Page 34 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
“You’ve made splotches on your beautiful gown,” Vivian said, leaning toward Freddy to grab at her skirts and shake them.
Freddy smacked her sister’s hands away, and when Vivian gave her a hurt look, Freddy said, “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t vexed with Vivian. Truly. She was glad her sister was speaking to her again, and she was equally glad that Asterly had come to see Vivian that morning, after Vivian had sent word to him that Freddy was to wed Gabriel today. And Freddy was thrilled that Asterly’s parents had indicated that he could offer for Vivian without fear of being cut off from them—afterFreddy was good and wed. So it seemed the mess Freddy had created was going to be set right, after all. Freddy was thrilled, just thrilled.
Except she wasn’t. She’d merely managed to trade one mess for another.
She hadn’t been able to sleep or eat since Gabriel had agreed to wed her, and she did so love her meals. The realization that she’d trapped Gabriel, inadvertently or not, and that he’d despise her for it forever was making her ill.
“Just look at your hair!” her mother exclaimed. “You’ve done nothing with it!”
Freddy shrugged, her thoughts stuck on her and Gabriel. She was about to wed a man she barely knew anything about, except that his kisses and touches fired her blood. She was sure she could come to care for him, but it would be nice to know if he believed he could come to care for her.
As she stood there, her thoughts tumbling around her head, her mother and sister fussed over her hair, tugging, pulling, and twisting. Freddy let them, glad for the time to think, before her mother pronounced, “There! You look much better.”
When her mother glanced to the parlor door, as if about to open it, Freddy’s panic grew.
She had to speak to Gabriel alone. She would not back out of the wedding—she would not do that to Vivian—but she needed Gabriel to know she had not meant to trap him.
“I need to speak with Beckford,” she blurted.
Her mother frowned at her. “You’ll have a lifetime to speak with your husband.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she’d intended. So sharp, in fact, that her mother gasped and Vivian’s eyes went wide. “I need to speak with him before we are wed.Alone.”
“Your father will never allow that,” her mother said, her tone now equally as sharp as Freddy’s.
“Mama!” Freddy sucked in a breath for patience. “I have trapped this man into marrying me!”
“Trapped him?” her mother repeated, her tone incredulous and gaining in volume. “Trapped him? He seduced you! You are an innocent. You—”
“Mama!” Freddy bellowed. “Beckford did not seduce me! I think it highly probable thatIseducedhim.”
And just like that, her mother fainted.
A loud thump came from outside the parlor door, which Gabe welcomed as a nice break from Frederica and her mother yelling at each other. As Frederica’s family rushed from the room, Gabe felt Blythe’s stare on him. He glanced at her as the vicar pretended to busy himself with more wedding preparations, though a moment ago the man had been standing there impatiently waiting for Frederica and the others to enter.
Blythe hitched her eyebrows at Gabe and grinned. “She seduced you, eh?”
“Hardly.” Gabe tugged on his cravat. He damned well hated cravats. They were confining, and he hated to be confined. Flashes of Frederica’s eyes, her mouth, her lips danced before him. She had not seduced him, his little wanton fool. They’d seduced each other. He’d come to that conclusion over the past three sleepless nights as he’d come to accept that he was getting married, despite the fact that he’d planned never to do so.
Wedding was what a man had to do when he could not keep his hands off an innocent woman, and they were caught in a moonlit garden with her unmentionables removed. The cravat seemed to grow as tight as a damned noose around his neck, choking off his air. Outside the parlor, the commotion grew louder, but he forced himself to face the truth. He had compromised Frederica. He had compromised her knowing somewhere in the back of his head what it might lead to, and he’d still taken that chance. No. No, that was not right. He’d been unablenotto take the chance. That was different. There hadn’t been a choice. His reaction to her was physical, and it controlled his mind whenever she was near.
He’d not been prepared for it, for her, because he’d not known such a reaction was possible. He’d never been drawn to a woman as he was Frederica. When she’d said she would wed Brooke, he’d known down to his marrow that he could never allow that. Brooke was a bastard, and Gabe couldn’t live with himself if he let Frederica sacrifice herself to a life with a man like Brooke. Except now, she’d sacrificed herself to a man like him, one who didn’t want to feel soft emotions, one who didn’t even know if he could anymore. One who had an enemy who would come for her.
Good God, what had he done? To her? To himself? To both of them. He shoved his hands through his hair, reeling as he had for three days. And then he forced himself to take measured long breaths. There was no going back. Only forward.
They’d wed, and he’d install her in the house in Mayfair he’d purchased yesterday. She’d stay in this world where she would be safe, and he’d stay in his. Part of his problem was solved, which left Hawk for Gabe to deal with. He would have men watch Frederica day and night, and when Hawk finally appeared, Gabe would make his move. He would swoop in, snatch Hawk, and take him to the Henderson Home for the Mentally Impaired, right here in London. Gabe had personally funded a new ward at the institution over the last four years, knowing the day might come when Hawk tired of waiting for Gabe to attach himself to a woman and simply returned to get his revenge on Gabe. He would then need two physicians to sign their names to papers saying Hawk was dangerous to society and needed to be committed. Whether that was for life or not would depend on Hawk and his willingness to face the reality of what he’d done to Georgette, not to mention Gabe’s determination of if the man was still a threat to Frederica.
“Gabe, shouldn’t you go see what all the fuss is about?” Blythe asked.
Before Gabe could answer, the parlor door swung open, and Frederica strode in. “Beckford, I need to speak with you in private.”
Her appearance in a rose-and-white gown that fit her curves to perfection, her hair swept up to reveal her kissable neck, would have been enough to trip up his thoughts. But it was, in fact, the way she speared him with her intense gaze, set her hands on her hips, and gave him an expression that dared him to deny her request that made his head spin and admiration fill his chest. Frederica might have been reared in the protection of Mayfair and taught to be a proper lady, but he would wager she could hold her own with any Covent Garden–bred woman or man any day.
She arched her eyebrows. “Beckford?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied and glanced to Blythe and the vicar. “We need a moment.”
The vicar looked prepared to protest, but Gabe narrowed his eyes upon the man, who wisely followed Blythe out of the room. Once the door shut, Frederica whispered, “I didn’t mean to trap you into wedding me.” She glanced down at her hands instead of looking at him.
