Letitia blushed, but her obvious discomfort was not enough to distract the siblings.
“And you believe I would be so careless with it?”
Mariah snorted. “I know you, Wynn, and I know your ways. I do not wish to see my friend hurt.”
“I am going to take better care of her reputation than I have my own,” said Edward flatly, glancing at Letitia, who wanted the ground to swallow her whole. With a curt nod to Mariah, he pulled Letitia away, and they continued down the street.
It was impossible not to ask. “Edward, why are you two always at odds with each other?”
Edward snorted, and it was only then that Letitia saw a likeness between the adopted pair. “Mariah sees offenses where there are none—she seeks offenses where there are none! I have learned to ignore her.”
Letitia hesitated, opened her mouth, and decided against it. Nothing could be gained by contradicting him, and Mariah did have a certain way about her that made her unpopular in some circles.
“Your friend is concerned about you and your reputation, and that does her credit,” he said abruptly. “Though her concern is unwarranted. I told you. I want to court you.”
She smiled, heat washing through her body, but before she could reply, she was interrupted.
“Wynn—hie, Wynn!”
“Are we to be continuously interrupted?” she breathed, and Edward grinned before he welcomed Abraham Fitzclarence, Viscount Braedon.
“Ah, I see you are with the beautiful…” Viscount Braedon’s voice trailed away as he turned to the young lady beside him and was evidently astonished to see her.
Letitia’s head lowered with shame. No one expected her, the wallflower of society, to be in the company of such a handsome and charming man.
“…beautiful Lady Letitia Cavendish, the woman with diamond eyes,” Viscount Braedon said jovially.
Letitia had expected worse, but what surprised her more was the look of embarrassment on Edward’s face. Was he that ashamed to be seen with her?
“That is what you called her, is it not?” Viscount Braedon said with a cough, as though wishing desperately he had never embarked on the conversation. “At Lady Romeril’s ball, before you punched Mr. Jarvis? That is what I heard.”
Letitia stared at Viscount Braedon in astonishment. Diamond eyes? Had Edward said that about her—and to a gentleman at a ball, where anyone could hear him?
Edward coughed. “Those were the words if I recall.”
Viscount Braedon grinned. “I did not realize you were courting, man, but now I understand the fist.”
“Fist—Edward,” Letitia said, realization finally dawning, “it was—it was you who punched Mr. Jarvis?”
Viscount Braedon was suddenly aware that he was no longer required in the conversation. “I will see you at the club then, Wynn. My lady, your servant.”
Letitia barely noticed him go. “Edward, you…you punched a man because of me? Why?”
“I would have done it for any young lady of my acquaintance, the way Mr. Jarvis was talking,” he said heatedly, but his voice calmed as he continued, “though I took pleasure in defending your honor. I should have told you.”
Reeling from this new information, she said, “Are you…are you going to attack any other gentlemen in my name?”
“Probably not, although I make no promises.”
A church tower rang out, and Letitia bit her lip. “I should be back home, Ed—Viscount Wynn,” she amended hastily as someone passed them. “For visiting hours, you see. My father will require it—unless you would like to return with me and meet—”
“I have some business to attend to,” Edward said quickly. “What a shame.”
Letitia hesitated. Surely if he were courting her in good faith, he would want to meet her father at the first opportunity?
“You know, both of our friends want what is best for us,” she said as she curtseyed her goodbye.
Edward bowed and smiled wryly before she turned to go. “Oh, Letty. Until I met you, I did not even know what was good for me.”
Chapter Eight
A bitter wind blew, and Edward pulled the lapels of his greatcoat closer as he sat in darkness. Anyone who saw him would think him an absolute fool—or worse, a complete vagabond. What did he think he was doing, sitting out here on the steps of a house as though he had lost all his reason?
Perhaps he had. Perhaps that was why he could not bring himself to go inside, or even attempt to look through the windows.
“…unless you would like to return with me and meet—”
Edward snorted. Well, honestly, what had she been thinking? He was not the sort of gentleman that a young lady wanted her parents to even know existed—much less admit she was courting.
Letitia was so innocent.
Not him. Not when his body was raging for release, and he desperately wanted to stride into this house, find Letitia wherever she was, rip off her clothes, and make love to her.
He rarely ever met the parents of the women he bedded—and even on the rare occasion that he was introduced, they never had any idea he had ravished their daughters.
Something painful contracted in his stomach, and he stood, no longer able to bear the cold. Letty was different. Always a wallflower, that is what she considered herself—when all he could do was marvel at her beauty.
There was no one less suited to being a wallflower in the world. All she needed was a little attention, and see how she had blossomed! She turned up at his house yesterday, asking whether he would take a walk with her.
He had wanted to take far more than that.
God’s teeth, but it was cold.
It did not make any sense. Anyone who took more than five minutes speaking with Letty, once she had overcome her shyness, would have seen she was the image of perfection.
How was he the first to notice it?
Thoughts of Letty flooded warmth through his body, though his fingers were still cold. Edward blew on them as he paced up and down outside her home.
He should be grateful he was the first to notice it. Just think who could have taken advantage of her, married her even before he had been introduced to her at Almack’s.
He sighed, watching his breath billow. He had to do something. He was not going to stand out here all night.
Screwing up his courage, he strode up the steps, reached out—and did not knock.
This was foolish beyond belief. This was Letty’s home, and her parents would be in there. How would he explain a nine o’clock evening visit?
Edward’s hand fell. Why was he so charming to every woman except the one he truly felt something for?
He walked heavily down the steps and leaned against the railings. What was he to do?
“Who is there?”
Edward froze and turned slowly on the spot. A Thames River police official, dressed in the newfangled garb of the docks, was striding toward him.
“Good evening, sir, and how may I assist you?”
The official bristled. “I think it is more likely can I do something for you! What are you doing, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
Edward hesitated. He did not like lying, and there was usually a way out of a situation without doing so. Could he find one now?
He winked at the official and jerked his head back up the road. “Ah, sir, a gentleman never tells.”
The official hesitated.
“I do not believe we have been introduced,” the official said slowly.
Edward bowed, lower than he normally would, but it could not hurt. “Edward, Viscount Wynn, at your service.”
It was enough. When he straightened up, he could see the official’s eyes were wide in genuine astonishment. He had met one of society’s greatest rakes on the streets of London.
“I see I am known by reputation, if not by sight,” he said breezily. “Now then, officer, you would not ask me to betray and ruin a lady’s reputation after enjoying an evening…conversation.”
He did not wink again—
he did not need to. The lingering pause was just enough to convey his meaning, and as he had hoped, the official was a man of the world.
“I quite understand, sir, and I do apologize for delaying you on your way home,” the man said smoothly. “I expect you are tired after all your…conversation.”
Edward almost laughed aloud. “Thank you, sir. I will wait here a moment to catch my breath after such vigorous…conversation. Good evening.”
The official nodded. “Good evening, sir.”
Edward watched until he could no longer make him out in the gloom and dropped onto the steps with relief. What a night to be caught—almost.
Well, if he did not have the gumption to walk up these damned steps, knock on that door, and introduce himself at this late hour to Letty’s father, perhaps he did not deserve her.
The moonlight broke through the clouds, and the street was filled with light. Edward sighed. No, he was probably not good enough for Letitia—but despite that, he wanted her.
Moving quickly, he rose and went around the side of the house and found what he knew would be there—a door to the kitchen.
A footman opened it warily. “Yes?”
Edward smiled. Now to bring out the charm again. “You look like a man of the world, sir—I am here to see the lady of the house.”
The footman blinked. “Lady Cavendish?”
Edward’s smile became a little more brittle. Only he could have found the idiot of the house. “No, the younger lady of the house—Lady Letitia.”
The footman took a careful look, a grin creeping over his face. “Oh, are you?”
Edward nodded. Time to speed things up a bit. “A guinea for entry, my good man, and another for your silence?”
The footman hesitated, but the production of one of the promised coins before his eyes tipped the balance.
“Go on then, sir,” he said magnanimously. “Do you know your way?”
Edward shook his head as he stepped into the kitchen, which was blindingly bright after the murk of outside.
“No, but I will find my way. Now, remember—your second guinea is for silence, and it will be yours tomorrow should all go well.”
The footman inclined his head and pointed. “That way, sir.”
Edward felt like a common thief as he crept along the servant’s corridor, the pounding of his heart echoing as he opened a door into the hall. There was a single candle ablaze in a mirrored stand by the front door.
Now what? His pulse was so loud, he was astonished no one else had heard it.
Closing the door behind him, Edward leaned against the wall. Every sensible thought told him to go back, but he could not.
He had to see Letitia.
He stepped forward and tried a door. The room was empty and in darkness, but he could make out enough to tell it was the breakfast room. Returning to the hall, Edward tried not to laugh with the bizarreness of it all.
There were four other doors in the hall. One more try, and he would find his way back down to the kitchen.
His hand closed on the door handle, and when he opened it, light poured out into the hallway. Edward hesitated. All three Cavendishes could be inside this room. Was he ready for the consequences of his actions?
“Mama?”
Edward froze. That was Letty’s voice; he knew it anywhere.
“Papa, is that you?”
He let his breath out slowly. So, neither of her parents were in there with her. She was alone.
Edward stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
The most incredible sight met his eyes—Letty in a pale white gown, seated near the fire, which illuminated her fiery red hair beautifully. She was a picture of perfection, and most importantly, she was alone.
“Edward!” Letty stared aghast, as though she had seen an apparition. “What—what are you doing here?”
Edward ignored her question. “Where are your parents?”
She smiled at his evasion. “Out this evening, at Lady Romeril’s for dinner. They were otherwise engaged when the invitation for her ball arrived, and they felt they had to make amends. Why?”
The tightness around Edward’s chest disappeared. So, they were alone—truly alone. Moving closer and sitting beside her on the sofa, he swallowed. He would have to play this carefully.
“Would you believe me if I answered honestly?”
Letty smiled, though there was a look of concern in her eyes. “Can you answer honestly?”
Edward laughed and knew he was falling in love with her. By God, but she was everything he could have ever wanted: witty, pretty, and not afraid of him. And Letty was afraid of everything. But, he, she trusted.
It was the most incredible sensation. He had never traded much in honesty with any of the other young ladies he had wooed, but the thought of lying to Letitia made him feel physically unwell.
“I wanted to see you,” he said honestly. “I…I missed you.”
Even in the flickering firelight, he could tell she blushed at his words.
“But Edward, it has only been a few days since we last saw each other.”
“Too long,” he replied, wondering whether now would be a good time to move closer to her on the sofa.
It was not.
“All those pretty phrases, very well put together,” Letty said with a smile a little too knowing for his liking. “Almost as though you have used them before.”
Shame flooded through Edward that he could not stem. He had used them before, but he had never felt them—never actually meant them.
This did not feel the right time to admit it. Edward coughed. “What do you think of me, Letty? I would welcome your honest opinion.”
She stared for a moment, rose from the sofa, and sat on the opposite sofa before answering.
“I think you are a handsome devil,” she said, “and someone I should stay far away from.”
“You know, I rather like that description.”
Letty laughed. “I thought you would. Rather proves my point, doesn’t it?”
He had to be close to her; no matter what their conversation, it felt stilted being so far apart. Not taking his eyes from her gray ones, Edward joined her on the other sofa.
“I am sure that you could reform me if you wanted.”
“I am not sure whether I can.”
“But I want you to.”
He had never been so vulnerable with a woman before. But Letty was worth it. She was worth it all.
She stared, the fire lighting up her hair until she finally spoke in a low voice.
“I may be bored with being a wallflower and never the bride, but I do not think it likely you will be meeting me at the top of the aisle any time soon.”
He gazed at her, and for once, she held his stare. “Is that truly how you think of yourself? Always the wallflower and never the bride?”
She laughed, and Edward could hear the tinge of sadness. “Well, I am! I am not going to pretend to be what I am not.”
“And are you happy?”
“I am at this moment,” she said eventually.
“We are all alone in this house, with no one to prevent me from doing anything I like, and I am here talking to you—the greatest rake in London, your words! That has to count for something.”
“Well, of course I hate being considered a wallflower,” she admitted quietly. “Is there anything more upsetting than being laughed at because you find it difficult to talk to people?”
“You have no trouble speaking with me.”
“Yes, but only because I know you would never consider me…you know. That way. Not really.”
Something stabbed into Edward’s heart. “What way?”
Letty colored, suddenly aware she had been too honest. “You know. Please do not make me spell it out for you.”
“Tell me,” he urged, though he had a suspicion, and it was one she confirmed.
“The way you would consider a woman you could make love to, Edward. And that is not me.”
; Hearing his name on her lips was enough to push him over the edge. “Letty Cavendish, I have only ever seen you that way.”
He moved swiftly, pouring every feeling he had for Letty, even the ones he did not understand, into the kiss that he pressed upon her lips.
Chapter Nine
This was not happening—it could not possibly be happening. Letitia was overwhelmed with sensations, the heat of the fire on her back, the heat of Edward’s lips on hers, the heat between her legs, which she did not understand.
It was too much, and yet, she could not ignore the feeling of his lips on hers, the sensation of his arms around her, pulling her closer.
It was real. Edward, Viscount Wynn, was kissing her and wanted to make love to her.
His tongue teased her lips, and she opened for him, desperate for the sensation, and she moaned in his mouth.
Letitia wanted to lose herself in him—but surely this was not right, it could not be.
She knew his reputation. This was only going to end one way, and that was with the loss of her reputation. Her parents were not even in the house, and she was utterly vulnerable. How had he managed to get in?
Edward pulled away, lust in his eyes, but concern across his face. “Letty, what is wrong?”
This was not the best time to voice her growing concerns that he was far more interested in what was underneath her gown than hidden in her heart.
If she did not speak now, would she ever be truly honest with him?
If speaking meant ending this incredible encounter, then was it truly honorable at all?
“I-I wanted to say,” she stammered, “I know I am just another notch in your bedpost—well, mine, I suppose, as this is my house—but Edward, you—you matter to me and—”
“You are not,” interrupted Edward, “just another notch in my bedpost—you were never that, and you never will be. Do you think that little of yourself?”
His words were kind, concerned. It made it all the more difficult for Letitia to meet his gaze as she spoke.
“Well…that is what you think of me.”
Edward actually leaned back slightly at her words, eyes wide with shock.
Always the Wallflower (Never the Bride Book 5) Page 8
