“Nothing, my lord,” Gwenn said. “Though if you could contrive not to fall ill yourself, I should appreciate it.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied, looking between the girls with concern. “We ought to be in Carlisle shortly. I think hot baths and an early bed for both of you.”
The girls groaned and huffed but made no further complaint, which was telling enough.
The Blacksmith’s Arms in Faugh, on the outskirts of Carlisle, was a pretty whitewashed building and a welcome sight. As soon as they got through the door, Lord Cheam began barking instructions and had the staff scurrying back and forth fetching hot water and warming beds, whilst Gwenn oversaw the brewing of some willow bark tea.
Once the girls were tucked up in bed and looking much better for all the fuss they’d received, one thing became apparent. Mr Pelham and Aunt May were not here.
Gwenn hurried downstairs to find Lord Cheam and discover what was going on.
She found him staring moodily into the fire in the private parlour.
“I understand there is no sign of Mr Pelham and Mrs Bainbridge?” she said, as he looked up at her, his expression grim.
Silently, he handed her a note. Gwenn took it from him and read.
We’ve made excellent time and are reliably informed that snow is coming so will push on to Gretna Green. See you there. Sam.
“I can hardly turn the girls out of bed to catch them up,” he said as she handed the note back to him.
“No, of course not,” she agreed, watching as he crumpled the paper and threw it into the fire. “Well, it’s no matter. We shall meet up tomorrow instead. Perhaps they’ll wait for us?”
He snorted at that and her suspicions that this was some kind of plan in action grew. Perhaps his brother was just trying to annoy him? It was certainly working. Brothers played such tricks on each other, she knew. Perhaps this was normal. She could only imagine how irritated he was to find himself without a valet or even a maid to care for the girls. Not that Gwenn minded. She was happy to see to them… especially as doing so would keep her busy, and keep her mind off Lord Cheam.
Well, it would keep her busy, anyway.
“I did not realise we were passing through Gretna Green,” she said with a smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little. “I shall be fascinated to see it.”
“There’s nothing to see,” he muttered, glowering down at the flames in the hearth, where the paper was nothing but ash. “It’s an unremarkable village, and we shan’t be stopping other than to change horses.”
“Well,” she said, aware that he was in a prickly mood, and that the two of them spending an evening alone together would not be sensible under any circumstances. “The girls are looking much happier and should benefit from a good night’s sleep. I will leave you to your evening.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, lifting his head, his expression fierce.
Away from temptation, she thought, but pasted what she hoped was a reassuring smile to her lips. “I shall eat with the inn’s staff,” she said, moving towards the door. “It is quite acceptable for me to join the family when I am supervising the children, but I should not dream of imposing—”
“You’re not imposing,” he said, looking affronted. “And you cannot eat with the other servants. It wouldn’t be at all the thing. You’re a lady, not a servant. What’s more, they should feel uncomfortable if a lady were to join them. I don’t want their meal disrupted.”
Gwenn felt the stir of something uncomfortable squirm in her chest at his words. You’re a lady. Oh, no, she certainly was not a lady. If he knew the truth of her he’d be horrified at just how far from a lady she was. She accepted that the staff would find her presence irksome, however, though she thought he could have softened his words a little. It was never pleasant to realise one was unwelcome, no matter the circumstances.
“Very well. I do not wish to cause any discomfort. I shall eat in my room tonight,” she said with a brisk nod. “Good evening, Lord Cheam.”
“Wait.”
Gwenn paused, frustrated as it seemed like the same scene would keep repeating itself over and over, with her trying to escape her fate and him forever putting temptation in her way.
“Don’t go,” he let out a breath and ran a hand through his thick hair, drawing her attention to the coppery red glints that caught the firelight. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a wretched mood all evening, but... I should be glad of your company, if you would be so good as to join me?”
Gwenn stared at him. It would be so easy to stay, to share a meal and some wine, to talk and allow the man to charm her and lull her into a closeness that could only lead them both to disaster. She shook her head.
“Forgive me, but I think it best if I retire for the evening.”
“Why?” he asked, a flicker of irritation and what might have been hurt glinting in those blue eyes. “We are in the middle of nowhere and everyone is far too occupied to pay us any mind. I promise you I’m not so very untrustworthy. You can leave the door ajar if you believe my motives to be suspect.”
Oh, it wasn’t only him she didn’t trust. Gwenn knew well how it would end if she stayed and it mattered little who started it. They couldn’t be alone together, and he damn well knew it. There was only one thing for it, she supposed.
“I do not believe you to be underhand, my lord, and I know you think your intentions are sincere, but your judgement is unsound. It is clear that you are smitten with me and, no matter your intentions, being alone with me is dangerous to us both.”
“Smitten?” He gaped at her, outrage in every line of his body. “I am no such thing!” he said, his shoulders taut as he stood and faced her. “I’m not some green boy to be led about by the nose.”
She smiled at that, amused by his indignation, at his refusal to own what was blatantly obvious. Some devil in her soul urged her to taunt him, to shatter the arrogant pretence of his indifference to her, when she’d have done better to have used his anger as an excuse to leave.
“Ah, but I could lead you anywhere I wished, my lord, should I choose to do so.”
“What nonsense.” He turned away from her and she suspected it was to hide a flush of colour, though whether from anger or embarrassment she could not be certain. He leaned on the mantle, scowling at the flames again. “I will allow that you are a remarkably beautiful woman, but I’m not so feeble-minded as that.”
Gwenn snorted and his head turned sharply in her direction.
“You think otherwise?”
“I think if you use your head, that is quite correct,” she allowed, prepared to be magnanimous. “The problem with men is that—when roused—they think with other parts of their anatomy.”
“You seem to know a lot about the subject,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “For a gently bred lady.”
“You said I was a lady,” she reminded him. “I did not. I am only trying to save us both from a situation we would be unwise to entertain.”
He stared at her, such a look that would have searched out every dark corner of her soul, every secret, if only he could. Gwenn returned his gaze, outwardly placid. A good courtesan was never flustered, unless she wished to appear so. In truth, she shrank under that piercing scrutiny, wishing she was the lady he’d suggested she was. She ought not have admitted that she wasn’t, for it threatened her position here. What if he dismissed her? But it was too late now.
“What are you, then, if not a lady? Not a governess.”
There was suspicion in the question, and his brow furrowed as he stared at her, trying to figure her out.
The tension in the room prickled between them and Gwenn wished she’d just pretended a headache. She could have avoided all this easily enough, but something in her had wanted to provoke him. Perhaps it was the unfairness of it, of being born who she was instead of a young woman who could have smiled at him and accepted a stolen kiss, safe knowing that Lord Cheam would never insult her by taking advantage, that he would offer for her. He was a
gentleman, the kind who abided by society’s rules, and she was a lady. Therefore, he would marry her.
Perhaps he was that gentleman, but she wasn’t that lady. She was the daughter of a courtesan and her noble lover—the rules did not apply.
“I am not here to cause you or your family the slightest trouble, my lord,” she said after a tense silence. “I have already told you of my intention to move on after the Christmas holiday. If you prefer I do so sooner, I will of course comply.”
She turned away again, but he stopped her once more.
“No, Miss Wynter, I don’t wish you to leave, either your position or this room.” He sounded frustrated and perplexed, but his face softened, and she knew he would try to cajole the truth from her along with her company. If she allowed it he’d say, come, come, Miss Wynter, we are being foolish. Two adults can enjoy a convivial evening together with no dramatic consequences, surely… or something of the sort. If he believed that, he was a fool. Perhaps another two adults, but not the two of them.
“That is not your choice to make, my lord,” she said, her voice firm. “On either count, and you are not thinking clearly.”
“On account of me being besotted with you, I suppose,” he said with a snort. He folded his arms, his expression contemptuous.
“Yes,” Gwenn replied gently, needing him to accept the truth but not wanting to aggravate him further.
“What rot.”
Damn him!
“You deny it still?” She lifted one eyebrow. Heavens, the man was stubborn. “When it is so blatantly obvious?”
He glowered at her, his posture so stiff that the muscles in his arms flexed, straining at the close-fitting sleeves of his coat. “I do deny it. Oh, I don’t pretend that you are not a beautiful woman, I already said as much. That doesn’t mean I cannot control myself for the time it takes for us to eat a meal together, or for the rest of this journey, or for however long you choose to remain with us. I’m not so easily led as you may suppose, nor so easily tempted.”
“You think not?” she said, her lips twitching. Lord he was handsome, and so deliciously indignant. The desire to prove him wrong was too tantalising now. She need only make her point, after all, and then he’d realise his mistake and allow her to keep her distance. He’d send her away if he had an ounce of sense. “You try to kiss me at every opportunity. I think you’d not last until the entrée arrives.”
He stilled at that, at the challenge he must have seen in her eyes.
“Then, you will dine with me, Miss Wynter,” he said, all stiff and formal.
Gwenn licked her lips as she considered this. The desire to rattle his composure and muss up his impeccable person was beyond anything she’d ever known. She looked up at him from under her lashes.
“If... that’s what you want,” she said, her voice low.
“It is.” He gave a brisk nod and moved to the fireplace to ring for service. A few moments later a maid appeared. “You may serve.”
“Very good, my lord,” the girl said and hurried away.
He turned back to her, his expression smug. “Your time is running out.”
Gwenn laughed and leaned against the wall, one finger trailing along the neckline of her gown. It was not an especially revealing gown, but far too immodest for a governess. “It’s not my time that is running out, but yours. If you wish to kiss me before she returns, you must make haste.”
He grew very still.
“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked, staring at him. “To kiss me? To hold me against you… don’t you want to put your hands on me?” Gwenn laid her palms upon her thighs and swept them slowly upwards, caressing her curves as she went until she cupped her own breasts, lifting them up as though she would offer them to him. “Or perhaps your mouth?” she suggested with a mischievous quirk of her lips.
She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, saw the way his chest rose and fell and how his fists clenched. The look in his eyes made her own breathing quicken, desire coiling in her belly and making the place between her thighs throb with wanting. The poor fool hadn’t stopped to consider that she might goad him.
“Come to me, my lord,” she said, the words low and sultry. “I want to feel your hands on me.”
She smiled, aware of the power she held over him, aware of how badly he wanted to do as she asked. His eyes had darkened, his expression fierce as he battled against his own desire, knowing he’d lose, because he wanted to lose, no matter what he told himself. He knew all the reasons why it was right to refuse her, to refuse himself, but that didn’t change the fact that giving in would be delicious. It only made it ever more tempting.
They jolted as the maid reappeared with a jug and wine glasses, followed by another maid and a male servant, both hauling a heavy tray loaded with plates and covered dishes. Lord Cheam turned away to stare at the fire and Gwenn took a moment to compose herself too, as the staff arranged their dinner for them. She was hot and flustered and out of control. What the devil had she been thinking? Never mind Lord Cheam thinking with his nether regions! Had she run mad? What if the maid hadn’t appeared and brought him to his senses?
You bloody fool, Gwenn, and after everything Marie taught you, too.
She was an idiot, and she’d best take herself off to bed before she had any more bright ideas.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” asked the maid, once the table had been set to her satisfaction.
“No,” Lord Cheam replied, never taking his eyes from the fire. “Leave us and don’t come back until I call.”
Gwenn felt a prickle of alarm shiver down her spine, and the moment the door closed she prepared to run.
“You win, my lord. I underestimated… oh!”
“No,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He’d crossed the room so fast there’d been no time to escape. “You win. You’re right, right about all of it. I am smitten, besotted, infatuated, whatever you want to call it. I can’t think of anything but kissing you. Though I think perhaps I’m not alone. You are not a bystander in this, are you? You want me too.”
Gwenn stiffened in his arms, her hands braced on his biceps, feeling the powerful shift of the muscles beneath her fingertips. She opened her mouth to deny it, to give him a set down, to demand he let her go… but she didn’t. Instead, she stared up into his eyes, so blue they ought to be cold as an ocean, but they were the salt blue of a driftwood fire, blazing like an inferno.
“Yes,” she said, helpless to deny it.
His mouth came down on hers before she could think to say another word, before she could remind him of all the reasons this was a bad, bad idea, and then all those reasons disappeared. They seemed as insubstantial as soap bubbles when faced with the fierce desire that rose inside her at his touch.
She was hesitant at first, overwhelmed by the heat and size of him as he engulfed her smaller frame, but his lips were soft and surprisingly gentle. She’d expected to be devoured, claimed and taken to the floor like the whore her mother had taught her to be, such was the ferocity of his declaration, but he held her as if she was precious, kissed her as if she was to be savoured and treated gently, like she was the well-bred lady she wished she was. That he did so, even knowing she was not—hadn’t she told him so? —touched her. It made dangerous emotions rise in her chest, too, made her want things she could never have.
He teased her lips apart, coaxing her to open to him and toying with her tongue. Gwenn sighed, sinking into his embrace and delighted with his kiss, learning the way of it with him. He was every bit as delicious as she’d imagined, and instantly addictive. She wanted more, wanted all of it, all of him, and wasn’t that beyond foolish? Nonetheless she clung to him, discovering the taste of him, and how to receive his kiss, how to explore in return.
For all that Gwenn had an explicit knowledge of what to expect, how to behave, and what a man wanted from her, in terms of practical experience she had little. Her mother had sheltered her deliberately, not from any sense of propriety,
but to ensure she didn’t devalue herself with an ill-advised love affair.
Not that there was any difficulty in following his lead.
She sighed with pleasure and his arms tightened about her, one hand dropping to her hip and pulling her flush against him. His arousal was evident, blatant, and she pressed closer, wanting and needing a prowling, living thing inside of her. She wanted with a hunger that surprised her, despite her mother’s teachings. She’d thought she knew what desire was, how it felt, how it could overpower reason and good sense, but what she thought she’d understood and what she felt now were the difference between the gentle waves upon the shore on a summer’s day, and the ferocity of a winter storm that battered the coastline and tore away defences.
Though she knew she risked everything, she could not tear herself from his arms, from his kiss. She felt cherished and safe and, though she knew it was an illusion, it was such a beautiful one that she wanted to live every last moment of it.
His mouth left hers at last and he stared down at her, breathing hard as one hand cupped her face.
“Tell me who you really are,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He kissed her forehead, her nose, the corner of her mouth, so tenderly her throat tightened. “Give me the truth and tell me what it is you are running from. Let me help you.”
That, she reflected, was likely the only thing that could have brought her to her senses, and out of his arms. She pushed out of his embrace, alarmed to discover her knees did not feel equal to the task of keeping her upright.
“There is no point,” she said, relieved that he hadn’t fought to hold on to her but had released her at once.
Everywhere she trembled, torn between the desire to throw herself back into his arms and to run away from him before he discovered the truth. She could not bear to see the disgust in his eyes when he realised what kind of woman he had been so desperate for, not when he’d treated her so tenderly.
“There is no future for us,” she said, the words hard and bleak, for how else could they sound? “Nothing that wouldn’t end with a scandal of the kind you want to avoid at all costs.”
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 10