinner table.
“You seduce young ladies,” she said, “and then you do not marry them. Is that why you want to pursue me, to ruin me?”
Wynn swallowed. This was an important moment, he knew, and one he would not get the chance to repeat. “I would never do that to you, Letitia.”
“I have no reason to believe you. And I should not be in this carriage with you.”
Something stirred in his stomach. “No, but perhaps I can give you a reason to take such a risk.”
It took no time for Wynn to move and sit beside Letitia in the carriage. Her lips opened to express surprise, but they could not, for he crushed his lips onto her own, pouring all his passion, frustration, and desperation into the kiss.
He had expected resistance, even fear—but she responded with ardor like no other woman ever had. She leaned into him, her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, her tongue meeting his nervously but willingly.
“God, Letitia,” Wynn breathed as they broke apart, his eyes searching hers.
She was staring as though he was an apparition, but instead of speaking, she pulled him close for another kiss.
Was it five minutes later, ten minutes, an hour? Wynn could barely tell. All he knew was the carriage coming to a halting stop and the door opening.
They broke apart, Letitia staring with a strange expression.
“Edward,” she whispered.
Something painful and yet sweet jerked in his body as he croaked, “Letitia—”
But was she gone, like a breath on the wind.
“Letitia,” he murmured, moving to follow her, so desperate was his need to be close to her—but he paused, hand outstretched.
She had walked up some steps, toward a large open door. In the blazing light pouring onto the street was the outline of a tall gentleman. Letitia was standing before him, head bowed.
Wynn leaned back with a sigh. If he was not mistaken, Letitia, despite being a young lady of two or three and twenty, was getting a telling off from her father.
Chapter Five
If Letitia was not careful, she would wander off the path at Hyde Park, distracted by the images flickering in her mind.
Viscount Wynn at dinner last night… Him speaking so honestly about love and couples who were meant for each other. How he offered her the use of his carriage so she could return home safely.
The viscount pulling her into his arms for the most passionate kiss that surely had ever occurred in the history of humankind.
She attempted to stay focused on her meeting with her best friend at Hyde Park.
So why did her thoughts continuously return to him?
She nodded at an acquaintance as they passed. The whole of society seemed to be out this morning, purposefully getting in her way as she tried to walk and not think.
Why had she let Viscount Wynn kiss her so wildly? His hands around her waist, his lips on hers. More than she could ever have dreamed of, more than she thought she would enjoy with a gentleman.
“You seduce young ladies, and then you do not marry them.”
She swallowed and looked around for Mariah. She said she would be here, and if she did not arrive soon, it would be most impertinent. Being here alone, unchaperoned, was not a wise choice for a young lady.
“Is that why you want to pursue me, to ruin me?”
This was ridiculous, Letitia told herself. She was one in a long line of women with whom Wynn had enjoyed a little kissing in a carriage.
She wanted to be special to him, to be different—not just another lady foolish enough to acquiesce to his advances.
She wanted to be—what had he called it?
“It is rare, naturally, and if ever found, should be guarded. Such a connection is precious.”
She dropped onto a bench and tried not to think. It did not help that she had hardly slept last night, her mind too awake after that intoxicating kiss.
“I am going to court you, Lady Letitia.”
She swallowed again and tried to avoid looking at a pack of gentlemen walking by. She had never felt special before, but it was madness to think she could keep his attention for much longer.
It was one hour in his company. Perhaps less—yet she was obsessed with him. She could not deny, though she would never admit it, that when she had finally found rest last night, her dreams had been filled with Edward.
And those dreams had not halted at mere kissing. While in reality, it had been but ten minutes, in her dream, their carriage had rattled into the night uninterrupted.
In her dream, Wynn had taught her far more about lovemaking.
“Are you quite well, my dear?”
Letitia started. An elderly lady was standing before her, her face a picture of concern.
“I-I beg your pardon?” she managed.
“Your cheeks, dear,” the old lady prompted. “You are red. Have you caught the sun? Are you seated because you can walk no further?”
Letitia raised a hand to her cheeks. “I thank you, but I am quite well. I am meeting a dear friend of mine here. Thank you for your concern.”
The concerned woman seemed pacified as she walked away, but Letitia chastised herself for thinking such wild thoughts about Wynn. Genteel young ladies did not daydream about naked men, especially one who had no genuine interest in her.
But by God, she wanted him to. She wanted him to court her, but why would he?
When he had first arrived in town, Letitia had been taken with him immediately—a childish crush for which she felt ashamed, but that had not prevented her from delicately inquiring about him.
Edward Wynn liked beautiful women, women who could flirt and who would flirt back.
She did not fit into either category. The best thing was to completely ignore him. She would not see him, she would not seek him out, and if she was forced into the same room as him, she would remain at a cool and indifferent distance.
“That is the most impressively dull bonnet I have ever seen in my life.”
Turning to see what idiot had spoken, she opened her mouth—and words utterly failed her.
Viscount Wynn stood there against the sunlight. “But the face underneath is far more beautiful.”
Letitia silently begged her cheeks not to turn red, and yet they did not comply—as always.
“And that response is enough for me,” he said with a grin. “My word, Letitia, I cannot decide when you are most delightful. When silent and blushing? Or when you are holding court with your friends who hang on your every word.”
Finally, her legs obeyed, and she rose. Wynn was standing behind the bench, which stood between them as a protective barrier.
“Good morning, Viscount Wynn,” she said stiffly, inclining her head rather than trusting her legs to carry her into a curtsey.
He bowed. She took her chance, strolling away at the greatest speed she could muster.
She was a fool to think it would work.
“Now, that is no way to treat a gentleman,” he said as he caught up and fell into step with her. “Did you not wish to continue our conversation?”
“Conversation?” Letitia managed to say, her eyes darting around the park in a desperate attempt to find Mariah. “I do not believe we were having a conversation. You made a remark about my bonnet, and I left.”
He chuckled. “I did not mean that conversation. I meant our conversation last night.”
“I…I do not think we should…I do not want to…”
“Damnit, Letitia,” Viscount Wynn said suddenly, reaching out and taking her arm, bringing her to a stop. “Why are you so proper?”
Her heart was thumping painfully, and his hand was burning her arm. How had she managed to get into this situation—and in public, too!
“I am a Cavendish,” she retorted. “That is what we are, we are proper, and I will not allow you to besmirch me, sir. You may ‘Wynn’, as you so cleverly say, but my family has already won. We are at the top of the social tree, and I intend to keep us there.”
Pulling her arm away, he allowed her to take a step.
“Good day, sir.”
She started walking in the other direction. Perhaps Mariah was waiting at the gate—that would make sense. She would find Mariah, a chaperone and safety, which she had not expected to need.
She had been thinking about him, and he had appeared, as though he had known her thoughts.
“You know, I am starting to get the impression that you do not wish to converse with me.”
Letitia sighed and slowed down. The viscount had caught her without any effort.
She swallowed. How did one respond to him? How could she talk without embarrassing herself or giving the entirely wrong impression?
It was hard to believe this was happening. In fact, it was exactly what she had hoped and feared. The two of them alone together.
She had to be grateful the encounter was in public. At least this way, he would keep his hands mostly to himself. If it had been a secluded part of the park, and she shivered at the thought, there was no telling what he would say to her.
Or what he would do to her.
“I am not here to converse with you,” she managed to say, not looking at him. “I am here to meet a friend. As soon as I find her, you will have to leave us.”
“Did you have a pleasant time at the Devonshires’ dinner last night?”
Always the Wallflower (Never the Bride Book 5) Page 5