“I’m Sally,” the woman clarified with a smile. “And the missus thought ye seemed worn to a thread. She told his lordship, and he said to send me to help with the girls. I’d go back to sleep, miss. Ye look done in.”
“Thank you,” she said, thinking that sounded like a fine idea. “How are you feeling, girls?”
“My nose won’t stop running, but I feel fine,” Susan replied, sniffing to illustrate the problem. “Selina has lost her voice, though,” she added with a wicked grin. “So we’ll all have some peace today.”
Selina scowled and croaked something that sounded uncomplimentary.
“Oh, poor Selina,” Gwenn soothed, smothering a laugh as the girl stuck her tongue out at Susan. “You must eat the soup Mrs Galbraithe is having prepared for you. It will make your throat feel much better.”
“Aye, I’m taking them downstairs for it now,” Sally said, putting the finishing touches to Susan’s hair. “Oh, and the missus sent that cough mixture up, too. She reckons it’ll soothe that sore throat in no time.”
Gwenn looked at the large, brown bottle on the bedside table. She reached for it, unstoppered the cork, and frowned as she gave a dubious sniff. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, missus makes it herself. Swears by it, she does. It’s liquorice, vinegar, salad oil, treacle, and tincture of opium.”
Gwenn blanched. One of the men who could not afford her mother’s attentions but was nonetheless infatuated and had followed her like a puppy, had been a poet—and an opium addict. He’d been kind to Gwenn and had been a sweet-natured, handsome man, until opium had destroyed him. The filthy stuff was going nowhere near her girls.
Her girls.
Gwenn swallowed as she realised what a foolish thought that was, and what a terrible mess she’d landed herself in. Forcing the fear rising in her chest aside, she held the bottle out to Sally who took it, setting it on the mantle shelf whilst she collected the dirty linens.
“Please thank Mrs Galbraithe kindly, but I do not approve of the girls taking opium for nothing graver than a sore throat.”
“Very good, miss,” the girl said, gathering yesterday’s pinafores.
Gwenn nodded and turned back to the girls. “I shall make you some more willow bark tea but, for now, you must eat the soup that has been prepared for you.”
“Yes, Miss Wynter,” they chorused and followed Sally out of the room.
Gwenn fell back against the pillows. Don’t think about it, she advised herself.
Don’t think about how fond you are of those two funny little girls, don’t think about how upset they will be when you tell them you are leaving them, don’t think about him—don’t think.
It was impossible, of course.
She thought about all of it.
She thought about the way she had behaved last night, and how very badly she wanted to do it again. The memory of having her hands on Sampson, of the power she’d felt when he had moaned and shattered sent heat radiating straight to her core. An insistent throb began between her thighs and she cursed, blinking back tears and burying her face in the pillow. Aunt Letty had been right, though the realisation was a bitter pill. The De Wynns had lustful natures; they were born sluts, and there was no escaping it. She ought never have tried. It would have been better if she’d simply trusted her mother’s judgement. That way she could have avoided the inevitable heartache that awaited her now. For there was no fairy-tale ending to this story, and all her plans were at an end.
There would be no marriage to a decent man and a family of her own, not when the only man she could consider such a happy ever after with could never marry her. She could only bring him and his sisters shame and scandal, and she’d rather die than hurt those girls.
Not her girls. Never her girls.
So, there was nothing else to do. After Christmas she would leave, just as she’d said she would, but not to search out some new, hopeful future. She must go back to Marie—with her tail between her legs—and admit she’d been right about all of it. It would have to be a clandestine escape, too, with no fond farewells, for Sampson was too decent to let her go without trying to make things right for her and she couldn’t endure that.
So, she would return—damaged goods—and Marie would be so angry at her stupidity. She wouldn’t even have any bloody rubies to soften her ire.
That she would still have her virginity intact never even occurred to her. There was no way she could spend the coming days with Sampson and not give herself to him. She’d have that much of him, at least, a memory to warm her when she was living a different life, a life Sampson would abhor and have no part of.
Gwenn allowed herself the indulgence of a good cry, sobbing into the pillow until she fell asleep again. When she woke it was midday, and she was a deal calmer, resigned to her fate. There were the remaining days until Christmas and Christmas itself to enjoy, and she intended to do so. She would fill the coming days with all that she could not have in those that followed the holiday. The new year loomed, bleak and lonely, but she pushed it aside with impatience. She’d not think on it. There would be time enough for regrets. Why waste a moment on them now when she could be with Sampson and the girls?
Sliding out from under the covers, Gwenn hurried to wash, moving to the washstand to pour water from the waiting jug, when she heard giggling from outside the window. Curious, she set down the jug and drew the curtain back a little. The scene below made her heart leap to her throat and a smile curve over her mouth, even as her eyes prickled with tears.
Sampson was helping the girls make a snowman, the jolly, rotund figure smiling a broad coal-studded smile beneath a carrot nose as the girls each stuck in a twig for arms. Their big brother laughed as they launched themselves at him, grabbing for his hat. Sampson pretended to put up a fight until he allowed them to knock him down into the snow. Susan snatched up the hat with a cry of triumph and ran back to the snowman, setting it on his head at a jaunty angle.
Gwenn watched, finding it hard to breathe as Sampson got to his feet again, brushing snow from his clothes. He paused, as if aware someone was observing him, and looked up at her window. The smile that dawned on his face as he saw her robbed her of any remaining air in her lungs, and a lump settled in her throat. She laughed anyway, tears pricking at her eyes as he raised a hand and waved to her. Gwenn lifted her hand and waved back.
Sampson glanced about, checking no one was watching before blowing her a kiss. Gwenn touched her fingers to her mouth, believing she could feel the warmth of his lips on hers, which was utterly foolish, but she was foolish. For the coming days, she would give herself over to foolishness, to the inevitability that she would fall irrevocably in love with this man and that leaving him would break her in ways that could never be mended.
Foolish indeed.
Chapter 14
“Wherein the perfect day and the night...”
“Can we go outside now, please, pleeease, Sunny?” Susan begged, tugging at Sampson’s arm.
They’d just finished a very fine repast which had finally warmed Sampson to his toes and he was not enamoured of going back out in the snow.
“Oh, yes, I must see this snowman,” Gwenn said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “He looked a handsome fellow.”
“Oh, he is,” Selina said, her voice still faint but stronger than it had been this morning. “Please, Sampson.”
How could he resist such pleas? Though teasing them a little was too much fun. “Oh, but Miss Wynter saw it from the window. No, no. It’s too cold and it will be dark soon.”
“It won’t be dark for hours yet!” Susan exclaimed. “It’s only two o’clock!”
“Oh, yes, but you two are not well, and you kept poor Miss Wynter awake all night… no, no, she must be worn out.”
“I’m not the least bit worn out,” Gwenn retorted, a glint in her eyes that made him aware of the blood surging through his veins, desire glittering like champagne beneath his skin. “I slept all the morning away. I expect I shall not slee
p a wink tonight, unless I get some vigorous exercise.”
“Is that so?” he said, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he considered just how vigorous he could be if she let him. “Well, in that case, I suppose we’d best visit the snowman.”
The girls gave a pleased exclamation and shoved their chairs back, running to fetch hats, scarves, and pelisses. Sampson turned to Gwenn and reached across the table to her. He’d not been alone with her since last night and being in her company without being able to touch her made his skin ache with longing.
She took his hand, her slender fingers curving with his.
“I missed you,” he said, knowing he sounded like a silly boy when they’d been together this past hour or more. He didn’t care. “I want to kiss you so badly. I can’t think of anything else.”
Gwenn smiled at him, a sweet smile that seemed to settle in his heart, warming him from the inside out. “I know,” she said, her gaze falling to his mouth and then to their hands, linked on the table. “I feel the same.”
She slid her hand from his though, and he hated the loss of her touch. A moment later the twins burst back in, bundled up in their winter clothes.
“Come on!” they urged. Susan tugged at his arm whilst Selina tackled Gwenn. Laughing and exclaiming merrily, the girls hustled them from the room and into coats and out of the door.
Weak sunlight glimmered on the snow, the low hills around them sparkling white and pristine as though the world had been wiped clean of sin and could start afresh. Though it was beyond foolish in the circumstances, Sampson’s heart was light too and full of hope. He could not remember a time when he’d known what it was to be so happy. Not like this.
Gwenn was laughing with his sisters, the three of them holding hands, shrieking as Selina slipped and fell on her behind with a thud. She stared up at Gwenn, her expression indignant for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Gwenn reached for her, helping her up and brushing her down before giving her a brief hug and taking her hand again. How easy it was to love her… for all of them.
Susan began singing a Christmas carol, her voice ringing out over the quiet, snow-hushed landscape. Selina joined in as best she could, a little raspy still, and then Gwenn’s voice joined them together, pure and sweet and sending shivers down his spine as he realised that this… this was what he had wanted for the girls for Christmas, and for himself. He’d wanted them happy and carefree, and to know what it was to be loved. It had never occurred to him that a stranger could bring such things into their lives.
Sampson turned away, the scene filling his chest and his heart, and upturning everything he’d expected to have in his future. Everything that had seemed so important was shifting and muddling in his head. He thought about Samuel, and tried to remember the advice his brother had given him when they’d argued about the future, about the girls and Miss Wynter.
And then a snowball smacked him in the head.
He jolted back, his thoughts spinning away. Trickles of ice slid past his cravat as the snow melted on his skin and he spun around to find Gwenn laughing, delight in her eyes as she scooped up another handful of snow and sent it hurtling in his direction. It hit him square in the chest and Sampson looked down at the snowy patch on his coat, somewhere near his heart, which seemed apt. It wasn’t the first time she’d hit him there, after all.
The girls cheered and chortled, gathering their own snowballs and lobbing them at him as he ducked out of the way.
“Right,” he said with a deep growl, pretending to glare at them. “This means war!”
The three of them shrieked and ran for cover as he tore after them, his boots slipping in the snow as he threw snowballs at their retreating backs. He hit Gwenn in the back of the head, setting her bonnet all askew as she yelped in surprise.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, the light of challenge in her eyes. “You wretch, you’ll pay for that!”
The next twenty minutes was filled with laughter and screams, so much so that some of the staff came out to see what was happening, and soon—with a little encouragement—everyone had joined in. Snowballs flew back and forth until the combatants were all rosy cheeked, red-nosed, and frozen to the marrow.
Mrs Galbraithe called a halt by announcing that there was hot chocolate for the children and mulled wine for the adults, and a plate of shortbread, still warm from the ovens. Everyone bundled back inside in high spirits, chattering and filled with all the joys of the season despite their frozen fingers and toes.
They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the cosy private parlour beside a roaring fire, playing games with the girls. Though he was impatient to be alone with Gwenn, to hold her and kiss her, Sampson did not begrudge the time in the least. He simply enjoyed it, basking in the happiness shining from Susan and Selina’s faces, the two of them delighted to have both their big brother’s and Miss Wynter’s attention at once.
They needed cajoling to go up to bed after supper, and though his blood simmered with anticipation, Sampson found he was sorry the day was over for them too. He promised them, and himself, that tomorrow would be just as much fun. He began to feel very fond of the snow heaped outside the door, and hoped it would linger.
“Goodnight, my lord,” Gwenn said, her voice low as she moved to follow the girls out.
Sampson grabbed hold of her hand once the girls were out the door, stilling her.
“Gwenn?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Come to me.”
His breath caught. It was hard to let her fingers slide from his grasp, but he did, watching her until she closed the door behind her.
***
Gwenn settled the girls to bed and read them a story, content that they should sleep well after the excitement of their day. They were fast asleep and snoring gently before she was halfway through the tale, and she set it aside with a smile. She took a moment to tuck them in, snuff the candles, and bank the fire before returning to her own room.
The air in her bedchamber was damp with steam and Gwenn was pleased to see the bath she’d ordered was ready for her. She went to her valise, taking out a small bottle of scented oil and added a few drops to the bath before undressing as fast as she could. The look in Sampson’s eyes had suggested he’d not wait long to join her.
The water was good and hot, and she sighed with pleasure as she sank into it. She reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands. Her body was already alive with anticipation, knowing that he would soon be here, that his hands would be on her, and his mouth. She closed her eyes, remembering last night and imagining how good it would be to feel his skin, his body, pressed against hers. Her palms slid over her slick flesh, enjoying her own touch as she soaped her breasts, imagining it was Sampson who touched her.
There was a soft knock and a brief pause and suddenly he was standing there, as though she’d conjured him with the force of her desire.
He froze, staring down at her, his eyes so dark she’d never have guessed they were blue if she hadn’t already known. Gwenn smiled and continued to caress herself, rolling her nipples between her fingers until they were taut. Sampson’s breath hitched, and the sound sent a jolt of pleasure between her thighs.
Gwenn licked her lips and allowed her hands to slide over her torso, below the waterline, to touch herself and ease the ache that throbbed and demanded her attention. She wanted him to touch her, wanted his hands upon her, but the look in his eyes was such that she knew he wanted to watch her—and she wanted him to watch. She sighed as her fingers sought the little nub of flesh that clamoured for him and Sampson groaned and went to his knees, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said, and the words were ragged, rough with desire.
“I couldn’t do that,” she said, smiling a little as she teased him. “It’s far too wicked.”
“Oh, God, please.”
She tilted her head to one side, considering him. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
He moved at
once, shedding his coat and waistcoat, throwing them to the floor in a careless heap before tugging his shirt over his head and casting it aside.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
Gwenn closed her eyes and let out a soft moan, arching a little as her hand moved beneath the water. She cupped her breast with her free hand and squeezed, sighing again before regarding him through heavy-lidded eyes, allowing her gaze to roam over him with slow appreciation.
“Undo the buttons,” she commanded, smiling as he leapt to do her bidding.
His hands didn’t seem entirely steady as he unfastened the fall and shoved his trousers and small clothes down his hips. His cock sprang free, and Gwenn drank in the sight of him with greedy eyes.
“How lovely,” she murmured, her body heated and eager for him but enjoying his desperation too much to stop yet. “Is that for me?”
“God, yes. Yes, you know it is. All of me. I’m yours.”
For a moment those words struck her heart, a sharp pain that she pushed aside and refused to allow to wound her. She knew what he meant, and he didn’t mean that he belonged to her. He was hers for now, for this night and those that followed, until Christmas and the end of the holiday, and her dreams.
“Tell me, Gwenn,” he said breathlessly. “Tell me what you are thinking of, what is making you sigh with pleasure?”
“Your mouth,” she said on a sigh, holding his gaze. “I’m thinking of your mouth.”
She watched, riveted to the sight of his large hand curling around his cock and stroking.
“Where?” he asked. “Where is my mouth?”
Gwenn swallowed, the torment far from one sided now as her heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t answer him but stood up, the water cascading down her body as Sampson stared up at her, wide-eyed.
“Gwenn,” he said, her name spoken with such reverence she knew she’d never forget how it sounded on his lips, as if it was precious, as if it was his alone to speak that way. “I’ve seen nothing so beautiful as you in my life.”
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 14