Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17)

by Emma V. Leech

  No.

  No, there were no happy ever afters with Lord Cheam. A position as his mistress would be all he’d offer her, and that would not do. He could only ever be her Marquess of Davenport, and she doubted she’d get away with a splendid set of rubies to ease her aching heart.

  The only thing she could do was keep her head and her distance, and then get as far away from him as possible.

  Chapter 8

  “Wherein a scheming younger brother makes mischief.”

  “My turn,” Susan said with a grin. She was sitting beside Gwenn, her sister opposite them, next to Aunt May, as the carriage rumbled on. “Let me see…. Oh, I have it! There once was a lady from Kendal,” she began, before grinning at Selina to take over the next line.

  Selina frowned and then giggled. “Whose beauty could make a man tremble!”

  Gwenn clapped her approval at the clever rhyme. The girls loved this game and were very witty with words.

  “So, she bought a new hat….”

  “And adorned it with cats….”

  “…because it looked so ornamental!”

  The twins snickered and elbowed each other, pleased with themselves.

  “Very imaginative,” Gwenn said with an admiring nod. “Now, Susan, how do you spell ornamental?”

  Susan began carefully sounding out the letters, her pretty nose screwed up in concentration. Gwenn listened, glancing to see how Aunt May had enjoyed the poem. The older lady usually roared with laughter when the girls said something funny, but she’d been quiet this past half hour.

  “Excellent, Susan, well done,” she said, as the girl beamed at her. She turned back to their aunt. “Mrs Bainbridge? Are you quite well?”

  Gwenn hoped she hadn’t caught a chill. Though they were all bundled up in travelling cloaks and blankets, and Lord Cheam ensured the hot bricks were replaced and hot drinks delivered to the carriage whenever they changed horses, the cold got into one’s bones after a long day.

  “Aunt May,” the lady corrected with a smile, though her eyes looked heavy and her face was pale. “And quite all right, just a bit of a headache.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Girls, we must keep the noise down, your auntie is not feeling well.”

  “Oh, don’t fuss,” Aunt May objected. “The girls were having a lovely time, and it’s so nice to hear. They’ve been stifled for too long.”

  Gwenn searched through her bag and found the illustrated book of Shakespeare’s tales.

  “Read quietly,” she instructed them.

  “Yes, Miss Wynter,” they said, with startling obedience.

  Selina changed places to sit next to her sister and the two of them settled back together to look at the book. Quietly. Gwenn blinked and wondered at the fact she was rather good at this governessing business. Who would have thought it? Her mother would be so surprised. No. Strike that. Her mother would be apoplectic. She’d not think on it. Instead, she rummaged about in her bag again until she found the small bottle of lavender oil that she always carried.

  “Give me your hands,” she said to Aunt May. The old lady did so, and Gwenn put a drop onto each wrist and rubbed it in with slow, even strokes. Then she put another drop on her own fingers and touched it to the lady’s temples, repeating the slow massaging technique.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” Aunt May said with a sigh. “You have magic fingers.”

  “Thank you,” Gwenn said with a small smile, wondering what the sweet old lady would think if she knew just how detailed her instruction in the art of massage had been.

  She’d probably suffer a breakdown, but not before throwing Gwenn out of the carriage with a cry of disgust.

  Best not mention that, then.

  The carriage rattled ever onwards and Aunt May at least seemed to be sleeping peacefully, though how she managed it, Gwenn had no idea.

  “Miss Wynter?”

  Gwenn looked down to Susan who was looking up at her, her blue eyes troubled.

  “Yes, Susan.”

  “Was our father evil?”

  Gwenn opened and closed her mouth before remembering her training and schooling her expression into something placid and unruffled.

  “Well,” she began, trying to figure out what on earth to say to that question. “I’m afraid I didn’t know your father, so it isn’t my place to say.”

  “He did horrible things, though,” the girl said, her voice little more than a whisper.

  “Really horrible,” echoed Selina, looking around her sister.

  They looked so terribly young and fragile that Gwenn’s heart felt squeezed, and she put her arms about Susan’s shoulders and gestured for Selina to come and sit on her other side. She gathered them both close.

  “Whatever your father did or did not do, is not something you need worry about,” she said firmly. “His sins are not your sins, and never let anyone make you believe they are. You are lovely, good-hearted, clever girls. This is quite obvious to me, even after such a short acquaintance. What’s more, your brothers are also good people, are they not?”

  “Oh, yes,” the girls said in unison. “They’re nothing like Papa was, even though people say they are scandalous.”

  “Oh, well.” Gwenn waved this away impatiently. “Some of the nicest people can be scandalous, you know,” she said, rather aware that she ought not say such things to two impressionable young girls, but really, she couldn’t abide them feeling they were wicked or their family tainted. “It doesn’t signify.”

  “Really?” They both brightened and Gwenn smiled, hugging them both tighter. “I think you are both perfectly wonderful and the best travelling companions I’ve ever had, so there.”

  This won her a tight hug in return from each sister, and it was a long time before Gwenn could clear the lump from her throat to speak again.

  ***

  The journey was interminable today as the weather closed in around them, shrouding the countryside from view and obliterating any landmarks. Middle Hulton, Cholley, Preston, and Garstang had all come and gone in a grey haze as they headed for Lancaster and their overnight stop. It seemed an age since they’d eaten, and Gwenn handed around her dwindling bag of sweets before taking one herself to ease the clamour in her belly. The temperature had dropped further, and it was all but dark, the landscape beyond the windows nothing more than blurry shapes in the gloom.

  By the time they reached Lancaster, the girls and Mrs Bainbridge were dozing, their aunt snoring softly as the carriage drew to a halt. The Inn at Whitwell was a welcome sight on such a night. Situated close to the River Hodder, the ancient manor house was a handsome and sturdy building with mullioned windows and enough chimneys to suggest there were fires aplenty to huddle about. The scent of dinner coiled invitingly from the front door, and Gwenn roused the twins and ushered them inside with instructions to wait, before returning for Aunt May.

  “Come along,” she said, as she gently woke her travelling companion. “We’ll get you inside, and your maid will arrange a nice hot bath and supper in bed. A good night’s sleep will do you the world of good.”

  Gwenn regarded Aunt May’s weary expression with misgiving and swept into action, quite forgetting she was the governess. The staff, all of whom were fond of Aunt May, and rightly so, leapt to do her bidding. Soon, all the delights of a hot bath, a warm bed, and supper on a tray had been delivered as promised and Gwenn left Aunt May to enjoy a bit of peace, pleased to see the colour returning to the lady’s cheeks.

  As she closed the door on Aunt May’s room, she found Lord Cheam waiting for her and stilled. They’d done very well to avoid each other until now, each acting just as if the other did not exist whenever they were forced to share the same space.

  “Is my aunt unwell?” he asked, his blue eyes full of concern.

  Drat the man, why did he have to be so lovely and caring?

  “A little fatigued, I think,” Gwenn replied, holding on tight to her starchy governess persona. “I feared she had caught a chill, but I think a good night�
��s rest will do her the world of good. Indeed, all of us. I shall arrange for the girls to have supper in their rooms tonight, too.”

  “And what of you, Miss Wynter?”

  “I shall eat with my charges, naturally,” she said, a little too quickly, glaring at him.

  Whatever did the man think she was suggesting?

  “Oh, no….” he said at once, appalled. “I did not mean to imply… I only meant to enquire if you were well.” Anxiety clouded his face and once again she saw the strain about his eyes. “I wonder if perhaps this journey was a good idea? The weather has closed in and we’ve a way to go yet. It’s only that the girls were so excited to see Captain Moncreiffe and visit a real castle, and I was so desperate to get them out of London before….” He stiffened, standing a little straighter. “Forgive me, Miss Wynter, I am detaining you. Thank you for your kindness to my aunt. It is much appreciated.”

  He began to turn away and Gwenn’s heart went out to him, this man who was trying to be a father to two little girls he clearly adored, and to look after his family.

  “I’m sure this visit is just what the family needs, Lord Cheam. A chance to be together and away from society. Your aunt is just a little tired. She looks much better already, I assure you. Please, do not worry so. The journey has been most wonderfully arranged, and we have all been grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

  A little of the tension about his eyes eased.

  “Thank you, Miss Wynter,” he said softly. “Good night.”

  “Good night, my lord,” she said, and watched as he retreated down the corridor and out of sight. “Sweet dreams,” she added under her breath with a sigh.

  ***

  Sam watched his older brother as he stared into his cup of coffee at breakfast the next morning. Since taking the title, Sampson had aged about a hundred years, the poor bastard. Oh, not that he looked a deal different. He hadn’t gone grey overnight or become stooped, or anything like that, but one could practically see the weight he was lugging about on his shoulders.

  When he’d suggested the trip to Scotland, Sam had leapt at the idea. Not only to get the girls away from London and their newfound ability for pilfering, but to get Sampson away too. Their new half-brother, Ross, was a no-nonsense kind of fellow who called a spade a spade—if you were lucky. Samuel was hoping Ross might succeed where he had failed. Not that he didn’t understand what Sampson was trying to do, but worrying himself into an early grave wasn’t the answer, and neither was trying to make his brothers into something they weren’t.

  Sam knew his occupation as an investigator was hardly respectable for the son of a viscount, but he had a talent for it, and now and then he did some good too. He felt useful and valued in a way he’d never done before. Certainly, his father hadn’t valued him, or any of them. Even Sampson, his heir, had been a disappointment. The late Lord Cheam had tried to mould his eldest son in his own image, but Sampson was too decent, too inherently good to bend to someone as corrupt as their father. He’d suffered for it, too, but he’d never broken. Sampson had protected them all as best he could, their mother too, while she lived. Once she’d gone, he had gone a little wild—they all had, hence their infamous title—but Sampson had still been the one to bring them back when they’d risked going too far. He’d been the one to remind them that life wasn’t so bad, that their father could not taint everything they touched merely by being their father.

  Samuel wondered if his big brother had forgotten that fact himself.

  Then their father had married again and there had been another soul to protect, swiftly followed by two little girls, so innocent and fragile it had made Samuel’s heart hurt whenever he’d considered the vile creature who’d fathered them. He knew Sampson felt it too.

  He saw the way Sampson winced whenever his title was used. Lord Cheam had been synonymous with wickedness and vice for so long that the mantle sat heavy.

  As Samuel scrutinised his brother he saw him stiffen, saw the immediate flare of interest in his eyes, the way his whole countenance came to life… at the exact same moment Miss Wynter’s voice drifted in through the half-open door of the parlour.

  Samuel hid a smile. An affair with Miss Wynter was just what his brother needed. Hell, from what he’d seen of the woman, she was what any man needed. Though he admitted to an interest himself—he did have a pulse—most of what he’d said to Sampson had been to get a reaction from him. He’d gotten one, too. Sampson was smitten, whether or not he wanted to admit it.

  To his knowledge, Sampson hadn’t had an affair in over a year, perhaps longer. He’d been discreet about such things since the girls had been born, but he’d often confided in Samuel when he had. Sam had never seen his brother react to a woman like he did to Miss Wynter, and though Sam still had reservations about her, he found he liked her. Whatever she was running from, and she was running, her affection for the girls was genuine, her care of Aunt May had shown a kind nature, and the way she dealt with the staff implied she was a woman who knew how to run a household. He would have said she was a lady, except she wasn’t. Miss Wynter was no green miss. She knew something of the world, and she knew a deal about men and how to manage them, too, which made her a puzzle.

  Had she been some man’s mistress? It seemed the most logical answer. Perhaps her lover had turned her out, but what man in his right mind would do so? It was possible the man had been cruel or possessive and she’d run from him… more likely, perhaps. Well, either way, Sam thought the two of them would deal admirably together. Sampson would protect her from whatever she was running from, as was his nature, and Miss Wynter would take that pinched look from his brother’s face. If the fool had an ounce of sense, he’d marry her and have done with it.

  Only, Sampson would do nothing as scandalous as marry a woman he had half a chance of caring for. No, he must save the entire family single handed and resign himself to a loveless marriage just so they could all be respectable. Gah! What rot. The man was an idiot. An idiot with a heart of gold, yes, but an idiot all the same.

  Samuel and Sampson rose as Aunt May came down, smiling and far perkier than she had been last night.

  “Good morning, Aunt,” they both greeted her.

  “Good morning, boys,” she said, her usual cheerful self and addressing them the same way she had done when they were small boys.

  “I’m glad to see you looking so much better,” Sampson said to her with a smile. “We were worried for you.”

  “Oh, no need. Miss Wynter is a marvel,” she said blithely, watching Sampson as his attention drifted back to the hallway, from where the soft sound of Miss Wynter’s laughter emanated. “Do you know she not only entertained the girls all day yesterday, she taught them, too? I don’t even think they knew it was happening, and then she still has the kindness and energy to see to my comfort. Why some clever young man hasn’t snatched the girl up and married her, I cannot fathom.”

  “Yes, yes, excellent,” Sampson murmured, clearly not having attended a word she’d said. “Would you excuse me?” he said, getting to his feet and hurrying from the room.

  Aunt May watched Sampson go, an arrested expression on her face. She turned back to Samuel, her eyebrows raised. He grinned at her and a conspiratorial light entered her eyes.

  “If only we could get them alone together,” she whispered, reaching for a slice of toast. “Without harming Miss Wynter’s reputation, of course,” she added. “The poor girl, I feel like she’s looking for something. She’d make a wonderful wife and mother, but I fear what will happen to her if she carries on this course. Some man will take advantage of her sooner or later. She’s canny for one so young, but life is lonely for a single woman, and that will lead her into some unworthy fellow’s arms, no doubt.”

  “Oh, but Sampson would never see her come to any harm,” Samuel objected, though having an affair with her was perhaps not the best way of ensuring that.

  Aunt May paused in the buttering of her toast and pulled a face. “I’m not speaking of yo
ur brother! If you think her intention is to stay in this post for long, you’re not the investigator I took you for, Samuel.” She shook her head at him. “No, she’ll be off again soon enough, though—I flatter us, perhaps—I think it will pain her to do so. It will certainly break the girls’ hearts. I dread to think what we shall do with them when she goes.”

  The idea made Sam’s heart ache, but he realised his aunt was right. He’d not thought that far ahead, but if Miss Wynter was running, she’d keep moving for fear of being discovered. Their route to Scotland was a handy way to get out of London fast. What if she didn’t wish to return? No. No, that could not happen. His sisters needed her. Hell, Sampson needed her.

  She must stay.

  His gaze returned to his aunt.

  “What?” she asked, alarmed by his expression.

  “Eat quickly,” he said. “No, better yet, take it with you.”

  “Samuel!” she said in outrage, as he snatched up her carefully buttered toast and wrapped it in a napkin.

  “Aunt, your headache has returned,” he said gravely. “And the last thing you need is to spend an entire day in the company of the girls.”

  Chapter 9

  “Wherein… the difference between catastrophe and safe arrival.”

  Gwenn bit back a chuckle as her charges hurried down the stairs to her.

  “Sorry, Miss Wynter. Susan overslept,” Selina said, her voice loud enough to carry to all corners of the inn.

  “So did you,” Susan retorted, elbowing her sister.

  “It’s quite all right, there’s no need to thunder down like a herd of elephants,” Gwenn said, shaking her head at them. “You are elegant young ladies, not wildebeests.”

  “I’d prefer to be a wildebeest,” Selina said with a sigh. “They don’t have to worry about keeping their pinafores clean and brushing their hair.”

  Gwenn tugged one of the girl’s blonde curls and returned a sympathetic expression. “Yes, I can see the appeal, but no doubt wildebeest have a deal of rules to abide by, too. I believe they must travel great distances when they migrate. Imagine all that walking.”