Melting Miss Wynter (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 17) Read online

  Melting Miss Wynter

  Rogues & Gentlemen, Book 17

  By Emma V. Leech

  ****

  Published By: Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2019

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No.: B07V5WCLBF

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Characters Referenced from Other Books

  Want more Emma?

  About Me!

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  Audio Books!

  To Dare a Duke

  Dying for a Duke

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  “Wherein we meet our heroine and family, sinners of quality”

  1st September 1820.

  Marie de Wynn was a spectacular whore.

  There was no getting away from it, though Gwenn knew the words were her mother’s own, and said with pride.

  Even on the wrong side of forty, Marie de Wynn was still a breathtakingly beautiful woman, the kind for whom men fought duels. Helen of Troy must have been cast in a similar mould to have caused such a great deal of aggravation.

  Where Marie went, excitement and drama inevitably followed.

  Gwenn considered her mother now, her dark tresses artfully coiled in a complicated style that looked just a little dishevelled, as if she’d been recently ravished.

  It was a look Marie had spent a lifetime perfecting, and one she’d taught her daughter. For, at the age of nineteen, Gwenn was to inherit Marie’s legacy and become the greatest courtesan England had ever seen. Whether she liked it or not.

  As it happened, she did not.

  There was very little point in remonstrating. It had taken all of Gwenn’s considerable powers of persuasion to delay her fate this long, as her mother had wanted to launch her into society last year. Though Gwenn had no objection to entering society, it was the outcome that they disagreed on. She had tried on numerous occasions to suggest that perhaps she might simply catch a wealthy husband and settle down, rather than follow Marie’s path. Her mother would turn to her, an expression of outrage in her eyes, as if Gwenn had suggested the possibility of turning into a unicorn.

  That exact expression was facing Gwenn at this moment. She’d known it was futile, but some perverse part of her nature seemed to enjoy banging her head against the brick wall that was her mother.

  “You are the strangest and most ungrateful child,” Marie lamented, shaking her head and making the heavy ruby earrings she wore sway against her neck. “Why on earth would you want to shackle yourself to a man who will own you like a pair of shoes, and cast you aside just as easily?”

  Gwenn frowned, too familiar with this argument to return a glib answer. In truth, she hated the idea of losing her autonomy, but the world could be cruel and lonely, and sometimes she longed for something simpler than the extravagant lifestyle her mother lived. Extravagant it might have been, but to Gwenn it seemed empty of anything she herself desired.

  In her mind she pictured a simple room, elegantly but not lavishly furnished, and a man sitting by the fire, talking to her about the day they’d just shared. He was a faceless man for now, but someone she could trust, someone she could count on not to throw her away and abandon her, someone who would love and respect her and raise a family with her.

  A silly daydream, nothing more, and one Marie would scorn.

  “But… don’t you ever wish to be respectable, Mama?” Gwenn said, hesitant for fear of rousing a temper best left to slumber in peace.

  Marie wrinkled her lovely nose as though a bad smell had drifted in from the cool autumn evening outside the window.

  “Respectable?” she repeated, sooty lashes blinking with incomprehension. “Whatever for?” She swept to her feet, heavy satin skirts swishing with the movement. “Look around you,” she said, gesturing to the opulent room that was just a small part of their vast and lavish home.

  An enormous bed dominated the space, draped with scarlet damask curtains restrained with thick gold ropes and ornate tassels. Priceless works of art covered the walls—all nudes—some in dubious taste. On the dressing table were endless bottles of perfume, pots containing make-up and skin creams, and a king’s ransom of carelessly abandoned jewels that glinted in the soft glow of the lamps.

  “What would respectability have gotten me I ask you? A dozen brats, a dull husband and the privilege of scrimping and trying to make ends meet whilst my beloved lavishes his time and money on his mistress, that’s what,” she said, answering her own question. Not that Gwenn had any illusions she been soliciting an actual response. “No, I thank you. I’ll be the mistress and take the man’s best hours, the times when he’s in the humour to amuse and be amusing, and have him pay handsomely for the honour of spending time in my company.”

  “But doesn’t that man own you, as he owns any woman?” Gwenn countered. “He can cast you aside like those shoes far easier than any wife, for there is no law that says he must support you.”

  Marie gave her a despairing glance before returning to her dressing table and placing the notorious Davenport rubies about her lovely neck. She turned this way and that, admiring the huge stones as they glittered and sparkled.

  “Men do not own me, Gwenn. They pay obscene amounts of money to hire me for a time, and I’m clever enough and skilled enough to make sure they never tire of me. I move on before they are through with me, before they have time to take me for granted, and I always leave them wanting more.” She swivelled on the stool before the dressing table, her dark eyes serious now. “But my time is coming to an end, though it pains me to say it. I’ve taught you everything I know, Gwennie. You have the skills and the beauty to become the most famous, the most exclusive courtesan that ever was. You could be one of the most powerful women in the country if you do as we planned. Think of the life you could live. Think
of everything you could see and do.”

  Gwenn did think of it. She thought of it constantly, and the weight of her mother’s expectations bore down upon her. Unlike Marie, Gwenn did not crave fame and fortune, or notoriety. She did not long for jewels and riches, or to be seen on the arms of powerful men. Her dreams were a great deal smaller and less ambitious, yet as far out of reach as if she were living in the gutter and dreaming of diamonds.

  Gwenn wanted more than anything to belong somewhere. She dreamt of a comfortable home, of being able to look respectable people in the eye without cringing inwardly. She’d seen the way mothers and wives looked at Marie with a mixture of disgust and resentment. Whether Marie just did not see it or didn’t care, she wasn’t certain. She only knew she longed for the esteem of a man who loved her, a family she could be a real mother to, and children she could see grow and have families of their own.

  How foolish she was. Her mother was a courtesan, and had groomed her to follow in her footsteps. There was nothing Gwenn didn’t know about men, about how to inflame their desires, about how to make them want her, about how to please them.

  Not that she had any practical experience. Marie was cleverer than the average whore and had been careful to keep her daughter hidden away from troublesome men who might ruin her plans. When Gwenn made her come out, she would take the world by the throat and hold it for ransom, as her mother was fond of saying, and always with a delighted smile. The beautiful, virginal daughter of the notorious Marie de Wynn could command the highest price imaginable from her first protector. Indeed, Marie foresaw a bidding war the like of which had never been seen before.

  All Gwenn had to do was hand over her innocence, what little of it remained.

  Panic fluttered in her throat.

  Marie meant to bring Gwenn out the following season, but she intended to start things off by taking her to some of the most select parties over Christmas, to allow rumour and gossip to build excitement whilst Gwenn found her feet in society and practised her ‘flirtatious arts’ in a less intimidating setting. Not that Gwenn could expect vouchers for Almack’s, or anything of the sort. The most respectable company would not admit such a woman as she, but Marie was currently in the keeping of the Duke of Alvermarle, and a man like that could open a great many doors.

  Marie got to her feet and, though she’d seen her mother dress for grand events on a thousand different nights of her life, Gwenn still felt her breath catch at her astonishing beauty. Despite the similarities in their classical profiles, Gwenn was her mother’s opposite. She was blonde where Marie was dark, her eyes a pale turquoise to Marie’s impenetrable deep brown, because Gwenn favoured her father, the Marquess of Davenport. The man who had so incensed Marie with his callous behaviour when Gwenn was born that she’d stolen his wife’s rubies and run off to France with the man’s younger brother. Her rubies now, thanks to a touch of blackmail and the mention of writing her memoirs one day. The same rubies that settled over Marie’s lavish bosom and would be the envy of every woman she saw tonight.

  Those rubies told tales. They said that this woman was not only shockingly expensive, but exclusive, and dangerous… a combination that men seemed to find irresistible.

  Gwenn doubted her mother’s hopes were attainable despite her obvious confidence in Gwenn’s abilities. Marie was so very sought after, even now when far younger women vied to steal her crown. There was no secret, Marie assured her, no magic formula. Yes, her looks were important, but they were not everything.

  “Look at Harriet Wilson,” she would say with a laugh. “She’s only passably pretty, yet what a success she has made of herself with her wit and vivacity.”

  Charm and a liveliness of spirit, the ability to make a man laugh and forget his troubles, to make him comfortable no matter the circumstances, not to mention a deal of skill and imagination in the bedroom, these were the marks of a clever whore. Marie had imparted the secret of all these skills to her only daughter with frankness enough to make a sailor blush. Gwenn thought there was little in the world that could shock her now, though on the face of it she’d lived her life as modestly as any innocent girl of the ton.

  Gwenn had been sixteen when her mother had opened her eyes to the ways in which a successful courtesan made her living. At first it had been simply how to flirt and be an agreeable companion, but by her eighteenth birthday she’d studied every erotic text known to man and had matters explained in greater detail by both her mother and a variety of her female friends who plied the same trade. To be fair there had been a great deal of laughter during those lessons and a female camaraderie that Gwenn had appreciated, like she’d been initiated into an exclusive club.

  Compared to many girls of her ilk she’d been lucky. Many mothers forced their daughters into their world when they were far younger. Still, she’d been well aware before then of the men who’d come and gone, and that her and Marie were reliant on their protection and generosity. There had been those who’d thought Marie’s daughter part of the package, and to her credit Marie had packed them off without a second thought, thankfully before any damage had been done. It had given Gwenn a deep distaste for her mother’s life though, and she longed for something different.

  Still, it seemed vice was in her blood. The de Wynn family were an infamous lot. Gwenn’s grandmother had married quite respectably to a viscount, but had embarked on a scandalous affair with a handsome naval man, which ended in a crimcom that had set the ton alight and was still spoken of in hushed tones generations later. Marie’s sister, Aunt Letty, was living openly with Lord and Lady Chalfont, and no one was quite certain which of them she was having an affair with, or perhaps it was both of them. Gwenn hadn’t liked to ask, which was ridiculous as Letty was hardly shy about her affairs.

  There were stories like this attached to all her relatives, and the de Wynn family were generally considered to be a “bad lot.”

  “It runs in the blood, darling,” Aunt Letty had lamented once, when Gwenn had confided her wish to try for something more respectable. “There’s no escaping it. We’re sluts, every one of us,” she said cheerfully. “Mama tried, the poor dear, and look where it got her. Some people are good at painting, or music, or are clever with numbers. We’re good at scandal. It’s a talent like any other, you see. The de Wynns can sin par excellence.”

  She’d trilled with laughter at her little rhyme, so pleased with herself she’d had De Wynns can sin par excellence, engraved on a silver snuffbox and given it to her darling Chuffy, Lord Chalfont.

  Gwenn sighed. She was doomed.

  ***

  15th December. Portman Square, London.

  Gwenn held her breath as the stair creaked beneath her foot. It was so dark she could barely make out the outlines of the furniture and had almost plummeted headlong down the stairs before grasping hold of the bannister.

  It was a little after four in the morning, and the household was finally asleep. Her mother had returned not much before three and Gwenn had listened, straining her ears to divine whether her dear Mama had finally tumbled into the arms of Hypnos, seeing as Lord Alvermarle was currently rusticating in the country with his wife and children.

  Now, she was certain the entire house would erupt at every creak of a floorboard. Heavens, surely her heart was beating loud enough to rouse the dead. By the time she reached the door, she trembled with the strain on her nerves, but faint heart ne’er won fair lady. Nor would it let Gwenn escape the party tomorrow night, which would introduce her to society as the successor to her mother’s fabulously tarnished crown.

  Gwenn had never considered herself a particularly brave creature. In fact, if she was brutally honest, it was the terror of facing the endless list of men Mama had read out to her—all of whom would be vying for position as her first “protector” —that had finally spurred her into action. Well, that and a chance conversation she had overheard between Mama’s lady’s maid and their housekeeper.

  They were discussing a man, a viscount called Lord Che
am. To her relief, Gwenn did not recognise his name from her list of suitors, though she didn’t know why. Marie had been single-minded in adding every wealthy and titled man.

  Lord Cheam’s governess had quit at a moment’s notice, though the family were all packed and ready to set off for Scotland the next day. According to Mrs Wittington—Mama’s maid—the poor viscount was at his wits’ end, as the twins were the naughtiest girls ever born and he hadn’t a hope of finding a replacement, having by now run through every reputable governess in London. There was certainly no hope this close to Christmas and not a chance in hell before they were due to leave. Housekeeper and maid had chortled merrily at the thought of the poor gentleman having to endure such a long voyage in the company of two seven-year-old girls who might well have been spawned by the devil himself, the little monsters were so ungovernable.

  The plan, such as it was, was beautifully simple, though it relied a fair bit on the desperation of her soon-to-be employer.

  Gwenn closed the door of the elegant house on Portman Square and took a deep breath, the icy air so cold it hurt her lungs. All she could hope now was that Lord Cheam didn’t look too closely at her references. She hoped, in fact, that he was desperate indeed, as she hurried into the freezing night and away from her mother’s plans for her future.

  Chapter 2

  “Wherein our hero prays for a miracle.”

  Sampson was desperate.

  “Selina!” he exclaimed, as the child darted past him with all the speed and skill of a pickpocket raised on the streets of the Seven Dials, not like the indulged little daughter of a wealthy viscount, albeit a wretched excuse for a nobleman. Her twin sister, Susan, shrieked as he lunged for her, but evaded him with ease, hurtling after Selina and crowing with triumph as she went. They both clutched a jam tart in each sticky hand, thieved from the kitchens.

  “Cook made you those for the journey, you little brats,” he shouted, to no avail. “You’ll have nothing to eat on the way now, so don’t go complaining about being hungry.”