Always the Wallflower (Never the Bride Book 5)

by Emily E K Murdoch

  Shock was painted across her features, and Edward found himself overwhelmed by the bizarre hope that she knew it had been he who had defended her honor—coupled with the conviction that she should never hear Mr. Jarvis’s disgusting words.

  Pushing his chair aside, Edward walked away from the card table and the groaning Mr. Jarvis, and stopped before Letty. He offered her his hand, and she accepted it wordlessly.

  As they walked out of the card room, it was impossible to ignore the whispers.

  “What in God’s name—”

  “Was that Viscount Wynn?”

  “I never thought he would go for such a plain woman as Letitia Cavendish—”

  “—willing to risk her reputation with—”

  Edward’s ears burned, but he did not stop. He wanted to get Letty as far away from Mr. Jarvis as possible, away from the gossiping tongues of Lady Romeril’s guests.

  It was an age until they reached the front door, and the cool air calmed him in a way nothing else could.

  “And what,” Letty asked nervously, “what that was all about?”

  Edward sighed and leaned against the wall. The footmen had gone, thank goodness, and as no guests were leaving the ball early, there were no carriages in the street. They were alone—finally.

  His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “Where shall I return you?”

  Letty blinked as though he had spoken another language.

  “Where is your home? Where do you live?”

  She pointed left, and in silence, they started to walk.

  So many thoughts were whirling around Edward’s mind, he was not sure whether he could speak coherently.

  Where did one start? By punching Mr. Jarvis so publicly, he may as well have announced his intentions to the world—but Letty had not seen the altercation. She would have questions. Could he answer them honestly?

  Did he want to?

  After turning a corner, Edward eventually blurted, “I will not let anyone speak ill of you, Letty.”

  Even in the darkness, he could see that she had colored.

  “Why?”

  Edward stopped again.

  Despite every instinct telling him to be silent, Edward took a deep breath. “I admit it. I care for you, Letty. I care for you more than I thought I could care for anyone.”

  The night seemed to ring out with his words, echoing down the empty street.

  Letty swallowed. “Oh?”

  His pulse was throbbing in his ears, but he had to press on. If he did not ask this question now, he would always be wondering, and there was no time like after he had punched a man for speaking ill of her.

  “I have to know, Letty. Do you…do you care for me at all?”

  She stared, her mouth falling open.

  “I can feel the ridiculousness of my words,” Edward said hastily, “and I hate myself for feeling so weak, yet I love that you have this effect on me. I-I do not know what to do with all these feelings, Letty.”

  She smiled, and it warmed him in a way that nothing else had. “I never thought Viscount Wynn would be asking anyone that, let alone me. Not the rake of the ton.”

  “Letty, I am in earnest,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Do you care for me?”

  There was a hint of despair in his heart. Why would a Cavendish risk her reputation, risk her heart, on a gentleman like him?

  She nodded.

  The relief was so great, Edward acted without thought. It took three steps until he was before her, and as she smiled, a wicked grin spread over his face. He pushed her slightly, so she stepped back against the wall. Then and only then did he give in to the desire roaring through his veins.

  The kiss was unbelievable. Letty’s breasts pressed against his chest, his hands on her hips, and his tongue plunging into her mouth, desperately taking all the pleasure he could.

  And by God, she gave it to him. She kissed him just as passionately, just as desperately, as though they were the only real people in the whole world. As though nothing would ever tear them apart as long as they clung to each other.

  Edward had never felt more alive, and his body had never felt this way kissing anyone else. And it was Letty, Letitia Cavendish, the wallflower he and countless other gentlemen had undoubtedly ignored.

  Where did it come from, this lust he had unlocked in her? Perhaps because no one else had ever touched her like this, kissed her like this, and Edward found himself getting even harder.

  They broke apart when it was no longer possible to keep kissing without taking a breath.

  “I would like to do so much more to you,” he whispered.

  Letty smiled, desire in her eyes. “And I want you to.”

  Edward’s manhood jerked. There was no one else on the street—they would not be seen. He could taste the need in her, could tease her with his fingers until she cried out his name, and she would still be an innocent—in name at least.

  “I-I should take you home,” he managed to say in a strangled voice, “before I do something neither of us will regret.”

  Chapter Seven

  Letitia could barely stop her hands shaking, so she drew them together and tried to take a deep breath. Her lungs did not cooperate.

  She swallowed, ignoring the pointed stares of those walking down Watling Street. This was reckless. She knew it and had never countenanced doing a thing like it before—but if she wanted a semblance of happiness, true joy, was it not incumbent on her to do something about it?

  She could not continue waiting for happiness to arrive at her doorstep. This time, she was standing on happiness’s doorstep. She had debated with herself, made up her mind, changed her mind—but if she did nothing, she would always wonder what if. What had Harry said?

  “When you are in love, you will do anything.”

  “Good morning, Lady Letitia.”

  She jumped, for she had been in her own private world. “G-Good morning, Mrs.—”

  But the lady had already gone.

  Letitia swallowed. She could stand here for a thousand years and still be no closer to potential happiness.

  She was a Cavendish. Generations of men and women who took what they wanted without being asked—sometimes from other Cavendishes—had gone before her.

  If she was going to live up to her name, like her father wanted her to, she needed to do something about her life. If she did not like it, all she had to do was change it.

  Finally, she strode up the steps and knocked on the door.

  It felt like hours until the door opened, and there stood a tall, rather grandfatherly looking gentleman in the soft green livery of the Wynns.

  He peered around as though expecting to see someone with her.

  “Yes, my Lady Letitia?”

  She had hoped for some sort of anonymity and had not even crossed the threshold yet.

  “You—you know me?”

  The butler bowed. “Of course, my lady. I make it my business to be acquainted with the best of society, if only by sight and name.”

  Letitia hesitated. She should have expected it. One could not be a Cavendish and simply fade into the background all the time, even if she wished she could.

  The butler was watching her with a kind look. “Did you knock for a purpose, my lady?”

  “Y-Yes,” she managed. “I…I wondered whether his lordship was in.”

  If the butler had been surprised at the rather unusual request, he did not show it. “I am not entirely sure if my master is at home, my lady, but if you will step inside, I will inquire.”

  The door was pushed open, and she caught a glimpse of a large hallway with a big, gold-framed painting on the wall. She swallowed. This was not what she had expected—in truth, she had not believed herself brave enough to even knock.

  “Come in from the cold while you wait,” said the butler gently.

  She nodded and stepped across the threshold.

  “I will be but one moment.” The butler bowed once more and disappeared through one of the numerou
s doors leading off the hall.

  Letitia looked around with a little trepidation.

  So, this was the view that Edward—Viscount Wynn—saw every day.

  As far as she knew, no other woman had come this far. From the stories she had heard, he liked to flirt with young ladies and make love to them in their own homes—and what their parents must have thought if they were ever caught, she could barely think!

  The hall was bare, with few personal ornaments. She had never seen him in his natural setting before.

  Whenever she did see him, it was all effortless charm and his desire to see women feel flattered, herself included. A spark of jealousy edged into her heart, but Letitia pushed it away decidedly. It was not her place to judge what was in the past. She was his present. That had to be enough.

  Her eyes were drawn once again to the large gold frame on the wall and to the painting within it. Taking a breath as though she would spring a trap, Letitia stepped forward.

  Her footstep on the stone echoed, but nothing else happened. She took a few more until she was standing before the painting, a family group.

  On the right, an overbearing, stern gentleman. He had the same chin as Edward—Viscount Wynn—but none of the warmth. Seated beside him was a woman, beautiful but pale. She had Edward’s eyes.

  A young man stood behind his mother. There was no need to guess who he was.

  She stepped back to take it all in and found that the overwhelming expression of all three of them was sadness. There was also something strange, something she could not put her finger on. There was something missing.

  “Spotted anything interesting?”

  The voice rang out behind her, and Letitia turned around quickly, her heart thumping wildly. Edward was leaning against the opposite wall with a smile on his face.

  Something painful contracted in Letitia’s stomach. My, but he was handsome—almost devilishly handsome, now she saw him in the comfort of his own home. His cravat was only halfway tied, as though she had interrupted his valet, and she could see his chest, a few hairs poking through the top of his shirt.

  She tried to swallow and speak at the same time. “Just now.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks at the forwardness of her words—she had spoken without thought, and that was what had popped out!

  She expected him to laugh or even be shocked. Plenty of her acquaintance would have been horrified to hear her speak in such a way. Edward smiled and did not move.

  Letitia knew this had been a mistake. Coming here, before visiting hours, it was scandalous, and she should not have done it.

  “What are you thinking?” He spoke calmly with a genuine look of interest on his face.

  To prevent her truest thoughts from spilling out her mouth again, she said, “I was thinking about…about this painting.”

  Turning her back on him to look again at the family portrait, Letitia looked up at it. Something about it was not right.

  Steps echoed in the hall as Edward joined her. “Yes, my parents.”

  He was not in a talkative mood, but Letitia had to fill the silence. “Tell me about it—about them.”

  Edward snorted. “There is not much to tell, I suppose. My father and my mother, one far kinder than the other, and I do not believe it would be difficult for you to tell which is which.”

  Letitia looked up again at the three figures. No, even the painter had been unable to make his father’s face kind.

  “My mother had wanted the painting,” he said gruffly. “But she…she died before it was completed. She never got the chance to see it.”

  Letitia stared at the painting, unwilling to see the pain on his face. Yes, you could see it now. That paleness was not the fashionable tinge noble ladies wanted. It was far more than that.

  “Consumption,” Edward said into the silence.

  There was still something a little odd about the painting. “You…you look young.”

  “I suppose I was,” he said calmly, but she could hear the pain in his voice. “About twenty, I think from memory. That entire time is…it is a bit of a blur, if I am honest.”

  Instinctively, she moved her hand and took Edward’s in hers. His were warm, more substantial than hers, but felt perfect.

  No other gentleman had held her hand in this way. If it had been anyone else, it would have felt a violation. He felt like home. As though she had been waiting for him all these years.

  “It was a long time ago,” Edward said quietly.

  Then it struck her—what had been nudging at the back of her mind about the painting.

  “Mariah.”

  “What did you say?” Edward looked at her quickly, and Letitia felt her cheeks burn.

  “It is…well, Mariah. Your sister—”

  “Adopted sister.”

  Letitia hesitated. She should have kept her mouth shut, but now she had begun…

  “Something about the painting…I mean, ’tis a family portrait. But Mariah is not there.”

  He coughed and squeezed her hand. “It is a complicated story, Letty, and I would rather not tell it now.”

  She squeezed back. “Of course, Edward.”

  She gasped, dropping his hand and bringing both of hers to her face. Had she said his name aloud?

  By the look of the grin on his face, she had.

  “My word, Letty, we are moving quickly, are we not?” He was smiling more broadly than before. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I thought you might be interested in a walk.”

  Edward raised an eyebrow. “Without a chaperone? Are you willing to risk your reputation again? I am the greatest rake in town, as I think you have described me?”

  She nodded. Nothing in the world was moving as quickly as Letitia’s heartbeat. Edward’s mocking smile faded and became a genuine one.

  “Well, why did you not say so earlier? Peters!”

  The butler opened a door and bowed. “Your lordship?

  “Greatcoat, please,” Edward said briskly. “We are going out. For a walk.”

  If the butler thought anything of the suggestion, he did not show it. He presented Edward with a greatcoat, and within a minute, Letitia was rushing down the steps with Viscount Wynn for a walk.

  This was more than her secret hopes and dreams—but what would she say if they were seen unaccompanied in public?

  “Now the question is,” Edward said as they walked down the street, “not where we are going, but what you think you are doing, Lady Letitia?”

  She glanced in fright, as though she had been caught doing something most irregular. “Doing?”

  “Allowing yourself to be seen with me. It is wild of you.”

  She almost stumbled and was prevented from smashing her nose into the pavement by Edward’s quick hands.

  “Are you a mind reader, Viscount Wynn?”

  His smile faded as she said his formal name. “No, why?”

  “Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

  He stared for a moment and laughed. “Maybe I know you better than you think.”

  They turned a corner, and Letitia’s heart skipped a beat. Anyone could be here, any of the gossips, her friends, family even.

  “The more I know you,” she said quietly, “the more I realize you are not the rake society thinks you are. If anything, you are quite the opposite.”

  “Oh?”

  “And I do not think that you are the rake you think you are, either. All this, ‘I always Wynn’. Does anyone else see through the façade?”

  They were forced more closely together as a pair of ladies passed them, and Edward took the opportunity to speak in a low voice brimming with passion.

  Letitia never wanted this walk to end.

  “Letty, you see me in a way that no one else does.”

  “The fact you see me at all is far more than most people.”

  These revealing comments, from both of them—it must be love, surely?

  “You saw the truth in the painting,” he said q
uietly. “Anyone else just sees the prestige. No one else saw the misery, the loneliness. But you did.”

  She heard the pain in his words. “Your mother?”

  He nodded. “Both she and I…I will not say suffered, for we had more than most. A home, warmth, food, clothes, all the practical things—wealth. I am sure there were many who knew us and envied our luxuries of life. But without love, without a feeling of safety, what use is gold?”

  “He—he did not…”

  “Oh, no,” Edward assured. “Never physically violent, my father. No, he could do plenty of damage without laying a finger on any of us. I suppose I should not blame him so harshly. He could only care for us how he was raised. He knew no different, but by God, I wish I did.”

  Letitia swallowed down her questions. He was right; anyone who looked at him would assume he had known only comfort and love, but he had not. He had suffered because his own father had not known how to love. So, did Edward?

  As she opened her mouth, someone shouted after them.

  “Hie there—it is you! Letitia!”

  Letitia halted and looked to the other side of the street, and smiled to see Mariah Wynn, spectacles and a harassed look on her face.

  It took her four attempts to cross the street with the carriages racing by so quickly, and Letitia looked at her companion. There was coldness in Edward’s face.

  “Ah, it is you,” said Mariah as she finally reached them.

  The two ladies dropped into curtseys, and Edward bowed his head. Before Letitia could explain, Mariah spoke again.

  “So, you are walking with him. In public, too. Why?”

  Letitia swallowed and looked between the adopted siblings with concern. “Y-Your brother?”

  “Adoptive brother,” muttered Edward under his breath.

  “As if you would let me forget it,” Mariah hissed.

  The tension was unbearable. Letitia cast about desperately for words that would not make the conversation even worse than it already was.

  “We were going for a walk,” she said quietly. “And you, Mariah, were you going somewhere special?”

  But Mariah did not oblige. “I warn you, Wynn, if you are not careful with Letitia’s reputation, you will not only have her parents to answer to, but you will be forced to contend with me.”