Page 8 of From Rakes to Riches

“I have been wed too many times,” Gemma said lightly. “When I was twice widowed, I was the object of pity. Three times, and it begins to be my fault.”

“Only the cruel believe that.” Guy’s hand found hers, offering warm strength. “I will take to task any who dare say so.”

“They do not say it outright. I could defend myself if they did. It is the whispers and rumors, sidelong looks, the conversations broken off as I enter a room, that I cannot fight.”

“I do understand.” Guy sat in silence for a moment. “I am sorry they speak of you so, Mrs. Cooke. I will strive to quell such talk whenever I encounter it.”

When Guy left off the exaggerated wit, his voice was low and velvet-deep, full of rich undertones that made Gemma’s heart beat faster. A glimpse, she thought, of his true self.

“You are very kind,” she managed.

“Not really. Weary, I think. I’ve weathered the machinations of thetonfor too long.” He bit out a laugh. “Listen to me, going on like a doddering old fool. I am to be entertaining you, not fatiguing you senseless.”

Gemma thought she could listen to him all night without growing tired of it.

“Not at all.” She unfurled her fan and waved it in front of her face. “I too have weathered their machinations.”

For a moment, they sat quietly, the music and voices in the ballroom muting what noises rose from the street in this part of London.

After a time, Guy stirred. “Lady Wilding no doubt has her eye on the clock and on this window, waiting for me to emerge and dance with her daughter. Do you know her? I’ve met the girl but formed no opinion of her character.”

“A miniature of her mother,” Gemma said.

Guy shuddered. “My night is ruined.”

Gemma couldn’t suppress a smile. “Do have great care for what you say to her. One wrong word and Amelia and Lady Wilding will take it as a proposal, causing you great scandal when you try to extract yourself. This has already happened to another young gentleman, who had to flee to the Continent.”

Guy’s expression of alarm was comical. “Heaven help me.”

“Simply stay silent during the dance. Do not agree or disagree with anything Amelia says, even if it’s as innocuous as the weather. Simply smile and occasionally nod, but not too often.”

“Damnation—er, ah, I mean,futchells.”

Gemma regarded him in amusement. “My second husband swore quite a lot. And he had the kindest heart. If such words were to shock me senseless, I’d have lain in a permanent swoon long ago.” She trailed off wistfully. “John was a good man.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Guy studied her, his amusement gone. “A happy marriage is a rare thing.”

“It is.” Gemma had told herself she would not wallow in her sorrows or the past—that was no way to continue with life. She had been lucky to experience a brief time of happiness. Most women were not so fortunate.

“And why I have not pursued matrimony,” Guy said. “I have a brother who is carrying on the family name with three sons, leaving me to be the charming bachelor. I have unfortunately seen the misery that men—and women—fall into because they are pushed into marriage by well-meaning families.” Guy flushed. “Oh, there goes my boot into my mouth again.” He stuck out his booted foot and regarded it mournfully. “You are here to seek a husband for your stepdaughter.”

“No need to apologize. I agree with you. Aunt Margot believes it a good idea that Sonia marries soon, but I have taken it upon myself to be guardian of Sonia’s happiness. If she does not like a gentleman then she will not be pushed to wed him.”

“Very kind of you.” Guy applauded, his gloved hands muffled. “An excellent notion. A chaperone of happiness.”

Why did she enjoy it so when Guy praised her? “I hope to give her aid,” Gemma babbled, flustered. “I am rather long in the tooth for anything else.”

Guy sent her an incredulous stare. “Long in the tooth? Mrs. Cooke, you are youth itself. The debutantes tonight gaze at you in envy.”

Gemma fanned herself rapidly, trying not to be flattered. “You are kind, but you should not say such foolish things.”

Guy’s intense stare was devoid of mockery. “My dear Mrs. Cooke, this is the least foolish utterance I have made all night. Why do you think Wakefield pursues you so?”

“For my fortune, of course.” Gemma had no illusions as to Mr. Wakefield’s true interest.

“No, indeed, it is not your fortune that draws his eyes.”

Guy’s admiring scrutiny made Gemma’s cheeks heat. She should not care whether Guy Lovell thought her attractive, but his implied compliment pleased her far too much.

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