Page 61 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

Gemma gulped as the thought popped into her head.

No, now is not the time to ponder that.

He took a sip of wine before continuing. “After Scotland I turned south towards France and then traveled across the continent. Paris was… well, everything they say of it. Every corner seemed steeped in art and extravagance. But even there I found myself feeling strangely restless. I was the same in Italy. The cities were vibrant and the people were intriguing, but they did not belong to me. It was like passing through someone else’s life.”

Gemma tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his distant one. “Is that why you came back?”

He met her eyes with a serious gleam in his own. “Yes. For all its faults, Blackridge is my home. There is a stubborn pride to this land, a weight of history that belongs to me and my family. For better or worse, I am bound to it. There is something to be said for cultivating one’s own ground, rather than merely passing through the fields of others.”

She smiled at his words, seeing a part of him that went deeper than the walls he so carefully kept around himself. “It soundslike Blackridge holds more than just history for you. You are as much a part of it, as it is of you.”

Frederick’s mouth curved in a faint, reluctant smile. “Perhaps. It is strange how a place can tie itself to you. The longer I was away, the more I found myself thinking of it. The hills, the fields, even the storms that batter the old stones of Blackridge.” He paused, “Blackridge is flawed, as am I. But it is mine to care for and, I hope, to pass down one day.”

She was enraptured by his words and his voice, which was infused with a nostalgic warmth.

“You have seen so much of the world,” she mused, cutting into her food but not really tasting it. “Still, I assume you never wished to leave Blackridge for good, is that correct?”

Frederick shook his head, a serious gleam in his eyes. “No, I have not, and I never will.”

Gemma nodded, their eyes meeting across the table. “I believe I understand. It is a beautiful thing to help people, to find a way to pass a treasure to the generations that will follow. I felt that way in the village today, talking with the people who lived there and had invested so much of themselves in their land and their families. It is heartwarming to see that even a small gesture could mean so much.”

The second course was brought in, though neither of them seemed to pay much attention to it. They continued talking, debating the merits of books they both loved, discussing the fewpaintings in the room and laughing over tales about Vivian’s mischievous youth.

It was well into the meal before Gemma realized she’d barely touched her food, but the warmth in her chest—whether from the wine or from Frederick’s attention—made her feel fuller than any meal could. As he recounted a tale about a raucous masquerade ball in Venice, she laughed so freely it almost startled her.

It was, she realized, the happiest she’d been in a very long time.

CHAPTER 22

“What are you thinking?” Frederick asked Gemma, his voice low and his tone intimate.

The warmth of the wine buzzed softly in Gemma’s veins. His voice was a deep, rich, and comforting presence. She found herself captivated by him; the way he leaned forward as he spoke, his hands strong yet graceful, the slight curve of his lips…

She could feel his gaze like a ray of sunlight each time it passed over her skin. When his dark blue eyes met hers, she felt the ignition of another dormant ember in her heart that she could not ignore.

Her fingers lightly traced the rim of her wine glass as she tried to focus, but her eyes were far more interested in wandering over the sharp line of his jaw and his broad shoulders, and her nose was too eager to inhale the faint, masculine scent of leather and whiskey that drifted her way whenever he moved.

The five senses of her body had become tuned to respond to him.

He caught her staring at him again and his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her.

She hastily tried to compose herself. “I was just thinking that… perhaps you are not as intimidating as you let on.”

His eyebrows arched and he leaned a bit closer to her to ascertain what she had meant by her remark. “Is that so?”

Her breath caught but she returned his stare, feeling bolder than she had before. “Yes. Maybe you are secretly even… charming.”

His quizzical expression quickly changed into a smile. The way he studied her made her feel completely exposed, but she didn’t look away.

“Is that so?” he half-asked, half-chuckled.

Another sip of wine emboldened her further and she deliberately moved ever so slightly, watching as his eyes traced each of her movements.

“Yes.Quitecharming, actually,” she replied.

The air felt charged, every glance a touch, every word a caress, and Gemma found herself longing for something more, something she had no experience with, yet instinctively wanted.

She watched him, her gaze lowering to his lips as he took another sip of wine. She ached to reach out, to touch him, to feel his hands upon her skin. The urge was maddening, and she felt herself trembling slightly as she looked his way, unable to mask the longing in her eyes.

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