Page 59 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

Gemma’s smile grew, her heart swelling as she lifted her own glass. “Thank you both. It means the world to me to be here with both of you.”

They drank, and Gemma let the port’s warmth spread through her, adding to the lovely sense of contentment the day had provided. As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, Vivian’s stories took on a lively tone, her eyes sparkling as she regaled them with tales from her youth.

“Did you know, Frederick,” she began, chuckling, “your grandfather used to warn the entire neighborhood when I let loose on one of our midnight horse rides?” She winked at Gemma. “He told them to watch out for a wild lady riding like the wind.”

Frederick laughed, shaking his head. “That sounds entirely like you, Grandmother. And entirely unlike him.”

“Oh, indeed,” she replied, undaunted. “I always felt he should have loosened up a bit more. That man did not know the meaning of the word relaxation.”

The time passed quickly and Vivian glanced up at the clock with a start. “My, look at the hour,” she said, placing her empty glass aside. “Dinner will be ready soon and I have not evenbegunto get myself ready.” She looked over to Gemma with a kind smile. “Perhaps we should all take a moment to freshen up.”

Gemma stood, feeling a bit reluctant to leave the warm confines of the library, but excited at the prospect of the evening to come. “That sounds perfect, Your Grace.”

Frederick, who had also risen, gave his grandmother a slight nod. “Shall we meet in the dining hall in an hour?”

Vivian offered an impish grin and nodded approvingly. “Indeed. And Frederick, do try to look as dashing as I know you can.”

Frederick rolled his eyes in playful exasperation. “I shall do my best for you, Grandmother.”

As they left the library, Frederick’s gaze briefly lingered on Gemma.

It was enough, however, to set her pulse racing all over again.

Gemma ran her hands over the skirt of her gown, taking in her reflection with a mix of trepidation and quiet pride.

The dress was a rich, deep blue that brought out the color of her eyes, and the delicate lace edging at the neckline framed her neck and shoulders in an unexpectedly flattering way. The Dowager had insisted on the alterations last week, and though Gemma had been reluctant to let the seamstress do too much, she had to admit the result was striking.

She dabbed a touch of rouge on her cheeks, something she almost never did, and now, seeing the slight flush it added, hoped it was enough to conceal her own nervousness.

Finally ready, she breathed deeply, exhaled and made her way down the corridor. She had taken longer than she had originally planned, repeatedly fussing over her hair and gown, and expected to find both Vivian and Frederick waiting for her to make an appearance. When she opened the door her eyes widened in surprise. Frederick was alone and stood by thehearth with a glass of whisky captured between the tips of his fingers.

He looked up as she entered, and the room seemed to settle. Frederick was dressed in the same dark attire he’d worn to the ball. A sharp black, finely tailored coat and a pristine white shirt underneath. His hair was combed back, though a few unruly strands fell forward, and his gaze held a warm affection for which she hadn’t quite been prepared.

“Good evening,” she managed, hoping that she was not imagining the tenderness in his expression as he looked at her.

“Good evening, Miss Bradford.” His voice was steady and welcoming and she felt a spark of pleasure at the sound. “You look… lovely.”

Gemma’s cheeks warmed and she took a moment to collect herself, offering him a small smile in the process. “Thank you. It was Her Grace’s choice. She has quite an eye for choosing the right color.”

“Seems my grandmother has an eye for many things,” he replied, his eyes glancing up to meet hers with a focused energy that made her breath catch in her throat. “Though it seems she is not present at the moment.”

Gemma tilted her head in surprise, glancing around the room. “Oh—she is not? I had assumed she would be here with us.”

Frederick shook his head, gesturing for her to join him. “She does enjoy making dramatic entrances, but I suspect we may have come down too early.”

Gemma nodded and made her way over to the armchair opposite him.

When Frederick offered her a glass of whiskey, she accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a sip to calm her nerves. The whiskey was warm, smoother than she expected, and it lent her a touch of courage.

She glanced at Frederick, only to find him already watching her.

“Was your first day of introductions to the tenants as taxing as you feared?” she asked, trying to sound casual despite vibrating on the inside.

Frederick let out a short chuckle that was surprisingly warm. “Taxing, perhaps, but mostly humbling. Many of them remember my father, and the comparisons… well, they do not always feel fair.”

Gemma gave him an understanding smile. “I believe that the tenants we met with were rather impressed, Your Grace. You listened to them and you let them know that their troubles and opinions mattered. That is not something every Duke would do.”

Frederick swirled his whiskey thoughtfully. “Perhaps not every Duke has such a resourceful companion,” he replied.

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