Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17)

by Emma V. Leech

  She gave Gwenn a shrewd look. “You should marry him.”

  The words were such a shock that Gwenn had to sit down on the bed, as though the force of them had knocked her backwards.

  “Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t occurred to you?”

  Gwenn fought for breath, for an answer, but none came. Nothing sensible, anyway. “I-I’m a governess,” she stammered.

  Aunt May snorted and folded her arms. “And I’m the Queen of Sheba.” The woman didn’t look away, just held Gwenn’s gaze, the light of challenge in her eyes.

  “He can’t marry me,” Gwenn said at length. “I’m… not respectable.” The words were stiff, and she almost laughed at the magnitude of the understatement.

  “No, I didn’t think you were,” Aunt May said with a sigh. “Must be why we all like you so much.”

  Despite herself Gwenn smiled. “I like all of you too,” she said. “Very much.”

  “And Sampson?”

  Gwenn’s eyes were drawn to the slumbering figure beneath her window, and she sighed. “I like him best of all,” she admitted. “So much that I won’t cause the most shocking scandal this family has ever seen.”

  To her surprise, Aunt May snorted and moved to sit on the bed beside her. “Good luck with that, young lady. You’ve a way to go, believe me.” She reached out and took Gwenn’s hand, squeezing her fingers.

  “Oh, I can do it,” Gwenn said, with a wry huff of laughter. She met the older woman’s eyes. “He won’t want me when he knows.”

  “Perhaps,” Aunt May allowed, with a prosaic shrug. “But that’s his decision. You should at least allow him to make it.”

  Gwenn swallowed around the knot in her throat and clung to Aunt May’s hand.

  “He’ll be fine,” she said unsteadily. “And the girls won’t have to face any more scandal. Sampson will marry a nice, respectable girl, and—”

  “And spend the rest of his life wishing he’d run away with you,” Aunt May finished for her. “Look at him,” she instructed, pointing at the figure slumped on the floor. “He’s not drunk like that in seven years or more, and he only drank then to escape his wretched father.”

  “Don’t,” Gwenn said, tears stinging her eyes as she held back a sob. “Please… don’t make it harder.”

  Aunt May sighed and put her arms about her. “You’re just what this family needs, Miss Wynter, or whatever your real name is. Damn scandal, damn the ton, damn what anyone else thinks. Love, that’s what’s important. Those girls need it. Their mother is a silly bit of nonsense who’ll never be a role model for them, but you… you could show them what it means to be a woman with spirit and a brain in her head and, as for Sampson….” She sighed and shook her head. “Well, I’ve said my piece. I’ll not say it again. Only, it breaks my heart to see young people making mistakes out of some misguided sense of obligation or twisted morality.”

  Gwenn wiped her eyes, beyond touched by her words, but still steadfast in her belief that even a broad-minded woman like Aunt May would balk at her nephew marrying a woman the world knew had been raised by a courtesan to be a courtesan.

  “Promise me you’ll think on what I’ve said, child.”

  “I will,” Gwenn said, knowing she’d think of nothing else over the days to come.

  “Well, then.” Aunt May got to her feet. “I shall track down his partner in crime and see if he’s in any state to handle moving his brother.”

  Gwenn watched as the woman got up and left, her eyes inexorably returning to the gently snoring figure beneath the window. Knowing she was a fool, but quite unable to stop herself, she moved to him, kneeling by his side. Tenderness welled in her heart for him, for his reckless and foolish behaviour, which she knew well would be a source of mortification for him in the morning.

  “Poor darling,” she said, brushing his thick hair from his forehead.

  His eyes flickered open and settled on her as a hazy smile curved over his mouth.

  “Gwenn,” he said, reaching for her.

  Gwenn took his hand before he could pull her into his arms, aware that Aunt May and Mr Pelham might be back at any moment. Yet she couldn’t resist lifting his hand to her mouth and kissing his fingers. In all likelihood he’d not remember this in the morning, in any case.

  He sighed.

  “I missed you,” he said, the words so stark and honest they tore a ragged hole in her heart. “You were right there in front of me, and I missed you so badly. Don’t cut me out, Gwenn. I can’t bear it.”

  Gwenn closed her own eyes, unable to stop the tears that slid down her cheeks.

  Sampson reached out with his free hand and wiped them away. “Let me love you,” he whispered, his eyelids heavy with fatigue and drink as he gazed at her.

  The door opened and Gwenn let go of his hand and moved back, taking a breath and trying to compose herself before she turned and rose to her feet.

  “His idiot brother is just as drunk as he is,” Aunt May said in disgust. “I tried to rouse him, and he almost pulled me into his lap. He called me his little darling. I may never recover,” she said with a shudder. “My only consolation is the look on his face tomorrow when I tell him,” she added, with a wicked glint in her eyes.

  Gwenn laughed a little, though it was the hardest thing not to weep.

  “We’d best let Sampson sleep it off here. There’s no way we will move him without causing a stir,” Aunt May said, frowning at Sampson, who appeared to be asleep again. “For propriety’s sake, you may share my room tonight. Not that I care, but just in case anyone sees him here. We’ll make something up about a mix up with room keys if necessary.”

  “Thank you,” Gwenn said, too tired and emotional to argue or think of any better solution.

  “Oh, it’s not a problem. I sleep very little these days, so we shall be up in plenty of time to rouse him before everyone wakes tomorrow.”

  Aunt May took her arm and gave her a warm smile. “There, there, child. Things won’t look so bleak in the morning after a good night’s rest. Come along, now.”

  ***

  Sampson could feel his Aunt’s gaze boring a hole in his head, but he kept his eyes tightly shut. His brain felt like it had been sliced in two by the bloody great sword Ross had carried when in full Highland regalia, and he didn’t need anyone to tell him what a prize ass he’d been last night. When he thought of it, a prickle of horror ran down his spine. Good God, what if someone had seen him? He could have ruined Gwenn and caused exactly the kind of scandal he’d been determined to keep their family away from.

  This was what came of drinking to excess, and he ought to have known better. He did know better, only he’d been heartsick and frightened that Gwenn was slipping from his grasp, and he’d wanted a few hours of oblivion to settle the emotions battering him on all sides. Besides which, it was all Sam’s bloody fault. It had been his stupid plan, and Sampson had been too foxed to see it as anything but a marvellous idea. That alone should have rung every alarm bell at full pitch. From the moment his youngest brother had come of age, most every scrape Sampson had ever gotten into had Sam at the bottom of it somewhere.

  The carriage hit a rut in the road and Samuel groaned beside him. Good, Sampson thought with grim satisfaction, as he gritted his own teeth.

  “Idiots, the pair of you,” Aunt May said, shaking her head as Sampson dared a glimpse at her through slitted eyelids.

  Though Sampson had protested—as loudly as his sore head would allow—Aunt May had insisted that Gwenn have the girls and a carriage to herself. According to her, the young woman had put up with quite enough extraordinary behaviour for one day and needed some time away from them. What was more, Aunt May was going to thoroughly enjoy watching her nephews suffer, and give them a stern talking to along the way.

  Sampson and Samuel had exchanged looks of pained resignation and had submitted to the inevitable, albeit it rather gracelessly.

  “Well then, Sampson?” she said, quirking one eyebrow at him just a little, but managing
to convey a world of disdain in the slight movement. “What are your plans?”

  “Plans?” he rasped as his stomach roiled. “You mean other than dying in a ditch?”

  “Yes, dear, other than that. It’s entirely your own fault, so please don’t expect any sympathy. I mean I have no argument with climbing in through the girl’s bedroom window, assuming she is happy to let you in, but you might have thought to make it a romantic gesture,” she said with a tut.

  Sampson stared at her, too scandalised to speak. He knew Aunt May had a colourful past, but she’d been the paragon of respectability for most of his life, and it was hard to credit.

  “For example,” she continued, “being sober enough not to fall on your head and land her in the devil of a scene would have been a start. Bearing flowers or poetry, perhaps?”

  “It’s the middle of December,” Sampson objected, torn between indignation and embarrassment at the scolding. “And it’s snowing. Where in God’s name could I find flowers?”

  Aunt May waved this away as if it was a minor detail. Samuel sniggered.

  “And you can shut up,” she said, turning her steely gaze in his direction. “Sampson already told me whose bright idea it was. Not that I hadn’t already guessed.”

  “Tattle-tale,” Samuel muttered, folding his arms.

  Sampson shot him a dark look and said nothing.

  Aunt May snapped her fingers at Sampson, making him wince. “Pay attention,” she commanded. “You need a plan, and it had better be a good one. What are your intentions towards Miss Wynter?”

  Sampson opened his mouth, about to retort that they were honourable, but he realised with a wash of shame that he could make no such claim. Not until he knew what Gwenn was hiding from him. If it was merely a minor scandal, then their marriage would be enough to silence the gossip mongers. Perhaps not completely, but enough that he could be happy that, by the time the girls were of age, such a story would be long forgotten.

  If not, though….

  He was responsible for those girls. When they’d been born, he’d made a promise to them—and to himself—that he’d look after them, that he’d try to be someone they could depend on. It hadn’t happened overnight by any means, but Sampson had curtailed his drinking and carousing, and had tried to be the man their father ought to have been. Little by little, he’d done what he could to grow into the role of their guardian, with mixed success perhaps, but he had tried his best. He couldn’t forget that now, and he could not let them down.

  “I don’t know,” he said, hating the words, and himself.

  Gwenn deserved the best of everything. She deserved a man who would give up everything to be with her. Sampson wanted to be that man, would have been no matter the nature of the scandal, if not for two little girls who needed him even more than he needed Gwenn. He was a man, after all, an adult who knew how to look the world in the eye when everyone was sneering and gossiping about his family. Losing Gwenn might feel like having his heart cut out with a spoon, but he’d live, after a fashion. He couldn’t subject the girls to such treatment.

  “How can I know until she tells me who she really is, and what she’s running from?” he demanded, feeling the need to defend himself. “She won’t trust me enough to tell me, and I can’t make any decisions until I know. The girls….”

  His aunt’s face softened.

  “You’ve been a wonderful brother to them, Sampson,” she said, soothing now after her rather abrasive scolding. “No one could have asked more of you, and no one should,” she added, surprising him. “What those girls need is a loving home, an example of what that home looks like. That’s what is most important to them now.”

  Sampson felt his throat tighten with emotion, so taken aback by his aunt’s words that he was unequal to the task of finding a reply, and then the carriage lurched and swayed, and it transformed into an urgent desire to cast up his accounts.

  “Stop the coach,” he rasped, and flung himself out the door.

  ***

  Their midday stop was a brief affair. The brothers looked like they’d been recently dug up by resurrectionists and Gwenn was too emotional to swallow. Only Aunt May and the twins enjoyed their repast, but the girls were so excited to reach Tor Castle and meet their new brother that they inhaled their food, barely chewing a bite, and Gwenn was too distracted to scold them for it.

  As Sampson had predicted, and much to the twins’ delight, the snow began falling mid-afternoon and slowed their progress, but the girls were all merriment now and nothing could dampen their spirits. They sang carols and spent a deal of time wondering about what Christmas presents they’d get. By the time the glowering castle was silhouetted on the horizon against what remained of the daylight, they were beside themselves.

  “Girls,” Gwenn said, smiling despite her own low spirits, “please remember that you are young ladies. Your excitement is understandable, and I have no desire to quash it, only do try to remember your manners, please, or it will reflect badly on your poor governess.”

  “Yes, Miss Wynter,” they chorused, returning impish smiles and bouncing in their seats.

  Gwenn laughed. Their company had done her good. They were so cheerful and good-natured that it was impossible not to be buoyed by them. The realisation that she would miss them dreadfully sent her spirits tumbling back into an abyss, however, and she had to work to rearrange her face into something approaching pleasure in their arrival.

  She had Christmas to look forward to, she reminded herself. She had always longed to experience a family Christmas. Marie was always morose during the holiday, as it was the one time a husband really could not escape being with his wife and children. They would have a fine meal and lavish presents, naturally, but it was just Marie and Gwenn, and Gwenn spent her time trying to coax Marie out of her sulk. Oh, Marie would arrange parties, naturally, but not the kind of wholesome gatherings that families enjoyed, nor the kind that Gwenn was allowed to attend. There were no innocently silly games, raucous laughter, or noisy children. This year would be different. Likely it was the only time she would ever get to experience such a thing, as her future would no doubt follow the same pattern as Marie’s had, so she ought to attempt to enjoy it.

  That was the most depressing thought of all, and she fought back a surge of melancholy as she climbed down from the coach with no little trepidation.

  Chapter 17

  “Wherein a warm welcome on a cold winter’s night.”

  In the gloom of the winter’s evening and with snow falling in a gentle hush around them, the girls came face to face with their new brother for the first time.

  Although bursting with anticipation, they became suddenly shy when presented with the magnificence that was Captain Ross Moncreiffe.

  Gwenn could not help but smile at the thought that Marie would have been salivating, had she been here. Sampson and Samuel were not small men. Tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, they were impressive specimens of masculinity, but Moncreiffe was built on rather larger proportions. He was as solid as the mountain that stood at his back, every inch an Englishwoman’s romantic ideal of what a Scottish warrior should be. Dressed as he was in full Highland regalia, he was a sight to behold.

  To Gwenn’s amusement, he blushed a little under her and Aunt May’s open-mouthed appraisal as the twins hid behind them and peeked around with wide blue eyes.

  “Ach, pay all this nae mind,” he said, his broad accent warm and rough as he gestured to his kilt and sporran and all his finery. He sent a frustrated glare towards the small dark-haired woman at his side. “’Twas Freddie’s daft notion, though I told her it made me look like a prize ar―”

  “Ross!” the woman cried in alarm as the big man glowered and snapped his mouth shut. “Ladies and children present, remember, and it was not daft. I bet the girls have been longing to see a real Highland warrior.” She smiled at the twins and held out her hands. “Now, which of you is Susan, and which is Selina?”

  “I’m Susan,” said a small voic
e as the girl stepped forward.

  “Good evening, Susan. I’m Freddie, your brother’s wife, which makes us sisters. I’m so pleased to meet you both.”

  Selina crept closer too, both sisters moving to greet Freddie and stare up at the mountainous Scot beside her.

  “Ah, and what do you think of your brother?” Freddie said, lips quirking a little. “I know he looks very fearsome, but he’s really not.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Ross said, executing a formal bow to the twins that made them giggle. “And welcome to Tor Castle. I am verrry pleased to meet ye.” He accentuated his accent, rolling the r’s and winking at them as they grinned in delight.

  “Why do Scottish men wear skirts?” Susan asked, gazing up at him in wonder.

  There was a snort of laughter from Samuel, and Ross narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him.

  “Ye put the lassie up to that,” he said with indignation as Sam dissolved.

  “I didn’t, I swear,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Which makes it even more priceless.”

  Ross harrumphed and turned back to the girls. “It’s a kilt, lass, nae a skirt, and only a real man can wear it,” he added, glowering at Samuel, who just went off again.

  They were hustled into the castle and out of the cold and the rest of the introductions made.

  “Good to see you, Ross,” Sampson said, greeting his brother warmly. “This is your Aunt May.”

  “We apologise in advance,” Samuel added with a smirk.

  Aunt May glowered at Samuel before turning to Ross. “Oughtn’t you be wearing a sword with that get-up?” she demanded.

  Ross, who looked a little taken aback by both Samuel’s introduction and Aunt May’s brisk tone, nodded.