Wild in Winter

by Scott, Scarlett

  “You ought to have done,” he told Ash. “And if you had indeed been lusting after the woman I want to make my duchess, I would have planted you a facer.”

  “The woman you want to make your duchess?” His brother’s gaze narrowed. “Are you saying there is someone else you want to wed in attendance at this house party?”

  “There may be,” he hedged, mostly because he had no wish to reveal the full extent of his failure to his brother, who had never met a lady he could not charm out of her gown.

  But Ash was no fool. “Not the hellion?”

  His back stiffened at his brother’s insulting sobriquet for Christabella. She was wild, yes. And bold, no doubt. But she was his, damn it, and he felt deuced protective of her.

  No, she is not yours, taunted a voice inside him.

  God’s truth. She did not want to marry him. Unless he could find sufficient means of persuasion.

  He busied himself with tying his cravat, trying to distract himself from the misery of her rejection and his subsequent withdrawal. “I have no notion of whom you are speaking. I do trust, however, that you would not refer to your future wife’s sister in such terms.”

  “Who said I am marrying Pru?” Ash asked.

  He raised a brow at his brother. “You. You have never once professed your love for a female to me. And from what I gather, the number of females with whom you have been on intimate terms is legion.”

  “I am not proud of the manner in which I have lived my life,” Ash said, his tone as stiff as his bearing. “I have spent years chasing nothing but pleasure, telling myself it was what led to happiness. But I have discovered, quite belatedly, just how wrong I was. I do not deserve Pru, that much is certain. But I want to marry her.”

  He knew the feeling. Well, part of the feeling. He had not spent his life chasing pleasure, but rather duty. And an attempt to avoid most social interaction. Christabella had made him realize he was stronger than he had believed. That perhaps with time and motivation, he could at least control his affliction, if not banish it altogether.

  She had filled him with hope.

  Until she struck it down.

  Still, this was not about him and Christabella. Rather, this was about the brother he loved finding happiness at last, a happiness which he so richly deserved. “I am glad you have finally seen what has been plain enough to me. When will the betrothal be announced?”

  “This evening,” Ash said, shocking him.

  Too damned bad that Miss Prudence’s sister was not so hasty in her decision. And that she had an aversion to telling him yes unless it came to kisses and touching.

  “Remarkably quick of you, Ash,” he pointed out, hating himself for the bitterness in his tone.

  He should be happy for his brother.

  And he was.

  But for the first time, he also wanted happiness for himself. And he was beginning to fear the way he felt about Miss Christabella Winter could only be described in one fashion. In a fashion which involved a four-letter word that rhymed with dove.

  “Yes, well.” Ash fiddled with his cravat, looking suddenly shamefaced. “I may have compromised Pru.”

  “You may have compromised her, or you did?” Gill asked.

  It would seem they had both been acting the scoundrel this house party. Who would have believed it? Not him. Bloody hell, what was the matter with them? Perhaps they were more their father’s sons than either of them had realized.

  “I did,” Ash admitted with a grimace. “It was unintentional, I swear it, and nothing untoward occurred. Well, actually, it did, but that was before we were discovered.”

  Sadly, his brother’s words resonated, for they were all too familiar.

  “Nothing you are saying is reassuring me,” Gill said as it occurred to him that both he and Ash had compromised Winter sisters at the same house party. Perhaps even on the same day.

  Lord God have mercy upon them.

  “It is…complicated,” Ash told him. “Suffice it to say, the lady took a fall in the snow, and I was left with no recourse but to help her disrobe so her garments would dry.”

  Was it wrong of him that for a moment he wished something similar had befallen himself and Christabella? A well-timed fall in the snow, the necessity of removing a wet gown…

  Yes, he told himself. It was wrong of him to think. Such thoughts ought to be beneath him.

  What a shame they are not, whispered a hideous voice within.

  A voice he promptly quashed as he pinned his brother with a look of disapproval. “Ash. Tell me you did not seduce her.”

  “I did not seduce her,” Ash said quickly before raking a hand through his hair. “That is the truth. At least, not in the moment when we were discovered. But never mind that. We were in the false ruins, and my garments were quite sodden as well. I had no recourse but to join her beneath the fur, and then we—”

  “Bloody hell, Ash!” Gill burst out. “Did you have to tup the sister of the woman I want to make my wife? Could you not have waited until the damned wedding night?”

  “We fell asleep!” Ash was indignant until the remainder of Gill’s words apparently hit him, and his expression changed entirely, as if he were just fully grasping the situation for the first time. “The woman you want to make your wife? You do want to marry the hellion.”

  “She is not a hellion,” he felt compelled to defend this time around.

  She was beautiful and seductive. Silly and wonderful. She threw snowballs at him and tickled him. She kissed him. She made him long for her desperately.

  He had spent most of his life locked away from feeling and emotion, much the way his father had locked him in that chamber so long ago. He did not even know if it was possible for him to love a woman. He loved his brother, but that was not the same. They shared blood and a haunted past. They were all each other had.

  Christabella, however…she was different.

  Ash started laughing then. Uncontrollably. He carried on until his maniacal laughter produced tears in his eyes and he was forced to withdraw a handkerchief from his coat and dab at his eyes.

  Gill was just about to ask his brother if he was feeling well when Ash spoke again at last. “What a pair we are. Perhaps I was right when I said there is something in the food here. A poison that rots men’s minds and makes them more susceptible to matchmaking.”

  There was a poison afoot indeed, and Gill was fairly certain what it was, much to his dismay.

  “The poison is love,” he decided, his grim mood returning.

  For what could love be but a poison if it existed only as a source of torment? If a man found the woman he wanted to marry and she told him no?

  Twice, curse it.

  “But is love a poison, or is it a cure?” Ash stroked his jaw as he appeared to contemplate the question himself. “It seems one could argue either way.”

  Gill sighed. The way he felt when he was with Christabella—if it was indeed love—more than made up for the suffering. And yet knowing he may have lost his heart to her whilst there remained the very real possibility she had only been flirting with him and kissing him out of boredom or—worse—curiosity, stung.

  “One could, indeed,” he finally allowed reluctantly.

  He and Ash were silent for a moment, a tacit acknowledgment passing between them.

  “Let us hope it is a cure,” Ash decided.

  Gill was certain it was the poison. It sure as hell felt that way now, festering inside his gut, threatening to be his undoing.

  “She has refused me,” he blurted, before he could think better of the admission.

  “The hellion?” Ash frowned.

  “Devil take it, her name is Christabella,” Gill snapped, irritated by his brother’s continued insistence upon referring to her thus.

  “Steady, brother.” Ash flashed him a grin. “I was attempting to make a sally.”

  “Poorly timed,” he muttered, fiddling with the knot he had fastened in his cravat.

  Martin had a much m
ore adept hand than he did when it came to such matters. But Martin also enjoyed gossiping below stairs. And Gill had no wish for his or his brother’s romantic endeavors at this house party to become fodder for every lady’s maid and valet in Abingdon House.

  “Forgive me.” Ash paused, cocking his head and considering Gill in a way that made him long to squirm. “You have offered for her hand, then?”

  “Twice,” he admitted, making certain to omit the full details.

  “Have you been sneaking about with her, you scoundrel?” Ash asked, his grin deepening.

  “Not sneaking.” His ears were hot. His cravat was too damned tight. “Very well, one of the occasions was a planned meeting. The others, however, were happenstance. Except for when I went to her chamber…”

  Ash shook his head, as if he could not believe his ears. “Bloody hell, Gill. You went to her chamber? And here you were giving me hell about Pru, whilst you have been sneaking about in chambers. Now that you mention it, sneaking about in chambers with Pru may be just the thing…”

  “She had injured her ankle, and I wished to make certain she was not in pain,” he defended himself, even though the words rang hollow to his own ears.

  In truth, he could have waited. There had been no reason to seek her out. He could have inquired after her the next morning, at breakfast. He could have stayed far, far away from her, damn it.

  But he had not.

  Because he was drawn to her. Because he could not resist her.

  “I feel as if I ought to lecture you on the importance of observing the proprieties,” Ash said then. “This is the devil of a thing. I never supposed you would be acting the rogue.”

  Had he been acting the rogue? The thought gave him pause.

  “I am not acting the rogue,” he decided. “I am attempting to make her my duchess.”

  “And yet the lady is not keen,” Ash mused, stroking his jaw. “I thought most ladies wanted nothing more than to snare a coronet until I met Pru. These Winter ladies are a law unto themselves, Gill. One must proceed with caution. And a battle plan. Tell me, what did you say to her when you asked her to marry you?”

  He thought back to his awkward proposal and grimaced as his own words returned to him.

  I am in need of a wife. You are unwed. I…like you.

  “I told her I liked her,” he said. “And she was unwed.”

  Ash nodded. “Decent. And?”

  “And that was all.”

  Ash whistled. “Ah, I begin to see the problem.”

  He stiffened. “Here now, just because you have bedded half the ladies in London does not mean you know how to procure a wife any better than I do.”

  “And yet, I am a betrothed man whilst you are not,” pointed out his cursed brother, looking and sounding equally smug.

  “Because you have ruined Miss Prudence, and you have been caught doing it,” he could not help but to point out.

  “But she has agreed to the marriage, whilst the hellion has not.”

  His hands balled into impotent fists as his sides. “If you call her that one more time, Ash, by God, I will be forced to plant you a facer after all.”

  Ash laughed, the cheeky scoundrel. “Forgive me. I never thought I would see the day when my brother fell in love, and I must admit it is devilishly entertaining.”

  “Go to hell,” he grumbled, aware he was flushing now, quite like a callow youth.

  Which in some ways, he still was.

  “But as much fun as it is to watch you squirm, my true aim is to assist you,” Ash continued. “Tell me, what did Miss Christabella say when you asked her to marry you?”

  On which occasion?

  Ballocks. He truly was pathetic, was he not?

  “She told me she likes me,” he said, “but that she is not ready to marry just yet.”

  “Intriguing.” Ash was still stroking his jaw, as if he were pondering.

  Gill waited for his brother to say something, but his impatience got the better of him. “Well? Have you nothing to offer?”

  “Have you kissed her?”

  His cheeks went hotter. “Yes.”

  “And she responded?” Ash pressed.

  He thought of Christabella’s sweet, husky sounds. Her tongue in his mouth. The way she had climbed into his lap and changed his entire world. The slick heat of her cunny…

  Blast. He could not continue in that vein of thought whilst his brother stood there.

  “She responded,” he gritted.

  Ash gave him a look of approval and clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent, brother. It sounds as if the lady requires further persuasion.”

  He had already kissed her. Often and prodigiously. Made her spend. Proposed to her.

  What other means of persuasion existed? As a neophyte, he was lost.

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked his brother.

  Ash’s countenance turned contemplative. “I believe it is past time you made Miss Christabella come to you. A gentleman cannot do all the chasing, you see. Sometimes, the lady must see the error of her ways. If she has yet to realize what her heart is telling her, you must help in the oldest fashion there is.”

  “Which is?” he prodded.

  Ash flashed yet another devilish grin. “Jealousy.”

  That would never work.

  “Excellent idea if I were the sort of man capable of wooing the females in my presence.” He paused, thinking of his cursed affliction. “The only lady I want to speak with or court is Belle.”

  “Belle?” Ash’s lips twitched as if he were attempting to stifle laughter.

  He glared. “I cannot make her jealous, even if I wished to, which I do not. Have you nothing else to suggest? If so, run along so I can recall Martin to fix my cravat.”

  His brother appeared to be contemplating once more, apparently running through his vast experience as a practiced wooer of the fairer sex for a winning strategy.

  At last, a Machiavellian smile dawned on Ash’s countenance. “I believe I have just the thing.”

  Chapter Ten

  There was no sign of Gill.

  Christabella tried to tell herself his absence did not concern her. She tried to tell herself staying away from him was truly for the best anyway. Distance and separation were what they required. All the better to clear her mind.

  To convince herself that her sisters were wrong.

  That she was not in love with the Duke of Coventry.

  That it did not bother her one whit that here she was in the vast drawing room once more, surrounded by the house party guests, prepared to partake in yet another entertainment without him.

  But it did.

  She seated herself at Pru’s side, fidgeting with her skirts, as their sister-in-law announced the afternoon’s distraction would be charades.

  For the third time.

  She cast a sidelong glance at her sister whilst Lady Emilia spoke, thinking Pru looked irritatingly happy. Pru and Lord Ashley were making eyes at each other across the drawing room, acting as if they were the only two people in the chamber.

  Love.

  It was ridiculously irritating.

  How had she ever imagined it would be the answer to all her problems?

  “Have you inquired after Coventry with Lord Ashley?” she whispered to her sister, although she had promised herself she would not ask again.

  She had already asked at least half a dozen times, and on each occasion, Pru gave her the same noncommittal response. The duke was apparently ill. And though she did not want to worry over him, Christabella could not help it. She was worried.

  It had been an entire day, after all.

  “Coventry is still indisposed,” Pru murmured back without bothering to sever her eye contact with her betrothed. “Something about a lung infection, I believe.”

  A lung infection? This was news to Christabella. Her stomach clenched.

  “Lung infections can be quite serious,” she fretted aloud.

  “Hmm?” Pru asked, her atten
tion still pinned upon Gill’s brother.

  Why had Christabella ever imagined a rake would be the sort of man to turn her head and win her heart, anyway? Lord Ashley was handsome enough, but there was something about Gill’s lack of seductive polish she could not resist. He was earnest. And his kisses were… Well, she could not fathom a rake’s could compare.

  But what manner of illness would force him to remain in his chamber for the last remaining days of the house party? She knew he did not particularly care for socializing and drawing room games, but with Christmastide upon them and the party about to come to an end, Christabella was beginning to worry she would not even see him again before he departed.

  The thought left her with a hollow ache she could not shake. As did the notion of him abed, suffering, all alone.

  “Has his condition improved?” she prodded her sister.

  After all, Pru’s betrothed was Gill’s own brother. Who better to ask?

  Christabella herself did not yet feel comfortable enough with Lord Ashley to make demands of him. When he was officially her brother, she had no doubt that would change.

  “Has his inclination moved?” Pru asked, at last sparing Christabella a glance. A hasty glance, before returning to her previous task of making lovesick eyes at Lord Ashley. “What nonsense are you spouting now, Christabella?”

  “Have you not listened to a word I have spoken?” she demanded, careful to keep her voice low lest others overhear her outrage. “That is not at all what I said. Little wonder you think it nonsensical.”

  “I did not think it made much sense, but in my defense, you are often spouting about some romanticism or other, darling,” Pru told her.

  “Would you kindly direct your attention to me whilst I am speaking with you?” she demanded, her dudgeon now quite high. “Lord Ashley is not the only person in this chamber, you know. I am your sister, and I am worried about the state of your future brother-in-law’s health. Indeed, one might think you could show a bit more concern. Do you not care for Coventry at all?”

  “Of course I care for him.” She shot Christabella an irritated look at last. “He is not on his deathbed, Christabella. As I understand it, he is resting and shall recover quite nicely. There is nothing to fret over.”