“Miss Wynter,” he repeated, his relief at knowing both her name and that she was unmarried so overwhelming he could do nothing but smile at her, compounding his idiotic behaviour.
He was about to make some utterly nauseating comment about her being more properly named Summer, for the light she brought to the world, when two things happened at once.
Wynter?
The name suddenly struck him as familiar. As he was pondering this, the door flew open, and he snatched the hand away that had been holding it. Selina and Susan burst through it in their usual elephantine manner, and each of them grabbed at the poor woman’s hand, trying to tow her through the door she had been about to leave by.
“There you are!” Susan said, tugging at her. “We’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Were you lost?” Selina added.
“Indeed, I was a little,” Miss Wynter said, smiling at them.
The effect of that smile was devastating, and for a moment Sampson could not get his faculties back in working order.
“No, she wasn’t,” Susan said, gesturing to Sampson. “Look, Sunny is with her.”
“S-Sunny?” Miss Wynter stammered, staring at each twin in turn before turning her accusing gaze on him. “You know this gentleman?”
“Of course,” Susan piped up. “That’s our big brother, Sampson. Now that Papa’s dead he’s the viscount. You must call him Lord Cheam.”
Wynter.
Miss Wynter.
The governess.
Sampson felt hot and cold all at once. He’d just acted like a lovesick puppy….
Over the governess?
Despite feeling like a prize gudgeon, Sampson’s heart constricted as he saw all trace of warmth, interest, or amusement seep from her beautiful face, along with all the colour.
“Lord Cheam,” she said, his title crisp and as well starched as his cravat, her demeanour now every bit as icy as her name. “Do forgive me for blundering about the inn. I’m afraid, as the girls surmised, I was lost. I am your new governess, as you have no doubt deduced. Please excuse us, the girls ought to wash up before eating.”
A moment later and she’d gone, and Sampson was left alone.
Discombobulated.
Now there was a word.
Sampson liked words. He’d been particularly taken with that one as a boy but had never had cause to use it. He used it now, mentally at least.
He was certainly discombobulated, not to mention addled, shaken, thrown, and undone.
What the devil had just happened?
Chapter 4
“Wherein the brothers know trouble when they see it.”
Oh my. Oh my. Oh my.
“Are you all right, Miss Wynter?” Susan asked, screwing up her pretty freckled nose.
“Quite all right,” Gwenn said, though that was a big, fat lie. “Why should I not be all right?”
Because your insides have melted into a puddle, that’s why, you ninny.
“I don’t know,” Susan said, giving Gwenn a hard look as she guided them back to the private parlour. “You went a funny colour when I introduced you to Sunny. All white and pasty. Didn’t you like him?”
Like him? Like him?
“Of course she liked him,” Selina said, tutting and shaking her head. “All the ladies like Sunny. In fact, they luurve him. I heard two of the maids talking and they said it’s because he’s so big and handsome and rich and could charm the birds from the trees, and also because he has such a large pego.”
“Susan!” Gwenn exclaimed, shocked despite her own upbringing.
“That’s Selina,” Susan said, shaking her head with a sigh.
Gwenn rolled her eyes and spoke in the cool, crisp tone she had decided would best suit her role as governess. “Whichever of you is which, that is not a conversation for young ladies.”
“Isn’t it?” Selina asked, delicate blonde eyebrows drawing together.
“No,” Gwenn said, a little gentler now as she tried to compose herself. “At least….”
She paused, realising how unfair it was that girls of their ilk were kept in such ignorance about men and sex, and even their own bodies. Marie had always raged about it and, on this, Gwenn felt she had a point.
“You may discuss such subjects with me or with your sister, but only if you are quite certain we are alone, and no one can overhear us. You must never, ever say such things before anyone else or they’ll… they’ll get quite the wrong impression about you.”
To her relief, both Selina and Susan seemed to accept this, though Susan was quick to clarify.
“And you’ll answer us truthfully, if we ask you a question that makes everyone else go red in the face and talk too loudly about something totally different?”
Gwenn bit back a smile. “I will. I promise, but only if you swear to hide such knowledge. If your brothers or Aunt May discover what I’ve told you, I’ll likely be dismissed on the spot.”
“We’ll not breathe a word of it,” Selina said, her expression solemn.
“Not ever,” Susan agreed. “We want you to stay forever.”
Sincerity shone in their bright blue eyes and Gwenn came a little unglued as she remembered an identical pair that had stared at her with such undisguised lust just moments ago.
“Come along, girls,” she said, all brisk and governessy again, though she felt nothing like a governess inside as her inner harlot seemed to be fighting to get out. “Let’s go and eat.”
She took their hands and tried to batten down the commotion inside her. Never in her life had she had such a reaction to a man. Admittedly, she’d not met that many, as Marie had been careful with her, but sometimes her mother had allowed her strictly supervised outings and to attend a few quiet dinner parties. It was laughable how carefully chaperoned she’d been, really, but Gwenn’s physical innocence was a commodity that would fetch a vast price and there could be no question of doubt as to its veracity.
One look at Viscount Cheam and Gwenn had known how futile her flight from her fate had been. Aunt Letty had been right. It was in the blood. Suddenly every lesson she’d been taught about how to please a man flashed into her mind, and she’d wanted to try every one of them… with him.
On him.
Under him.
No.
No. No. No.
Lord Cheam was her employer, for now at least. She had no intention of staying with the family for long. It was clear enough that the life of a governess was not for her, though she liked the girls, dreadful as they were. Besides which as soon as they returned to London Marie would track her down with ease. Somehow, though, she had to find a respectable way of living. She had a small fortune in jewels hidden in her baggage; she simply needed to find herself a companion, a widowed lady or a respectable woman fallen on hard times… then she could set up home and live quietly and try to find herself a kind husband, that faceless man who sat with her by the fire and talked about the day with her.
For now, she just needed to escape London and her mother, and disappear. Once she was safely married, she could get in touch with her family and hope they would forgive her for the loss of all their dreams for her.
Until then, she had to keep Lord Cheam at bay. She recognised the look in his eyes well enough, and now she completely understood Mrs Bainbridge’s wry comment.
These two are going to be the least of your troubles.
Oh, good grief.
***
By the time he’d found the private parlour, Sampson had gotten himself under some semblance of control. This appeared to be a complete waste of effort, however, as the moment Miss Wynter entered the room, he unravelled all over again.
Sampson, unused to being so… discombobulated, did what most men did when in turmoil and vacillated between silence and truculent ill humour. She was the governess, he told himself. He could not touch the governess. He couldn’t marry her, and he certainly couldn’t have an affair with her. His goal was respectability, and either of those things would only add
to the family’s notoriety. It was no great difficulty, he assured himself. He’d lusted over women before; it wasn’t the first time and it would not be the last. He would simply put her from his mind and treat her as he had all the other governesses.
Liar, liar, liar, crowed a jaunty voice in his head.
He was doomed.
Sampson’s temper was not helped on viewing Samuel’s face when he got his first look at the new governess.
He looked just like Sampson must have looked himself, as if he’d been struck in the head with a heavy, blunt object. The temptation to do just that to his brother was tantalising. Sampson settled for kicking him under the table. Hard.
“Stop gawking,” he muttered as Samuel tore his stunned green gaze from the vision and back to Sampson.
“B-But….” he stammered.
“I know,” Sampson said, his mouth set in a grim line, ignoring his aunt’s obvious amusement with rigid determination.
They ate their meal, Sampson eating his so fast in a bid to get out of the room he knew he’d have indigestion for the rest of the day, and Samuel repeatedly stopping with a forkful of pie suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth to gaze upon the unholy temptation that had been thrust into their midst. His shins would be black and blue by the time he got back in the carriage, that was for certain.
No wonder Lord Alvermarle had given Miss Wynter such a glowing recommendation, even though she couldn’t have worked with them for long, she was too young. No doubt his wife would have made his life a living hell if he’d not gotten her out of the house at once.
The twins babbled merrily but to his consternation they behaved themselves, complying at once when Miss Wynter gently reprimanded them for raising their voices or speaking with their mouths full. He couldn’t dismiss her, not when she was so obviously just what the girls needed. That would have been a relief, to get her out of his life and his mind, and….
He jolted with a muttered curse as Samuel kicked him in the shin. Sampson tore his gaze away from the wretched woman to glare at his brother.
Hell’s bells.
***
Gwenn did her utmost to concentrate on her meal. The Sugar Loaf was famous for its lark pie, which was indeed delicious, though she could not help but feel regret for all the tiny birds. Dunstable was also famous for larks, the poor little things caught with nets by the thousands on Dunstable Downs. All at once her appetite deserted her, and she pushed her plate away.
To her relief, the girls chattered nonstop, their merry conversation needing little input from her, which was just as well. She was horribly aware of the striking man at the other end of the table, and all the ways in which he could destroy her plans and her peace of mind.
His brother, Samuel Pelham, was every bit as handsome, the similarity between them obvious even without the red hair that screamed their kinship. His eyes were green, not blue, however, though she recognised the gleam of interest when they settled on her easily enough. Strangely, her reaction to him was not the puddle of goo, knee-trembling response that Lord Cheam had instigated in an instant, which was odd, as there was little to choose between them in looks. Yet she had only to sneak a glance at the viscount for her insides to quiver and her thoughts to stray to all things wicked in the most outrageous manner.
There was only one way to survive the coming weeks, she realised. She must rebuff any interest from that quarter with her iciest, most governessy conduct. Any attempt at flirtation would be nipped in the bud, any flattery or teasing behaviour mercilessly stamped upon with a few frigid set downs. She would treat him with a frosty politeness that barely remained on the right side of contempt. Sadly, she was aware that some men craved such treatment—another of her mother’s lessons in being a talented whore. Marie had trained her to recognise such traits and play to them, but she saw nothing in Lord Cheam that suggested he enjoyed being dominated or treated like dirt.
To her relief, the meal was finally over and everyone hurried back to their respective carriages to continue the journey. At least she would only see him at mealtimes for the duration of their journey to Scotland. Once there, she would stay away from any family time where possible and make sure to keep the girls thoroughly occupied and out of mischief every other moment. That would keep her thoroughly occupied and out of mischief too, with a bit of luck.
Despite her intention to stop her thoughts from lingering on the man, she could not help but wonder why his name hadn’t appeared on her mother’s list. He was titled and wealthy and, from what the girls had let slip, he liked the ladies. She refused to contemplate what else they’d implied, though heat uncoiled low in her belly all the same. Well, anyway, his being a one for the ladies had been clear enough, the man had seasoned rake practically stamped on his forehead. So did his brother, come to that.
So, a sulky little voice in her head persisted, why had Lord Cheam not appeared on the list? Gwenn had never even heard of him, though she was not allowed to read the scandal sheets as yet. Marie said it would be her job to keep up with all the gossip and tattle once she had selected a protector, but for now she must appear innocent of such worldly scandal.
Gah!
What a laugh.
Personally Gwenn thought Marie preferred to keep her in ignorance of the people who inhabited the world she was to enter to keep a greater level of control over her future. She knew her mother would accept nothing less than a marquess for her first lover, but she’d added plenty of lesser titles not to mention wealthy merchants to the list, simply because the more interest there was, the higher it would drive her price.
Had Lord Cheam not been asked, or had he declined?
She was far too interested in the answer for her own good.
By the time they reached the Saracen’s Head in Towcester, Gwenn was exhausted. The girls were bright and funny, but they needed constant attention on the journey or they would begin squabbling and getting fractious; it took every bit of Gwenn’s ingenuity to keep them fully occupied. Once she’d handed them into the care of their nursemaid, who would get them washed and ready for bed, she retreated to her room and collapsed onto the mattress with a groan.
What had she done?
With a wistful sigh she thought of what her day might have been if she’d not been so reckless. Dress fittings, shopping, and filling her leisure time with playing piano and reading or painting. Ironically, she was technically well qualified to be a governess, having had a rigid education. Whilst it behoved a whore to hide her cleverness with some men, others relished a conversation with a woman who could speak eloquently and with wit, and who could follow a discussion about politics. A wise courtesan would use the information she gleaned to further her own interests, whether financially or socially, and making the best use of that information required a lively mind and a good understanding of the world and how it worked.
Of course, a governess was also supposed to look to her charges’ moral education. Here things got a little foggy, but Gwenn had already decided to do what she felt best by the girls for the short time she would be with them. Young women ought not be thrust into the world like lambs led to the lion’s den, without the slightest idea of what life was about. So, whilst the girls were young, though she’d not force information upon them, if they asked any indelicate questions, she would respond with as much frankness as she felt appropriate, and to the devil with the consequences.
***
The next morning, Sampson climbed into the carriage feeling just as fractious and irritable as he had the day before. Worse. He’d slept badly, his dreams infested with heated visions of a certain gorgeous governess whom he couldn’t seem to get off his mind. He didn’t doubt the fact his perverse libido had decided that, now she was totally off limits, she was even more desirable than before… if that were even possible.
No matter how often—or how severely—he told himself she was off limits, for more reasons than he could even number, the moment she entered the room he felt like a hound that had caught the u
nmistakable scent of a fox. He practically quivered with the urge to hunt her down and melt the frosty expression that settled on her lovely face whenever she looked at him, until the warmth and amusement returned to her eyes. Sampson knew he hadn’t imagined that warmth, or the spark of interest. He had not.
He was aware of Samuel’s scrutiny as he sat down in the carriage opposite him, but ignored it. He was not in the mood for conversation.
This ought to be obvious to his youngest brother too, but when had that ever stopped him?
“If she’s a governess, I’m a pirate.”
“You are a pirate, or at least you must have been in a past life,” Sampson remarked, though the comment sparked his interest all the same. “Why do you say that?”
If there was one thing Samuel had a talent for, it was unearthing secrets. He even made a living as an investigator, and had done so ever since their father had cut him off financially and thrown him out of the house. Though Samuel had done it purely to infuriate the late viscount, Sampson had been none too pleased either, and regularly pleaded with Sam to return to the fold and stop being so bloody obstinate. Their father was dead, and Sampson could well afford to keep his brother, but Sam would have none of it. He liked his work and was bloody good at it.
Samuel snorted and rolled his eyes. “Good lord, Sunny, look at her. When was the last time you saw a governess who looked like that? Not to mention her clothes. They might be last season’s, but they’d have cost an arm and a leg.”
Sampson frowned and leant across the carriage.
“What are you saying? Why would she pretend to be a governess if she’s not? It’s hardly a position a woman aspires to, is it?”
“Of course not,” Sam said impatiently. “She’s hiding.”
Sampson sat up in alarm, all his protective instincts bristling at once.
“Hiding from who?”
“How the devil should I know?”
“Well, you seem to have all the answers,” Sampson snapped, folding his arms.
Sam shrugged. “I’m only telling you what is blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain in his head, but as you’re only using the tiny brain in your britches, I suppose it’s not surprising you didn’t figure it out.”
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 4