“Oh, aye?” Ross said, scathing now as he folded his arms. “And why is she in the kitchen sobbing her heart out with Mrs Murray if she has nae yer bairn in her belly, or the likelihood of it?”
Sampson felt the colour leave his face. It was the strangest sensation. His guts twisted into a knot as his chest grew tight and a cold wave rolled over him. Not his child of course, but… but could it be someone else’s? He forced himself to sit and think before jumping to conclusions. Nothing about Gwenn made any sense. The sensuous woman who knew how to please a man, who knew just what to do and say to drive him wild, was at odds with the girl who had seemed hesitant when he kissed her, as if uncertain, as if she’d never done it before.
He put his head in his hands, trying to think but coming up empty. All he knew was that Gwenn was in the kitchens, crying, and likely it was his fault.
Sampson pushed his chair back and stood but Ross grasped his wrist, his hand like an iron manacle. “Where are ye going?” he demanded.
“Where do you think?” Sampson tried to snatch his arm free, but Ross held it firm.
“I’ll not hae ye chasing an unwed lass under my roof if yer intentions are not honourable.”
“They are honourable, damn you,” Sampson snapped, before sighing and adding. “Mostly.”
“That’s nae good enough.”
“I know that!” Sampson said, frustrated now. “Don’t you think I know that? This is not all my fault, Ross. I know it looks bad, but… can you not trust me? I’m your brother. I thought that meant something.” He stared into Ross’s eyes: green like Sam’s, like their father’s. “I’m not like him, Ross, I swear it. I would never abandon her. I want to marry her, but it’s just not that simple.”
Ross searched his gaze, and whatever it was he was looking for he seemed to find as he let go of Sampson’s wrist. “Aye, well. I suppose I’d better give ye the benefit of the doubt.” He picked up his knife and fork again, pointing the knife at Sampson. “But if I find ye have played me or the girl false… I’ll make ye sorry.”
“Fair enough,” Sampson said with a tight smile, before stalking from the room.
Aunt May, Samuel, and the twins were just making their way down the stairs as Sampson crossed the hallway. He greeted them, dithering to speak to Samuel.
“What’s wrong?” Sam said, ever alert to his moods.
“I don’t know, but Ross said Gwenn… Miss Wynter is in the kitchens, crying.”
“Ah,” Sam said, and Sampson felt a rush of affection for him at not needing to say another word.
“We’re supposed to be going out to pick greenery to decorate with,” Sam said, grimacing a little. “I’ll make your and Miss Wynter’s excuses and keep the girls away. You should be safe until lunchtime.”
Sampson let out a breath and grasped his brother’s arm. “Thank you,” he said, with real gratitude.
Sam shrugged. “That’s what brothers are for,” he said, adopting a pious tone, before adding. “Besides which, now you owe me.”
“I do,” Sampson said with a snort. “Though if you could also try to get Ross to understand I’m not some vile debaucher of innocents, I’d be much obliged, and you may add it to the tally.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll explain later,” Sampson said, shaking his head. “I need to find Gwenn.”
With no little trepidation, Sampson made his way to the kitchen. On sticking his head round the door, he discovered Mrs Murray, but no Gwenn.
“She’s nae here,” the woman said, giving him a shrewd look.
Realising there was no escaping, and that he was likely in for another dressing down, Sampson took a breath and walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Get it over with then,” he said, just wanting to be free to find Gwenn and find out what was wrong.
He steeled himself as Mrs Murray folded her arms, her dark eyes glinting. It had hurt that Ross had been so ready to condemn him, but somehow this would be worse. He’d enjoyed the warmth of the old woman’s regard last night, as he felt he’d earned her respect, but he hadn’t the time or the inclination to explain himself to her or Ross, especially as that would mean exposing Gwenn as being less than respectable, whatever that really meant.
“I admit, I was ready to blame ye when the poor lassie began weeping her heart out,” Mrs Murray said, and then, to his surprise, her gaze softened. “I saw the look ye gave her last night, and though my first instinct was that ye loved her something fierce, I feared ye had gone the way of yer father. I was wrong, though, and I’m sorry for it. Ye have my apology.”
Sampson raised his eyebrows, a little taken aback. For a moment he said nothing, not sure what to say.
“I love her,” was all he could manage. “But it’s not that simple. I have the girls to think of.”
Mrs Murray nodded. “Aye, she said as much.”
“Did she… did she say anything else?”
“Nae.” Mrs Murray smiled at him, her expression full of understanding. “I’m sorry, my lord. I only know that she believes ye have nae future together, and the knowledge is tearing at her heart.”
Sampson nodded, feeling the same sensation in his own chest at her words. “Mine too,” he said softly.
Mrs Murray nodded. “I thought as much, and I’m sorry for it.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“In the captain’s study. She said she might read a bit to settle herself down, and no one will disturb her in there today. Ross is going to take ye all out on a walk down to the river, aye?”
Sampson nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Murray.”
“Ye are welcome, laddie,” she said, and Sampson smiled, touched rather than irritated by her not using his title.
It had been a sign of affection and sympathy, and he took it as such.
***
Sampson hurried to the library, determined to have the truth from Gwenn and face it, whatever it might be.
Gwenn sat in a large armchair by the fire, a book in her lap. With her head resting on one hand, her legs curled beneath her, she looked ridiculously young and terribly vulnerable. She glanced up as he walked in, and his heart reacted at the emotion in her expression on seeing him. God, she was beautiful. Even though he could see she’d been crying, and her eyes were heavy with tiredness, she was perfection. A wave of longing swept over him. Desire caught him up, not only the desire to take her to his bed, but to keep her with him, to protect her and ensure her happiness, always.
He moved towards her and she smiled up at him. There was something in her gaze that he didn’t recognise, something both sorrowful and determined. He didn’t like it.
“Gwenn?” he said, as she set aside her book and held out her hand to him. He sat beside her, perched on the edge of the armchair.
“Did Captain Moncreiffe send you?” she asked.
Sampson snorted. “Not exactly. I was threatened with pistols at dawn if I didn’t treat you with respect.”
She laughed at that, a low, throaty sound that made him feel a little dazed. “I knew I liked him.”
He huffed, at a loss for anything else to say, and Gwenn raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it.
“I like you too,” she said, amusement in her lovely eyes. “I like you best of all.”
“Gwenn,” he said, helpless to say more, yet it had all been in her name, the anguish and the yearning quite audible.
She looked away from him and stared at the fire.
“Why were you crying?”
He saw a slight movement of her shoulders as she shrugged. “Because I want what I cannot have,” she said simply. “It was ever thus,” she added, flashing him a twisted grin.
“Don’t,” he said, finding it unbearable suddenly. “Don’t make light of it. Not when I feel like my heart is being ripped from my chest.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she stared up at him.
“Truly?”
Sampson got to his knees before her and took both of her hands, kissing
first one, then the other as he tried to find the words. There were none, he realised. Perhaps if he’d been a poet or a more imaginative man, but he didn’t know how to put it into words. “Truly,” he repeated, hoping the sincerity of his reply would say what he could not.
He heard her let out a heavy breath before giving him a tremulous smile.
“Tell me,” he said, squeezing her hands and willing her to trust him. “Tell me who you are, Gwenn. Tell me what it is you are running from.”
She stared at him for a long moment.
“Is everyone going out?” she asked, as he frowned at the change of subject.
“Yes. Samuel has promised to keep the girls entertained until lunchtime at the earliest. We won’t be disturbed. We have a whole morning together,” he added with a smile, though his heart wanted him to tell her they had a lifetime together.
The knowledge that he could make no such claim made him feel raw, angry, and a little wild.
“Good,” she said, and he thought he heard resolution in the word.
He moved back as she stood and did the same, daring to put his hands to her waist. “Gwenn, don’t try to divert me. I want to know. I want to know everything. I won’t let you down. Can’t you trust me?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at him.
She leaned in and kissed his mouth, a tender brush of her lips over his. The sensation was like putting a match to dry tinder. He would have caught her to him, pulling her into his arms to take more, but she backed off.
Sampson stared at her, aware that she must see the hunger in his eyes.
“Not here,” she said, and moved to the door.
“Wait,” he said, moving after her. “Where are you going? You must tell me, Gwenn.”
“I will,” she said, not looking at him. “But not now. I don’t want to talk now.”
She turned and met his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw in her gaze, at the reflection of his own need.
He watched as she slipped through the door and went after her, following at her heels like a puppy. Christ, in this moment he felt he’d follow her anywhere if she asked him to. The closed door muted the sounds of laughter and the chink of crockery from the breakfast parlour and no one saw them go back up the stairs. No one saw Miss Wynter open her bedroom door and go in.
No one saw him follow her.
Chapter 19
“Wherein an inescapable fate approaches.”
This morning, in the aftermath of a good cry, Gwenn had made her decision. She had promised herself that she would have this much of him, as long as she was sure there was no risk of the girls finding out. She could not hurt them or Sampson in such a way, but with Samuel’s promise she could feel certain they were safe for a few hours, and she would take those hours as her own. They were all she would have.
She locked the door and then turned to look at Sampson. Her emotional outburst and Mrs Murray’s calm good sense had cleared her head, and she knew there was no point in dragging things out. It would only hurt them both. She would have this time with him, and she would stay for Christmas Day, to make the girls happy. Then, early the next morning, she would leave.
Mrs Murray understood and had promised to help her go with no one the wiser until she was well on her way. The woman did not know all the details, but from what Gwenn had told her she saw a hopeless love affair as clearly as anyone else could. If Gwenn stayed, she would only bring shame to herself, and to Sampson and his family, and that would do no one any good.
She’d been a fool to think she could outrun fate, but she could not regret having tried. To be loved by such a man was perhaps worth a lifetime of regret, for she could see the truth of it in his eyes. She would not have rubies but, unlike Marie, she would know that it had been real for them both.
“Ross was ready to kill me,” Sampson said, breaking into her thoughts, his voice sounding loud in the quiet of her bedroom though he’d spoken softly. “He thought… he thought you carried my child.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling her guilt weigh heavier as she saw she was already damaging him, besmirching his reputation when he wanted so badly to show the world he was not that man. “I hope you told him otherwise.”
He nodded, though there was a question in his eyes and Gwenn smiled, unable to condemn him for thinking it.
“Nor anyone else’s either,” she said.
He let out a shaky breath.
“There’s been no one,” she added, needing him to know that she did not give herself lightly, without love. Not yet, at least. Perhaps not ever, though that would make her future career somewhat challenging. She must learn to separate her body from her heart, she supposed, but for now—for him—they were inextricably linked. “I’ve never….”
Sampson moved closer and reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips. Gwenn closed her eyes, revelling in his touch, in the way he made her feel precious, beloved.
“I can’t pretend I’m not glad,” he said, his voice low. “But it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
She smiled up at him, knowing it was true even as she knew that it would not be for most men. In doing this, she was ruining all of Marie’s carefully wrought plans, but she didn’t care. This was for her. She would choose who would be her first lover, not by deciding which man had made the most generous offer, but by following her foolish heart. There would be no debt for taking her innocence—such as it was—she would give herself freely with no thought of recompense or anything beyond the fact she loved him.
After that….
Well, she would not think of what came after that.
“Gwenn, we must talk,” he said, his expression grave. “About the future. I can’t just… I’m not an utter bastard, darling, no matter evidence to the contrary.” He took her face between his hands. “I want to be with you. I need to be with you. I want to know how we can make that happen. I’ll do anything I can—”
Gwenn kissed him.
She couldn’t listen to anymore, couldn’t hear the sincerity in his voice without hoping, and there was no hope. There hadn’t been from the start, and she’d known it then as she knew it now. There was so little time left, she would not waste it.
This time she employed all the seductive arts she knew. Perhaps her first kiss with him had been tentative, but that hesitation was gone now, and she intended to make this memorable. She slid her hands into his hair, pulling his head down, insisting he deepen the kiss as she pressed her body against his.
Sampson groaned, his hands falling to cup her behind, lifting her against him. She moulded herself to him, one hand moving to trail a teasing finger along his clean-shaven jaw. Drawing back, she nipped at his mouth before setting her own to the strong contour her finger had just traced. She pressed a line of delicate kisses against his skin until she reached the tender spot below his ear and kissed him there, touching him with her tongue and breathing in the heady scent of him. He filled her mind, and she catalogued every detail, needing to remember it all for the endless future when she would have only memories. He smelled clean and fresh, starched linen and soap with a hint of bergamot, and the warm musky scent of a man with a willing woman in his arms.
“Gwenn,” he said, her name unsteady as she reached for his cravat and untied it with deft fingers.
She’d tie it just as precisely, too, when it was time. Another thing at which a first-class whore must be adept.
“Shh.” She soothed him and kissed the corner of his mouth, dropping the cravat to the floor before pushing his coat from his broad shoulders.
“You’re sure?” he asked, helping her strip the coat from him and making her smile by casting it aside without a backwards glance.
“I’ve always been sure,” she said, reaching for his waistcoat buttons. “I just didn’t want….” She hesitated, not sure of how to word it. “The girls.”
He nodded, understanding her without the need to say any more.
The waistcoat went the way of his c
oat and she tugged his shirt free of his waistband, sliding her hands beneath and luxuriating in the warmth of his body, the undulation of powerful muscle under smooth flesh. She moved higher and found the silky skin of his nipples and toyed with finger and thumb until the tiny nubs were hard from her touch.
“Take it off,” she instructed, her voice sultry as he shed the shirt with obvious enthusiasm, dragging it over his head and throwing it to the floor. Gwenn smiled and leaned in, flicking her tongue over the taut flesh she’d teased to a sensitive peak.
Sampson gave an uneven huff of laughter, and she bit down on him, not hard enough for pain, but enough to make him gasp. She looked up to find him watching her, a wary mixture of amusement and surprise in his gaze.
Gwen chuckled and reached for the buttons on his trousers as he reached for the fastening on her gown. She pushed his hands away, flashing him a wicked smile.
“Ah-ah,” she taunted, shaking her head. “Ladies first.”
Sampson opened his mouth to protest, but she’d found her goal and curved her hand around his erection as whatever he’d been about to say died in his throat. She watched, captivated as his eyes closed and his breathing quickened. He was hot beneath her touch, and so aroused that her hand grew slick with his desire.
He murmured a low curse and then his eyes opened, the pupils wide and dark, but the iris such a startling shade of blue in this moment, she was caught in his gaze, trapped and unable to look away.
“How you make me feel….” he rasped, capturing her face between his hands. “Oh, God, Gwenn.”
He kissed her, ravenous and demanding, and she melted into it, pouring all the longing and need she felt into the touch of her mouth on his, in the hopes he would understand what she offered: not eternity, but all of now, everything she had to give condensed into this one shining moment.
Sampson reached for the fastening of her gown again and she wriggled free of him, shaking her head.
“Lay on the bed,” she said, wondering if he would obey her.
She doubted he was used to being ordered about in the bedroom and suspected he wanted to balk and take control. There was curiosity in his eyes, though.
Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Page 19
