Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Yes,” she said, and he didn’t know why he doubted the answer, but then she kissed him and he didn’t care.

  “Gwenn,” he said, grasping her hips and rocking against her.

  “Yes, my lord.” Her words shivered over him, a seductive murmur against his ear.

  “Sampson,” he corrected. “My name is Sampson.”

  She gasped as he slid his hands under the frilly nightgown and touched the warm silk of her skin.

  “Ah, but you like being my lord,” she said, the words sleek like a purring cat. “My lord, mon seigneur, mio signore, my master.” She punctuated each title with a little press of her hips against his cock as her hands fisted in his hair, and Sampson feared he’d spend as the words rocked through him. A moan tore from his throat and she laughed. “Ah, yes, master. You like that one?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But I have no power here. I’m at your mercy, love.”

  He reached up, sliding his hands under her nightgown and cupping her breasts, squeezing and plumping the soft mounds as her head tipped back on a satin sigh of pleasure. He pinched and rolled the tight little buds beneath his fingers and she shivered at his touch.

  “Oh, God, Gwenn,” he said, beside himself with need for her.

  She shifted back and reached between them, fumbling at the buttons on the fall of his trousers before moving away from him. He almost protested as she backed up until she sank to her knees before him and his brain ground to a halt. She couldn’t possibly….

  Hazy with desire, he watched in stunned silence as she freed his cock and wrapped her slender fingers about him. A shocked exclamation tore from his lips as he fought not to climax at once, overcome by the exquisite touch, but too desperate to know what she’d do next to allow it.

  Sampson held his breath as she smiled up at him, a naughty, impossibly knowing smile from a woman who’d barely been kissed. He hadn’t been wrong about that, he was certain but…. She slid her thumb over the slit, gathering the moisture there and spreading it as his breathing sped. Oh Lord. Never looking away from him she blew, gently, the cool air shivering across his overheated skin and making gooseflesh prickle over him. Any ability to think, to speak, to do anything other than gaze at her, bewitched and spellbound, was long gone. All that remained was the choked sound that burst from him as she leaned in and licked him in one, bold swipe, from root to tip.

  Sampson closed his eyes and submitted, enslaved by her touch, by the clever hands that caressed and stroked and squeezed and the velvety warmth of her mouth that made him believe he might die from pleasure.

  It was an embarrassingly short time later that he cried out, fighting to muffle the sounds of his ecstasy as he came hard and fast.

  Sampson was only dimly aware of the world around him as the waves of his climax ebbed and he blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, which seemed blurred and indistinct. Slowly, the world returned, and his gaze settled on Gwenn. She sat back, a little away from him, and her eyes seemed wide and frightened, watchful, as though she didn’t know what to expect from him now.

  “Christ,” he said with a quavering laugh that didn’t sound as if it belonged to him at all.

  Gwenn flinched, and he frowned, reaching for her.

  “Love?” he said, tugging her closer as she hesitated before returning to his lap.

  She curled against him, pressing her face to his neck as though she was too embarrassed to look at him. Sampson held her tightly, too shaken by the whole experience to question her. He stroked her back, bewildered by her and wishing she would trust him enough to explain, but he’d not earned her trust. She was in a tenuous position, a woman in his employ, and he’d coaxed her into this relationship even though she’d warned him how it would end. His heart ached, the desperate desire to keep her safe, to keep her with him, overwhelming any other argument.

  “Gwenn,” he said, trying to turn and look at her but she hid her face from him. “Gwenn, did I… did I do something wrong, or frighten you?”

  She laughed at that, but it wasn’t an especially happy sound.

  “You did nothing wrong,” she said, the words a little muffled.

  “Then what is it?” he asked, hating that she seemed to regret what had passed between them. “Do you despise me for making this happen?”

  “No!”

  She shook her head, and Sampson couldn’t bear for her to hide from him, so he shifted about and took her chin gently in his hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

  “Then what, love? I don’t understand. That was… I don’t even have words for what that was,” he said with a rueful smile. “I only know I want to make you feel that way too, but I’m afraid you wish this had never happened.”

  “You liked it, then?” she asked, the words hesitant.

  Sampson’s mouth fell open and it took him a moment to reply. “I’m not sure you need ask that, love.”

  A smile tugged at one corner of her lips before falling away again. “But….”

  “But?” he urged gently.

  “You don’t mind that… that I knew how?”

  He let out a breath of relief and slumped in the chair, taking her with him. “Oh, good Lord,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. When they opened again she was watching him, those pale turquoise eyes intent with interest. “No, love, I can’t say I mind.” His lips quirked in a smile, but she didn’t look entirely reassured.

  “Gwenn, your answer won’t change anything at all, you have my word, but… have you… Did you ever…?”

  She shook her head, and though he’d been telling the truth, he was honest enough to admit he was pleased he’d been the first, even though it puzzled him.

  “I believe you,” he said, seeing the relief in her eyes. “Though, in that case, how ever did you learn…?”

  The blush that stained her cheeks was so sudden and so marked that he sat a little straighter.

  “Gwenn,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “I don’t know what will happen, where this will lead us, but I promise I won’t let you down. Won’t you trust me, just a little?”

  He watched as she drew in a deep breath and let it out again. “Don’t ask me questions, Sampson,” she said, the words quiet as she touched his cheek with her fingers, tracing the line of his jaw. “Just promise me one thing.”

  “Anything,” he said, meaning it.

  “When it ends… when you finally accept how impossible it is… don’t give me rubies.”

  He blinked, not understanding her. When this overwhelming need threatened to consume him, the very idea of ending anything was beyond his comprehension. As he opened his mouth to protest, to demand to know what she meant, she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

  “Didn’t you say something about making me feel that way too?” she murmured, the question rioting through him.

  “Yes,” he said, the single word rough with desire. “Oh, yes.” He pulled her close and kissed her hard, and they both froze at the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

  “Damnation,” he cursed as they both held their breath. The footsteps paused for a moment and followed the faint murmur of voices as they continued down the stairs. Sampson cursed again, low and filthy this time. Damn him, why hadn’t he taken her to his bedroom, where they were in no danger of being disturbed or discovered?

  He rose quickly and straightened his clothing as Gwenn tugged on her dressing gown. He grasped her hand, urging her behind the heavy brocade curtains that were closed against the freezing night outside. Thankfully they were long, pooling on the floor, and Sampson tugged them shut just as the door swung open.

  “There, see, nae ghosties nor ghoulies,” said an exasperated voice. “Really, Callum, you’re nae a wee laddie anymore to be firt of the dark.”

  Sampson pulled Gwenn closer against him. It was bloody freezing with the cold of the snowy night seeping through the glass at their backs, trapped with them behind the thick material of the curtains.

  “I ain’t firt,” returned an indig
nant voice. “I’m tellin’ ye, I heard a strange and eerie sound, moanin’ and a-groanin’ it were, pure gave me the willies an’ all.”

  Biting his lip, Sampson held Gwenn closer, thinking she was shivering with the cold until he glanced down. The moonlight glimmering on the snow outside lit her beautiful face with a strange silvery light, making her look like some unearthly creature come to steal him away from the mortal world. As he gazed at her, he realised she was not trembling from cold, but from the effort of not laughing. Her eyes glimmered with mischief and he grinned at her, pressing a finger to her lips as something in his heart shifted. The realisation settled in his soul that he would never forget this moment—or this woman—for as long as he lived. He wanted her, wanted her badly, and not simply for more of what had been so rudely interrupted. The smile that played at her lips was his, and he wanted to keep it for himself. He wanted all of her smiles and the sound of her laughter, both the joyous, carefree sound she made when she was with the girls, and that wicked, filthy chuckle that had made his blood stir when she’d laughed and called him her master—and God, wasn’t that a joke.

  He was every bit as besotted as she’d accused him of being, and he didn’t care.

  Once Callum was reassured that there wasn’t a new ghost in residence at the inn, the door closed again, and Sampson let out a breath of relief. That had been close, and he owed Gwenn better than a furtive tumble in the parlour of some bloody inn.

  She was smiling at him, and the sight of it made the strangest sensation fill his chest, pushing at his ribs until he felt he could not contain it. Too unsettled to voice such feelings, he kissed her instead.

  “I think we’d best get you back to your room,” he said, though he hoped she could hear the regret in his voice. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten what I said. I’ll make it up to you.”

  There was a little amused snort at that. “I rather thought you might,” she said.

  Though the cold was biting, Sampson lingered a moment longer.

  “Thank you,” he said, staring at her. “For tonight. For…. Oh, love, you know I’m mad for you, don’t you?”

  “I know,” she said, though he thought the words sounded sad, resigned rather than elated, and he hated that, hated that she was waiting for it all to go to hell.

  There must be a way, if she would only trust him….

  He must be patient, that was all. One day, she’d tell him the truth, and then… well, at least he’d know just how bad it was.

  Chapter 13

  “Wherein Gwenn accepts her fate.”

  Sampson escorted Gwenn back to her room and bade her goodnight with all the romantic reluctance she could have wished for in a lover. She’d barely a moment to close the door and try to soothe her scrambled wits, to make sense of what had happened, when a soft knock sounded. Wondering if Sampson had decided he couldn’t wait to see her again she hurried to open it, only to find a teary Susan awaiting her.

  “Don’t feel well, miss,” she croaked.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Gwenn said, snatching up her dressing gown again. “Come, you ought not be wandering about in this chilly corridor. Back to bed with you. I’ll make some willow bark tea.”

  She guided the girl back to her bedroom, to discover Selina huddled in a ball and shivering.

  Gwenn clucked and fussed over them, fetching extra blankets and fluffing pillows, building up the fire in the hearth until it was crackling merrily.

  “Now, you rest, and I’ll make tea and then I’ll read you a story. By the time I’m done, you’ll feel much better.”

  Once all this had been accomplished, and the girls were dozing, Gwenn was exhausted. She got to her feet she began to creep furtively towards the door, only to be stopped by a pitiful whisper.

  “Don’t go, miss….”

  Gwenn sighed and returned to her bedside vigil.

  ***

  Sampson pushed his breakfast plate away and drew out his pocket watch, frowning at it. He’d been counting the minutes until he could see Gwenn again, and her failure to appear was making him nervous. Was she avoiding him? Was she angry or embarrassed? Did she regret what had happened between them after all?

  He got to his feet just as the innkeeper’s wife bustled into the room.

  “Good morning, my lord. I trust ye slept well, and all is to your satisfaction?”

  “I did, thank you,” Sampson said, moving to the door.

  “I took the liberty of sending for Mr Davies to see to your lordship’s clothes. He’s nae the kind of valet ye’ll be used to, but he’s the best ye’ll find in these parts, if that suits ye?”

  “That’s perfect, Mrs Galbraithe. I shall be pleased to see him. And a lady’s maid?”

  “Oh, well I offered your Miss Wynter our Sally, but she said as how she was happy to see to your sisters, and that it was nae worth the bother.”

  Sampson frowned, unhappy with Gwenn acting the part of a servant, even though it touched him that she was willing to care for Susan and Selina. She was in no way proud and seemed perfectly content to do menial tasks. The previous governesses all had been very much on their dignity and would never deign to touch what they’d seen to be a lower servant’s job. Not that he judged them for it; the hierarchy of the servants was a careful balance that you meddled with at your peril.

  “I would like you to send Sally to her nonetheless,” he said, and Mrs Galbraithe nodded.

  “Right away, my lord. No doubt she’ll be more willing after last night.”

  Sampson stilled, even though he knew the woman couldn’t possibly be referring to last night.

  “I beg your pardon?” he said, aware he sounded a little stiff.

  “Ah, well the poor lassie was up all night with your sisters. Full of cold they are, the poor wee mites. Your Miss Wynter ordered some chicken broth early this morning and a weary sight she was too. Still, I’ll send up the broth as soon as it’s ready and that ought to do them all wonders.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I have a cough remedy also that should ease those sore throats and help them rest. I’ll send it up as well.”

  “That’s very good of you, Mrs Galbraithe,” Sampson said, and hurried away to check on the invalids.

  His first knock on the door was greeted with silence. Not wanting to disturb the girls if they were sleeping, he opened it a crack and peered through. The room was dimly lit, the curtains still drawn, though daylight crept about the corners. The subdued glow of the fire and a single candle guttering in its holder illuminated the room, and Sampson’s throat grew tight as he took in the scene.

  Gwenn was asleep in the middle of the bed, the book of Shakespeare’s tales in her lap and a twin tucked under each arm.

  Who was this woman, who could be the ideal governess, drive him wild with her passion and her touch, and who would care for his sisters as though they were her own children? His chest ached, his heart giving an uneven thud as he considered Gwenn as a mother. God, but she’d be perfect. Any child of hers would be so loved and cared for, so….

  He stopped himself as he realised he wasn’t imagining Gwenn’s children, he was imagining their children.

  Any possibility that he wasn’t in grave danger of falling head over heels in love was swiftly set aside. That it was already far too late was something he could hardly ignore, either. Leaving Gwenn, or watching her leave him, was an idea he did not want to consider. Oh, bloody hell, he was an idiot and Samuel was a bastard. Perhaps if his brother hadn’t intervened, he could have kept away, stopped this from happening. Yet, despite the dilemma that faced him now, he couldn’t find it in his heart to regret it. He’d have time enough for that if he couldn’t find a way for them to be together.

  He stared at the charming tableau before him and knew he must find a way. Gwenn’s golden hair was loose and tumbled beside the twins’ pale blonde curls, and the way she had them hugged against her, despite their red noses and the likelihood that she too would fall ill, spoke volumes of the kindness of her heart. She made t
he girls as happy as she made him. He couldn’t bear to consider how upset they would be if she left as she planned to. He had to make her want to stay.

  Sampson moved silently to the bed and reached for the blanket, tugging it up a little higher to ensure they didn’t get cold. Susan stirred and blinked up at him.

  “Sunny?”

  “It’s all right, love, go back to sleep.”

  She sighed and did at once, her eyelids flickering as she turned to snuggle closer to Gwenn. His throat grew tight. The girl’s mother was a sweet woman, but emotionally she was barely more than a girl herself. She’d been cosseted as a child and then thrown to the wolf that had been his father. She was a bundle of nerves and needed as much looking after as the girls did. Though she loved the twins, she was more like a doting sister than a mother, and didn’t really know what to do with them. When the news and the manner of his father’s death had reached her, she’d suffered a nervous collapse and gone back to live with her parents. Sampson had felt ill-equipped to be both father and mother to the girls, but he’d sworn to do his best—and made a hash of it.

  Everything that had seemed so bloody impossible had been so easy once Gwenn had arrived, though. She made loving them and making them happy seem the easiest thing in the world. As easy as falling in love with her.

  Sampson turned and snuffed out the candle before taking a moment to build the fire up again and, with one last glance at the bed, he crept out of the room.

  ***

  Gwenn woke with difficulty. Her eyelids were heavy, her eyes gritty, and she felt weary and not the least bit refreshed.

  “Sorry, miss. We didnae mean to disturb ye.”

  Propping herself up on her elbows, Gwenn squinted until she focused on a cheerful looking young woman who was braiding Selina’s unruly locks into something tidy and pretty. Susan, sitting by the fire with her nose in a book, was already neatly braided. Dressed for the day—courtesy of this unknown maid, she guessed—though a little pale, they both looked far better than they had last night.