Cursing, Sampson decided his brother had a point about one thing, and poured himself another drink.
Chapter 6
“Wherein Gwenn tests her charms.”
“What do you think of our new governess?” Sampson asked his aunt as they took a few minutes to stroll in the chilly morning sunshine.
They’d stopped at Ashbourne on the southern edge of the Peak District to change horses and, although they’d not been going long, she had requested a moment to stretch her legs.
“She’s a marvel with the girls,” she replied, watching the woman herself on the other side of the road as she said something that made the twins roar with laughter.
Miss Wynter grinned at them, a mischievous glint to her expression. That naughty smile lit up her face and made Sampson’s heart flutter. Wait, flutter? He stiffened as he recognised the danger. Bloody hell.
“Yes,” he said, though his agreement sounded terse and impatient. “But what about her? Do you think she’s everything she seems? Is she respectable?”
His aunt glanced up at him, searching his face. For a moment, he thought he saw her lips twitch with amusement. “She has a recommendation from the Duke of Alvermarle, dear. How much more respectable do you want her to be?”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“I suppose you believe a woman who looks like that cannot be respectable?”
There was an edge to the question and Sampson frowned.
“No, I….” he began, but then he wondered if her question had merit.
A woman who looked like that would never be short of male attention. Even if she didn’t have a penny to her name, a woman of such extraordinary beauty could catch herself a wealthy husband with ease, though it wasn’t just her looks that could make a man lose his grasp on reason. There was something about her that called to a forbidden corner of his soul. It was reckless and wild, and he didn’t approve of it, in either of them, not when he was trying so hard to move the family out of their father’s shadow.
She didn’t even move like most respectable women. There was an awareness of her own body in the way she swayed her hips, the way she lifted a morsel of food to her mouth and chewed, something innately sensual that no innocent miss he’d ever come across possessed. Why would a woman like that be a governess, unless she was running away from something, as Samuel had suggested?
“Perhaps,” he conceded, dragging his unwilling mind back to the question. “But when was the last time you saw a governess who looked like that?”
Aunt May shrugged. “Perhaps her family has fallen on hard times. Perhaps her parents were trying to force her into a bad marriage. Who knows?”
The protective instinct that had beset him when Sam had suggested she was running away rose again. The desire to protect his sisters warred with the desire to protect Miss Wynter from anything that might take that mischievous smile from her face and was at once understandable and terrifying. Sampson tried to rationalise it. After all, she was in his employ; of course he would protect her, as he would protect Mrs Sydney or any of his staff.
It wasn’t the same, and he knew it.
“You could talk to her,” his aunt suggested, though the words were a little faint as she’d turned her head away from him. “Get to know her. Then she might confide in you. If you’re that curious to know the truth.”
He could, Sampson thought. He could get to know her, which would mean spending time with her, naturally. If he was friendly to her, she might tell him her secrets, she might….
Visions of Miss Wynter gazing at him with gratitude for having eased her mind of troubles filled his imagination. In the picture she stared up at him and smiled, and lifted her mouth, inviting him….
Bloody hell’s bells and damn me for a fool.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Sampson said, unnerved by the rasp in his voice and the longing for everything he’d just imagined.
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t the kind of man to fall apart and make a cake of himself over a pretty face, not even a beautiful one. What was it about Miss Wynter that made him want to act the fool?
Aunt May sighed. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” she said, something in the words that made him turn to look at her, but her face was expressionless.
“You could do it, though,” Sampson said. “You’re with her all day in the carriage. You could find out about her.” He watched his aunt’s face darken. “You like her.” He wished it hadn’t sounded so much like an accusation. “You think there’s something odd about her, too, but you like her, so you don’t want to know.”
She glared at him and tutted. “I do like her, and I think life is hard enough for a young woman alone in the world, without people poking and prying into her private life. If I saw anything that suggested she was ill-suited to looking after my nieces, I would be the first person to ring alarm bells, but I do not see that. I see a lively and well-educated woman who has wit enough to keep those girls under control without squashing their spirits.”
Sampson felt a surge of guilt as he considered this. “I just don’t want this family embroiled in any further scandal,” he said, wondering if that was the only reason Miss Wynter unnerved him so.
Of course it wasn’t.
It was not comfortable to be around a woman he desired so badly when she was off limits. Especially not when that woman had his little sisters in her charge. He didn’t want to behave badly, but he suspected Miss Wynter was going to sorely test his willpower. Yet, everything his aunt had said was true. Why should Miss Wynter lose a position, she was well suited for simply because she was beautiful? He was an educated man, a gentleman, not an animal. Yes, he wanted her, but he could keep his trousers buttoned and his mind off her. He could. Besides which, she’d been every bit as frosty as her name implied when they interacted. It wasn’t as if she was interested in him, and he’d certainly not force his attentions where they were not welcome.
Despite his best intentions, his mind returned to those first few seconds in the corridor of The Sugar Loaf, and the interest that had gleamed in her eyes, the lingering way she had surveyed his person, her gaze taking him in with shameless approval.
“I will not spy for you, Sampson,” his aunt said, recalling him to the conversation. “However, if I believe that the young lady is any way ill-suited to her position, you may rest assured I shall let you know.”
Sampson let out a breath. He could hardly ask for more than that. “Thank you, Aunt.”
***
For Gwenn, the day passed in much the same way as the previous one, keeping the girls entertained over the long and tedious journey.
She began to spend some time quizzing them to see what, if anything, they’d been taught to date. When they responded with correct answers, she would reward them by playing a game for a while before returning to their lessons. Since the disturbing revelation of their belief they’d risked going to hell, Gwenn had made a point of telling them how very good they were, and praising them for their politeness and anything that resembled appropriate behaviour. When they were rude or a little naughty, she’d simply give them a mild look of surprise and say nothing at all. Often, they begged her forgiveness a short time later, and Gwenn would hug them and tell them it was quite all right, everyone behaved badly at times, even her—though she’d bitten her lip a little at that understatement.
Somewhat to her surprise, the sisters responded it to her words, and their behaviour improved perceptibly. Oh, they were still high-spirited and probably too loud for any other governess to take a pride in, but Gwenn didn’t care a jot about that. She had no desire to crush their spirits; they’d need that vivacity to survive a male-dominated world.
To her relief, the girls were every bit as bright as they appeared, and despite having chased away several governesses they seemed to have learned something in the process. Better yet, she often saw approval in Aunt May’s eyes, and was gratified by the occasional murmur of congratulation.
They stopped in
the market town of Leek in Staffordshire to stretch their legs and eat a hot meal. During this time, Gwenn attended to the girls and scrupulously ignored the brothers, especially Lord Cheam. At least, she made a show of acting as if he were not there. She was all too aware of his presence at the table. It was the hardest thing not to allow her gaze to stray and admire the breadth of his shoulders and the gleam of that thick, red hair. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch it and her wicked nature was only too easily led into thoughts of the kind any respectable young lady ought to be incapable of. She scolded herself for being so weak willed and concentrated on her meal, and the twins.
Macclesfield and Stockport came and went during the afternoon, and they arrived for their overnight stop in Manchester. The inn they were staying at was charming and the staff were attentive. The Black Bull was set away from the main thoroughfare where one would be awoken at all hours of the night by the comings and goings of travellers, and catered instead to the more well-to-do visitor. One thing she would say for Lord Cheam, he had meticulously arranged this journey. Aunt May had explained that her eldest nephew did not like surprises, and everything in life had to be planned and arranged in advance. That he had undertaken to do this himself, rather than have a steward or secretary arrange it for him was surprising, and Gwenn had commented as much.
“His father was a rather disreputable figure, to put it mildly, and an unreliable one,” Aunt May confided to her when they’d had a moment alone. “At a young age, Sampson decided it was better to rely on himself if anything was to get done in the manner it ought. He’s certainly the most serious of the brothers, not that his reputation would suggest as much. In his youth he was every bit as capable of kicking up a lark as the other three and, as you know, reputations once established are hard to change. In reality, he’s sobered a great deal in recent years. Indeed, I think his worry for the family has extinguished much of his spark, which is terribly sad.”
Gwenn thought it sad too and couldn’t help but consider just how easy it would be to chase away the lines of strain and worry she could see about his eyes. Not your job, she reminded herself, snapping her attention back to Aunt May, who was certainly probing for information. She was a clever woman, and not a little devious, inviting Gwenn to trust in her by confiding in Gwenn first, though the information she offered would be obvious enough to anyone in close contact with the family and half a brain, so she wasn’t giving as much away as it appeared.
Gwenn wondered if Lord Cheam had put her up to it, for it was apparent he was mighty suspicious of her, as was his brother. So, she trod with care and gave as much real information as she dared whilst keeping the details vague.
Yes, her father was still living, but they were not close as her parents were estranged. Her mother had raised her alone, but they were not divorced—this was a misdirection rather than a lie, bearing in mind they’d never actually been married. She had been given a comprehensive education at her mother’s insistence, as that lady knew her daughter would be forced to earn her keep, as she was unlikely to marry—not being often in the company of the kind of men who would make a respectable offer. She’d had a sheltered upbringing and knew no one among the ton.
All fairly accurate.
By the time Gwenn had danced in and out of the truth of her own story and avoided any outright lies, she had a blinding headache. Thankfully, Aunt May recognised her fatigue and sent her off for a lie down before dinner.
A short nap restored her enough that she felt guilty at having shirked her duties and hurried downstairs early. No doubt the girls had foisted themselves on one of the poor maids, who would have enough to do without keeping the two of them entertained. They’d be bound to get themselves into mischief if left alone too long.
As Gwenn rushed down the stairs and turned towards the private rooms, she heard an unmistakably familiar voice close behind her. With her heart beating in her throat, she turned and gasped as she saw the profile of a man she knew all too well.
Charles Lawrence, or more formally, the Earl of Wychwood, was deep in conversation with another fellow she did not recognise. She recognised Lord Wychwood well enough, though; he was high on her mother’s list of suitors. A man in his prime, he was handsome, outrageously wealthy, and had a reputation for high living and generosity. He was also one of the few men who had already met Gwenn, as he was a close friend of the Duke of Alvermarle. His interest in her had been marked, and there was no question of him bidding high if he ever got the opportunity.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
Panicked, Gwenn ran for the first available door and hurried through it, closing it just as the earl turned in her direction. She let out a shaky sigh of relief and wondered how long she’d have to hide before the wretched man went on his way. Pushing away from the door, she turned, and her heart dropped to her boots as she saw Lord Cheam staring at her in outrage, as well he might. She had just burst in on him in a private parlour, without invitation.
Oh, this was bad.
Gwenn swallowed and put her chin up, meeting his furious gaze.
She could hardly tell him the truth of why she’d rushed in here, and she could still hear the earl’s deep voice from the other side of the door. If he saw her, she was sunk. She’d just have to brazen it out and pray the earl would go about his business sooner rather than later. Distracting Lord Cheam for the next ten minutes ought not be a difficult thing to do. How she could best distract him was obvious enough, and made her heart thud a little too hard and too fast. She ignored it.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord,” she said, making her voice low and breathy as she lowered her gaze. “I did not realise you were in here… alone.”
“Did you not?” he replied, an unmistakable edge to his voice. “Well, you do now.”
“Yes,” she admitted, and allowed her gaze to fall to his mouth. She licked her lips and almost smiled as she saw his eyes darken as they noted the movement. Too easy. Gwenn averted her eyes as though her reaction to him embarrassed her. “Forgive me, I ought not to… I won’t disturb you any longer.”
She did not have to pretend reluctance in at the thought of removing herself from the room. Though it was a risk, she turned to leave, her heart thudding in case she had misread the situation, but as her hand touched the doorknob, he spoke again.
“Wait.”
She almost sagged with relief. Thank heavens.
“Would you like a drink?”
Gwenn glanced over her shoulder at him, giving him an expression somewhere between uncertainty and pleasure. “It’s really not appropriate,” she said, with obvious regret.
“The family will be down shortly,” he said, the words still gruff but less icy than they’d been before. “There’s no harm.”
“If you’re quite sure.”
She met his gaze head on and did not look away. A long moment passed as the surrounding atmosphere smouldered. He stared at her and she suspected his breathing picked up, though she could not be sure.
She smiled as he cleared his throat and turned away to pour another drink.
“It’s a very tolerable claret,” he said, and she hid her smile as he held out the glass.
Gwenn walked towards him, aware of the quality of his gaze as she moved. Despite her not wanting the life her mother led, she was not averse to enjoying the look in a handsome man’s eyes. There was pleasure in being found desirable, especially by this man, and she did not think the worse of Marie for relishing her lifestyle, she only knew that it was not what she wanted. Yet, in this moment, there was a certain appeal, an acknowledgment of her own power.
Lord Cheam watched her as she moved, like a lion watching a gazelle. Gwenn took the glass from his hands, careful to ensure her fingers brushed his as she did so. Had he shivered?
“I understand you are something of a connoisseur,” he remarked, not sounding particularly pleased at the knowledge.
No doubt it was a strike against her in the things that did not add
up column. She didn’t question that he was keeping a list. He was that sort of man.
“Oh, no,” she said, lowering her gaze and wishing she had the ability to blush. Still, she could act the ingenue as well as any little innocent. “Only I have a remarkably clever tongue.” Gwenn glanced back at him in time to see his eyes widen in shock. “It seems to be able to divine any number of flavours,” she added, guileless as she took a dainty sip of the wine. She closed her eyes, licking her lips with slow deliberation as she savoured it. He was right, of course, it wasn’t at all bad.
“Lovely. From the Medoc?” she asked, smiling a little.
Lord Cheam nodded at her but didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure he could.
When at last he spoke, the question didn’t entirely surprise her.
“Who are you?”
He sounded somewhat breathless and Gwenn widened her eyes at him.
“Why, Lord Cheam, I am Miss Wynter, your governess.”
He set down his glass and closed the distance between them. Gwenn’s heart skipped about a little at his proximity, the desire to reach up and coil her arms about his neck hard to resist. Oh, he was dangerous. A man like this could ruin all her plans if she didn’t tread with care. All at once this was a hazardous game. If not for the fact she could still hear bloody Wychwood gabbing, she’d have picked up her skirts and run. As it was, she’d come this far.
“You’re no governess.”
Her mother had instructed her that the ability to cry at will was a useful one to cultivate. It was also one to be used with great care, as no man enjoyed keeping company with a watering pot. Now, however, she felt the situation called for desperate measures to stop the fellow sacking her and having done with it.
Gwenn forced herself to remember a cat she’d had as a child, and the depths of her sorrow when it had died. As the grief-stricken emotion rose in her chest others followed unbidden. She remembered the home she’d left behind and the reasons why she’d run, she remembered her hopes and dreams for the future, and how futile they likely were. She remembered the fact she was alone in this adventure. Her eyes filled easily enough, and she saw the look of horror in Lord Cheam’s as he noted her distress.
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 6