Page 28 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“I am sorry things happened the way they did,” he said. “I know I am the last man you wished as your husband.” He swallowed. “In fact, I seem to remember you saying something strikingly similar to me in the past. And I truly do regret that you were caught up in my grandmother's meddling.”
Gemma gave a brisk nod that Wyatt took—rather optimistically, he knew—as an acceptance of his apology.
He folded his hands and rested them on his knees. “I want you to know that you will have everything you need. You were not the wife I intended to have, but you are my wife nonetheless, and I will see to it that you want for nothing. I will do everything in my power to make you as happy as possible.” Wyatt felt his throat tighten inexplicably. He did want Gemma to be happy.
Or at least slightly less miserable than the expression on her face suggested she was.
“Happy?” she snorted. “You think you can make me happy?” She strode toward the desk and stood close, hovering over him. Wyatt could smell lavender on her skin and feel the warmth emanating from her body. He forced away a pang of desire. “I have beendisgraced,” she hissed, “through no fault of my own. No doubt my family is now more of a laughing stock among thetonthat they were this morning. And I have a damnablerakefor a husband.” Her eyes flashed as she glared into his.
That rosy glow on her decolletage again had intensified, Wyatt noticed. Was it her anger that had caused it? Or was it his nearness? How easy it would be to pull her down onto the stool with him, onto his growing hardness, and quieten her harshwords with his lips against her own. How easy it would be to toss her onto that wide curtained bed and cover her body in kisses. That evening in the music room, she had melted beneath his touch. He knew how easy it would be to silence her arguments with his lips against hers. How easily he could make her scream his name.
If only she knew how much her feistiness makes me long for her…
He got quickly to his feet. He knew himself in danger of breaking his rule about not taking a woman without their permission. And treating his own wife in such a way was something he had no intention of doing.
“I suppose I cannot deny that,” he said. “I am a damnable rake.”
Gemma snorted. “You sound almost proud of yourself.” She shook her head. “I ought not be surprised. I know the kind of man you are. You have already made that quite clear.”
“Oh yes?” Wyatt was surprised she had dared go near a mention of their time together at the Henfords'. “And what kind of man is that?”
“A man a lady would be ashamed to be married to,” she hissed.
Though he knew he had goaded her into it, Wyatt could not deny the insult stung. “Most ladies of thetonwould be honored to marry a duke,” he said, aware of how petty and shallow his words sounded. He regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth.
“I am not most ladies of theton,” Gemma shot back.
No. You most certainly are not…
Wyatt clasped his hands behind his back. “Forgive me. Regardless of what you might believe, I did not come here to upset you. In fact, I came hoping to reassure you.”
“Reassure me?” Gemma snorted. “Of what, exactly?”
“Of that fact that you are welcome here at Larsen Manor. You are the lady of the house now. And I hope you will come to feel at home here.”
Gemma pressed her lips into a thin white line. “This will never be my home.”
He nodded acceptingly—for right now, what else was there to do? “I hope you may come to change your mind.” When she did not speak, he added, “Good night, Gemma.”
Her eyes narrowed at his familiarity. “Good night, Your Grace. And please do not come here again.”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time bright morning light flooded through the gap in the curtains, Gemma was aching with sleeplessness. She had tossed and turned throughout the night, longing to be home at Volk House with the voices of her family drifting out from the rooms around her.
Well. That was part of what had caused her sleeplessness, at least. As she had lain wide-eyed in bed, staring up at the curtained canopy of her bed, her thoughts had been crowded with thoughts of the Duke of Larsen. Her husband.
Just as she had every night since their encounter in the music room, Gemma had lain there imagining the feel of his lips on her. Recalling the way his hands had explored her curves. And dreaming of how it might feel to have his body pressed against her own.
Knowing he had been sleeping a few doors down the passageway had been torture. As had the knowledge of how easy it would be to slip into his room and climb beneath the covers with him. No judgment. No prying eyes. No need to slink into the breakfast room and pray they had not been seen…
Stop!Inexplicably, the fact that he was now her husband made such imaginings even more treacherous. Because there was no way in the world that Gemma was going to submit to the man. She would not give him that satisfaction. Nor would she give the Dowager Duchess the satisfaction of knowing this marriage she had so slyly engineered had a chance of becoming real.
She had been coerced into this union, and the last thing she planned to do was play the role of obedient wife by giving the Duke of Larsen a child. Seeing her grandson without an heir was the price the Dowager Duchess would have to pay for her meddling.
Gemma slipped out of bed and splashed her face hurriedly at the washstand, trying to slough away thoughts of her husband. Regardless of how much her body craved him, she had too much pride to let herself be taken over by such carnal desires.
Besides, she could not have her thoughts overcrowded with thoughts of the Duke today. Because she knew the time had come when she could no longer avoid the Duchess. She knew that refusing to come to dinner last night had been a stretch. She would have to show her face at breakfast today.
