Page 25 of From Rakes to Riches

James brightened. “Yes, madam. Thank you, madam.” He was off along the street before she could blink.

When she glanced at the house once more, she beheld Guy striding through the courtyard and out its gate.

“Gemma?” he asked in concern as he stopped beneath her window. “What on earth are you doing here? You’ll be drenched.”

“It is perfectly dry inside the coach.” Gemma turned the handle and opened the door for him. “I need to speak to you.”

Guy climbed inside and closed the door, his greatcoat well spotted with droplets. He pulled the window shut against the rain that tried to follow him in. “You could have sent word. I’d have called upon you in your nice, cozy house.”

“We could not be private there.” If Lord Guy called, Aunt Margot or Sonia or both would certainly be present, not to mention the housekeeper, footmen, and maids.

A warm smile crossed his lips. “Ah, private. That is different.” He’d taken the seat opposite her, and now he leaned forward. “You give me hope, my dear Gemma.”

Gemma remained stiff. “I have heard you have contracted to fight a duel.”

Guy waved a gloved hand. “Oh, that. ’Tis only that boor, Wakefield. You should not be troubled. All will be finished in a trice.”

“Tristan told me Mr. Wakefield has found someone to stand in for him.”

“Not entirely within the rules, no, but Ash conceded to Mr. Symmonds to give poor Wakefield a chance. Symmonds isn’t a bad man—I knew him in the Army. But never fear, my dear. It will be over before you?—”

“Guy, for heaven’s sake!”

Gemma balled her hands, her breath coming fast as anger poured through her, followed by fear, desperation, and anger again.

Guy stared at her. “Gemma …”

“Aduel. How could you? How could Ashford? How could Helena not stop you? Did you forget that my husband Mr. Cookediedin a duel? In a foolish, dangerous, senseless act that left me a widow, and had tongues wagging all over England about me and poor Rupert.”

Gemma ran out of breath, pressing her fists to her abdomen. She would not weep. That would weaken her, and she wanted to shout and storm.

Guy studied her in disquiet. “I did not forget. I also recall that Cooke died defending the honor of another woman. I will never forgive him for that. But I am defendingyourhonor, Gemma. And mine. Wakefield is a lout, and I will keep him from you forever.”

“By killing him? Or his stand-in? What is this Mr. Symmonds thinking, being willing to die for the likes of Hector Wakefield?”

“Die?” Guy had the gall to smile. “No one will die, my dear. We will fire our weapons and walk away.”

“Youmight do so, but Tristan believes you are in true danger.”

“Not at all. Ash has arranged it.” Guy’s flash of humor died. “You are dear to me, Gemma. I want to teach all gentlemen that they cannot disparage you or think of you in any terms other than respectful ones. Your honor will be spared.”

“Damn my honor!” The words rang through the carriage.

Guy’s lips parted. “My dear …”

“I amnotyour dear.” Gemma turned her fury on him. “Do you not understand why I am shouting? You contracted to fight a duel. One that could mean your death. What if Mr. Symmondshas taken money from Mr. Wakefield to not miss? What if he kills you? What would become of me?”

“I have no fear, but even if I am hit, Wakefield will shut his mouth and keep from you forever.”

“Mr. Wakefield is not the point.” Gemma trembled on the edge of the seat, her shawl falling from her shoulders, her face level with Guy’s. “The point is I would lose you. You would be taken from me in another mindless duel, and I would be alone again. Withoutyou.”

She shouted the last words, the drumming rain increasing to emphasize her anguish.

Guy only stared at her, his brown eyes flickering with pain. He began to speak, then cleared his throat.

“Gemma. You would care … ?”

“Would I care?” She sent him an incredulous look. “Of course I would care. How can I not?”

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