To Winter at Wildsyde Read online

  To Winter at Wildsyde

  Girls Who Dare, Book 7

  By Emma V. Leech

  ****

  Published by Emma V. Leech.

  Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2020

  Cover Art: Victoria Cooper

  ASIN No.: B081LDT5YR

  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

  Members of the Peculiar Ladies’ Book Club

  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

  Epilogue

  To Experiment with Desire

  Want more Emma?

  About Me!

  Other Works by Emma V. Leech

  Audio Books!

  The Rogue

  Dying for a Duke

  The Key to Erebus

  The Dark Prince

  Acknowledgements

  Members of the Peculiar Ladies’ Book Club

  Prunella Adolphus, Duchess of Bedwin – first peculiar lady and secretly Miss Terry, author of The Dark History of a Damned Duke.

  Mrs Alice Hunt (née Dowding)–Not as shy as she once was. Recently married to Matilda’s brother, the notorious Nathanial Hunt, owner of Hunter’s, the exclusive gambling club.

  Lady Aashini Cavendish (Lucia de Feria) – a beauty. A foreigner. Recently happily, and scandalously, married to Silas Anson, Viscount Cavendish.

  Mrs Kitty Baxter (née Connolly) – quiet and watchful, until she isn’t. Recently eloped to marry childhood sweetheart, Mr Luke Baxter.

  Lady Harriet Cadogan (née Stanhope) Countess of St Clair – serious, studious, intelligent. Prim. Wearer of spectacles. Finally married to the Earl of St Clair.

  Mrs Bonnie Cadogan – still too outspoken and forever in a scrape alongside her husband, Jerome Cadogan.

  Ruth Stone – heiress and daughter of a wealthy merchant.

  Minerva Butler - Prue’s cousin. Not so vain or vacuous as she appears. Dreams of love.

  Lady Helena Adolphus – vivacious, managing, unexpected.

  Jemima Fernside – pretty and penniless.

  Matilda Hunt – blonde and lovely and ruined in a scandal that was none of her making.

  Chapter 1

  My dear Kitty,

  I hardly know where to begin. I only went out for an hour, yet in that brief interval everyone seems to have run quite mad.

  Do you remember Ruth’s dare, ‘To say something utterly outrageous to a handsome man’? Well, I’d say she’s outdone herself.

  ― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Mrs Kitty Baxter.

  29th October 1814. London.

  Ruth tried not to stare. She really did, but it was impossible. After a valiant battle she gave up and gazed across the carriage at a man she’d met barely twenty minutes earlier. A man to whom she’d just proposed marriage.

  Her luxurious carriage ought to accommodate four people with comfort. Gordon Anderson made it look like something a child would play with. His massive frame shrank everything around him, and he appeared somewhat ill at ease against the plush velvet and gold trim of the comfortable seats. No doubt he was wondering if he’d been a little rash himself, but then he was getting fifty thousand pounds as part of the deal. He’d been desperate enough for Bonnie Campbell’s meagre five thousand to come to London after her, so his change of fortune ought to be something to celebrate. Of course, he’d also had Bonnie as part of that original arrangement. A voluptuous Scottish girl, she might be a hoyden, but she’d still have been a beautiful wife he’d have enjoyed bedding if nothing else. Ruth blushed as she considered how she would appear by contrast.

  Ruth had no illusions. Her friends were all beautiful women to a greater or lesser degree, and it was impossible not to be aware of one’s attributes when there were so many fine examples to compare oneself to. Not that she was jealous or resented them… well, maybe she was just a touch envious, but they were her friends and she loved them all dearly. Besides which, she knew her own worth. Perhaps she was no beauty, but she was a capable woman more than able to make her husband’s life comfortable and well organised. She had run her father’s vast household since the age of twelve, as her mother was a featherbrain, to put it politely, and a tumbledown castle in the wilds of Scotland should hold no terrors for her.

  Why then was she trembling?

  Well, perhaps that was because she’d just agreed to marry a complete stranger!

  Still, Mr Anderson had given her leave to redecorate the castle as she saw fit and had given no restrictions. Though he might regret that when he saw her father’s house. Happily she did not share her parent’s taste for opulence and ostentation. The running of the household and the staff was also to be her domain and he would not interfere. That was a good start. If they could be reasonable there was every chance they might make a go of their rather unconventional marriage.

  “Tell me about Wildsyde, Mr Anderson. What is it like?”

  Ruth was relieved to discover her voice was steady, which was a wonder, given that every other part of her was shaking now, as the reality of what she’d done sank in.

  A pair of rather unsettling whisky coloured eyes turned upon her and she caught her breath. Good heavens but he was beautiful. That seemed an odd choice of words, perhaps, but he was beautiful, in the same way a harsh and rugged landscape was beautiful. Uncompromising, dangerous, and breathtaking.

  “Wildsyde is old and draughty and at this time of year, cold enough to freeze yer ballocks,” he said, his gaze on her placid, showing nothing resembling curiosity or interest. “Have ye changed yer mind then, lass?”

  “No,” Ruth replied, a little too quickly lest she give herself time to think about it.

  She’d spent far too long thinking and fretting over the kind of husband she might end up with. There had been offers. They came on an almost weekly basis when such a hefty dowry was up for grabs, and not one of them had been remotely tempting. Her father dismissed most of them because they were not illustrious enough. Her optimistic papa seemed to think she still had every possibility to snare a duke, if she only put her mind to it, but he’d settle for anything above a baron if push came to shove. That being the case, now and then she had to suffer through proposals from desperate noblemen who were either on the brink of ruin and a protracted stay in the Marshalsea, or with one foot in the grave. Some of them had made her shudder to consider, others had simply made her want to cry.

  She was not some fragile miss to be pushed around, though. Her father had long since realised his daughter had a will as iron-clad as his own and no amount of bullying or wheedling would make her change her mind or accept a match she didn’t favour. This man had at least been her choice, for good or ill. The problem was, she had no idea which was the most likely. It’s not worth it for a title, Bonnie had pleaded with her. He’s not got a brass farthing, the castle is practically in ruins and miles from any society and, what’s more, he’s a dumb brute with as much sensitivity as a rock, and not a civilised bone in his body.

  Despite her best intentions, Ruth could not help but survey that body now. It certainly didn’t look civilised. It looked virile and powerful and so shockingly masculine it made her breath catch. His knees were bare and the ungainly sprawl he’d adopted in the carriage had hiked his kilt higher to expose a few inches of muscular thighs. Ruth stared and stared, never having seen anything resembling male skin beyond face or hands in her life before. The sudden awareness that she was being observed filtered through her stunned brain and she blushed scarlet as she realised she was right. A smirk played at his lips.

  “Think ye can wait until we get to Scotland?”

  Ruth sucked in a breath at his audacity but refused to look away from him. That it was true enough ought to make her ashamed perhaps, but she’d not let him intimidate her. This man needed to know she’d not be bested, no matter if his physical presence made her quiver inside. She could hardly deny that it had been desire that had motivated her. Oh, yes, he had the title she needed to satisfy her father’s lo
nging for a foothold in society and, more to the point, he was desperate enough for money to agree to wed her. Those things had been high on her agenda, but not the sole motivating factor. She’d taken one look at him and wanted.

  Mine, had screamed a voice in her head and perhaps it was the aura he carried of something not quite tame that had awakened this savage part of her she’d not known existed. Either way, it was awake and clamouring now, and no amount of second thoughts and anxieties were enough to make it give way.

  The carriage drew to a halt outside her father’s lavish home on Upper Walpole Street and Ruth let out a sigh of relief. She needed to get out of this confined space and fast, before she lost her senses entirely.

  Mr Anderson got down and then reached his hand back to her. Unlike most men of the ton, he did not wear gloves, and though she did, his touch seemed to sear through them as if they were not there at all. His hand engulfed hers, suntanned and work roughened, not the hand of a gentleman, for all he was heir to an earldom.

  The butler, Garrick, smiled at her warmly as they entered, though his smile faltered as he took in the man with her.

  “Garrick, is my father at home?” she asked, blushing a little as she evaded his eye.

  Not that he would comment. Garrick was a prince among butlers and Ruth was extremely fond of him. To say that she would miss him more than her own parents was not an understatement. A tall sparse man with neat black hair, twinkling blue eyes, and an air of absolute certainty about him, he’d been her ally for many years. He had quickly learned she was the force that ran the household and only took instruction from her and not her foolish mama—not unless Ruth had sanctioned whatever it was the idiotic creature had demanded. Leaving him behind would be a wrench and not only for her, she suspected. Where her father was a doting but absent parent, Garrick had been there since she was twelve years old.

  “Yes, Miss Stone. I believe he is in his office.”

  “Thank you.” Ruth smiled at him as she handed him her gloves and hat.

  She was well aware that among the ton servants were never thanked, but she considered such ill manners to be improper, no matter if it showed up her lack of breeding. If staff looked down upon her for appreciating their efforts, they were at liberty to go elsewhere to be treated with less respect.

  Once Garrick had left them alone, she turned back to Mr Anderson and tried not to gawk at the picture he made: a wild looking, unshaven Highlander standing in her father’s opulent entrance hall. Ruth knew the house was vulgar, with far too much gold and ostentation on show. She’d done her best to keep a lid on her father’s appalling taste, but there was only so much she could do. It was his house. Seeing Mr Anderson in such a setting was jarring, though, only highlighting the fripperies and ridiculous expense, and akin to seeing a lion prowl the ballroom at Almacks.

  It was not his natural habitat.

  “Holy God,” he murmured, staring about in awe.

  “Yes, well,” Ruth said, a little impatient now as she felt awkward… more awkward. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited here while I… I….”

  “Go and break the news?” he suggested drily.

  “Yes,” Ruth agreed, not seeing any point in pretending that wasn’t the case. Whilst her father would be delighted at the prospective earldom, his new son-in-law might give him pause. She needed to prepare the way.

  “Will yer da nae like the match?”

  “Oh, he’ll like the earldom just fine, Mr Anderson,” Ruth said, trying to focus on keeping things business-like. She was used to dealing with her father’s associates and if she kept things impersonal, for now at least, she might get through this without swooning or becoming hysterical. One could only hope.

  “Until he finds his son-in-law is about as welcome among the English elite as a dose of the clap?” he suggested mildly.

  Ruth ignored his turn of phrase, certain that he was trying to rile her, though she didn’t understand why. That he needed her money was obvious. Did he find her so unattractive the thought of keeping his end of the bargain was enough for him to hope she’d cry off? The idea could not be disregarded, as lowering as it was.

  “You might be unwelcome, but I will do well enough I’ve no doubt,” she said coolly. “A countess is due a measure of respect, no matter who her husband is.” Though Ruth hadn’t the slightest intention of allowing her father to use her for his own ends. She’d done quite enough to elevate the family and its fortunes and wasn’t about to become a martyr to the cause.

  That seemed to shut him up, for the moment anyway, and so Ruth ordered him some food—for no doubt a man of his size was always hungry—and set off to find her father.

  ***

  “Bleedin’ ‘ell,” murmured Mr George Stone as he looked up at his prospective son-in-law, despite having been well primed in advance so that he wouldn’t gawp.

  Ruth elbowed her father, who shook off his rather daunted expression and held out his hand, giving Mr Anderson the benefit of a broad grin. A practical man, her papa. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that the heir to an earldom in the hand, was a better option than a so far mythical marquess or duke who had yet to show themselves. Yes, the man was a Scot, which was regrettable, but the earldom was an old and venerable one, if not terribly wealthy. Not that it mattered. Mr Stone had wealth in spades, and he wanted his grandson to be born to a title. The Earl of Morven would do very nicely. Except that Ruth could see the calculation in her father’s eyes and the realisation that Ruth had not been exaggerating. Entry into the ton would not happen in this generation, not easily at any rate. Not unless Ruth took her husband well in hand, something of which her father seemed to believe her more than capable.

  Not being a fool, Ruth did not rush to agree.

  Looking at the man now, she doubted her ability to survive the wedding night. She’d either die of shock or anticipation. Best not think of that. Still, once she’d got his measure, she didn’t doubt she could manage him to a degree. In her experience—which was admittedly limited mostly to her father—men were content enough in their home lives if they were comfortable and well fed, and that at least she could achieve.

  Much to her chagrin, Ruth’s witless mama took one look at her prospective son-in-law and swooned. Ruth regarded her mother as she fell with an elegant rustle of silk with an impassive expression. Neither Ruth nor her father rushed to catch her, being far too familiar with the routine, though she suspected Mr Anderson would have done so if the horror on her mother’s face hadn’t been quite so blatant before her eyes had rolled up.

  “Ring for Mrs Grisham, Papa,” she said with a sigh, before finding a small bottle of sal volatile and waving it beneath her hopeless parent’s nose. She didn’t dare look at Mr Anderson. She didn’t doubt it was the kind of display which would not find favour with him.

  Once her mother had been taken off for a lie down in a dark room, Ruth returned her attention to the men.

  “Well, Ruthie, run along then, and leave us to discuss the details, there’s a good girl,” her father said, rubbing his hands together and looking pleased with himself at the prospect of the coming negotiation.

  Ruth levelled her papa with a stern look he was familiar with by now, and which chased the smile from his face. “No, Papa, this is my future we are discussing. I shall stay.”

  Mr Stone’s expression darkened.

  “Would you leave your secretary to arrange the details of an important deal?” she demanded, folding her arms.

  “I’m not your bloody secretary, you cheeky mare,” Mr Stone retorted.

  “No, of course not, dear,” Ruth agreed with a placid smile. “But you are not me, either.”

  She sat herself down before the desk and then craned her neck up at Mr Anderson.

  “Do sit down, Mr Anderson,” she said. “Papa, why don’t you offer some brandy? You know a little snifter always clears your mind.”

  Mr Anderson gave her a long, hard look which she couldn’t read, but sat as she bid him, and her father poured out two generous measures of brandy.

  “Right then,” she said, smiling as the two men settled themselves down. “Shall we begin?”

  Chapter 2