Page 63 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
Gemma let out her breath, pressing a hand to her chest to slow her racing heart. She recognized Henrietta Henford's mother.
“What are you doing out here, My Lady?” she demanded, breathless. She stepped out from beneath the arbor. The rain had begun to ease, she realized.
“I do apologize,” said Miss Henford's mother. “I just needed a little fresh air. And the terrace was an utter fug of cigar smoke. I do not know how those gentleman can breathe it in all night.” Her words were crisp and unfeeling, and though there was not a trace of malice in them, Gemma could not help but feel on alert.
She felt the older woman looking her up and down, no doubt taking in her rain-splattered dress, the charcoal smudged beneath her eyes. How was it, Gemma wondered, that she could feel so scrutinized when she had literally caught Miss Henford's mother creeping around their garden? The woman was an exact image of her daughter, with the same overly expressive lips and heart-shaped face as Henrietta. The same cold blue eyes that seemed to have the ability to bore into a person's soul.
But then her expression softened slightly, and she gave Gemma a smile that looked almost conspiratorial. No doubt Henrietta's mother had heard her crying. Perhaps even saw her racing out of the house in disarray. But her look seemed to say that she was not about to tell the entire ballroom she had seen the scandalous Duchess of Larsen sobbing her heart out in the garden. Instead, the look seemed to suggest that she was finding the ball as much of a struggle as Gemma was.
I am sure it cannot be easy for her. Her daughter was supposed to be the lady of this house. And now Henrietta's place had been taken by the shameful daughter of the Earl of Volk, who behaved so poorly at their party.
Gemma lifted her chin. This, she realized, was a chance to endear herself to one of the Henfords. Well, perhapsendear wasa step too far. But perhaps she could manage a conversation that might not end with one of them on the verge of murder.
“Please feel free to stay out here as long as you wish,” she said. “The bench in the arbor is very comfortable. And dry. You are welcome to use it for as long as you need.”
Henrietta's mother gave her what looked to be a genuine smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate it. Truly.” She gave a nod that Gemma took—perhaps too optimistically, she knew—as a sign she would not tell anyone she had seen the Duchess creeping around the garden.
Gemma hurried inside before she could give the encounter any more thought. She strode up to her bedchamber and rang for Ivy, focusing her thoughts back on her father. Right now, he was the only thing that mattered.
Wyatt slumped into the armchair in the corner of the library, scrubbing a hand wearily across his eyes. Why in the name of everything that was holy had he thought throwing a ball would be a good idea?
I ought to have listened to Jonah. And Gemma. And my mother. And everyone else who told me this was a dreadful idea.
More to point, why had he said all that he had about Gemma's father? Little wonder she had torn off into the night with a look in her eyes that said she wanted to tear him to pieces.
Wyatt had meant what he had said about not being willing to help Lord Volk. Now he had a suspicion of theft to his name, aligning himself with the Earl—more than he already had by marrying his daughter—would do unspeakable things to the reputation of the Larsens. If Wyatt was honest with himself, this ball had been an attempt to not only show thetonhow happy he and Gemma were together, but also to show them he had risen above the shame that came from marrying into Volk's family.
Show them how happy Gemma and I are together…What a joke. He found his eyes lingering on the stepladder that stood beside the mantel. He thought of Gemma perched atop it in herrobe, looking down at him with lust in her eyes. He thought of picking up that book that had fallen at her feet and watching her cheeks redden as he read it out aloud. And he thought of kissing her against the bookshelf, so fiercely it was as if she might save him from drowning. How distant those things seemed now.
He had never seen such fury in her eyes as he had tonight when he had refused to help her.
Yes, he had meant what he said, but surely he could have found a better way to speak to her about such a delicate issue, rather than blundering through it like a bull in a China shop, and doing all but throwing Volk into Newgate with his own two hands.
Wyatt knew Gemma was blind to her father's flaws. Not that he could blame her. She was fiercely loyal to her family—it was something he had always admired about her—but surely enough was enough. For years, the Earl of Volk had done nothing but harm his daughters and shame his family. It was high time he was forced to pay for his mistakes.
Nonetheless, Wyatt hated that he and Gemma had left things as they had. He feared for Volk's safety as much as Gemma did, and there was no way he was just going to stand by and let these thugs storm Volk House tomorrow morning. But Gemma had charged out of the parlor before he had had a chance to speak to her about it.
I have to find her.
He made his way back down the passage towards the ballroom. Hopefully he would find Gemma with her grandmother or sister. And in a room full of witnesses with a penchant for gossip, she would have no choice but to listen calmly to what he had to say.
Wyatt almost laughed. When she had left the library, Gemma had shown no sign of ever being able to listen calmly to anything ever again. How fierce and feisty she could be when she wanted to.
It's one of the things I love about her.
The thought brought an ache to his chest. Just hours earlier, he had been moments away from confessing his love for his wife, and promising her they would spend the entire next day curled up beneath the sheets in each other's arms. Now, it would be a damn miracle if Gemma ever let him into her bedchamber again.
He turned the corner into the passage that led to the ballroom, coming face to face with Jonah. “Anderson? What are you doing out here?”
Jonah hesitated a fraction too long. “Looking for you.”
Wyatt snorted. “Sure you were.” Whatever Jonah and his married mistress were up to, he did not have room to care. “Have you seen my wife?” he asked.
“No.” Jonah's gaze drifted over Wyatt's shoulder for a moment as though searching for someone. “I assumed she was with you.”
“Right.” Wyatt strode past him, distantly hoping Jonah and his mistress found somewhere to entertain themselves other than the ducal bedchamber.
He burst back into the ballroom and looked frantically around the crowd. There were his and Gemma's grandmothers, huddled together in a corner of the room. Gemma's younger sister was with them, nervously fiddling with a strand of dark hair. The two older ladies had their heads bowed in what appeared to be a serious conversation. Gemma was not with them.
