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Chapter Fourteen

B y 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.

And I am going to use the opportunity to explain myself!

She knew the Duchess looked down on the Volks.

But Gemma had no intention of letting her believe she had a miscreant as a daughter-in-law.

No intention of letting her believe Gemma had weaseled her way into Larsen House out of a desperate need for a husband.

The idea that anyone might think such things about her was horrifying.

After instructing Ivy to lace her into her most refined pale blue day dress and cover the dark circles beneath her eyes in powder, Gemma drew in her courage and made her way downstairs.

When she arrived in the breakfast room, the Duchess and Dowager Duchess were already at the table.

“I am glad to see you have shown your face this morning,” the Duchess said icily.

The Dowager Duchess shot her daughter-in-law a glare. “Give the poor child some grace. After all she has been through…” She shook her head, then turned to smile at Gemma. “How did you sleep, my dear?”

Gemma slipped into a chair at the table, feeling wildly out of place.

She could feel the Duchess's gaze spearing her.

She lifted her chin and pressed her shoulders back.

She could sense it was a weighted question; could tell the Dowager Duchess was trying to ascertain whether her husband had visited her bed last night. She refused to give anything away.

“I slept well, thank you, Your Grace,” she lied.

She was grateful that, thanks to her hasty marriage, she held equal rank with these ladies.

It went some way to boosting her fragile confidence.

Still, the poisonous looks the Duchess was shooting her served in no small way to remind her that she was nothing but an earl's daughter. And a drunkard of an earl at that.

She brought her teacup to her lips, the warm liquid steadying her slightly.

Perhaps now would be the time to explain herself to the Duchess.

To express her own disappointment at all that had happened, and make it clear to her new mother-in-law that the wedding was not a result of her own sordid scheming.

Not that she would believe me, I am sure…

But just as Gemma opened her mouth to speak, the door creaked open again and the Duke appeared. His eyes caught Gemma's and she felt a jolt in her chest.

She hated how drawn to him she felt. Hated the way her eyes longed to follow him across the room.

She fixed her gaze on her plate. She absolutely could not let him know how hard her heart pounded when he was in her vicinity. And she would rather die than for him to know how much she had been thinking of him the previous night. Thinking of all the things he could do to her…

She cursed her own body for betraying her. Cursed herself for feeling this insatiable longing for a man with such a loathsome reputation.

He slipped into the chair beside her. “Good morning,” he said. His voice was low and somehow secretive, and Gemma could tell the greeting was meant for her alone.

“Good morning,” she said tautly, not looking at him.

“I thought perhaps I might show you around the grounds today,” the Duke suggested. “Perhaps that might make you feel a little more at home.”

“That is not necessary,” Gemma said brusquely.

There was a moment of silence, which Gemma knew she ought to fill with an explanation.

But she could conjure neither an adequate excuse nor the will to care.

In truth, she did not trust herself to be around the Duke of Larsen.

This marriage could never be more than a signed piece of paper.

She could not allow it to become real. She would not give the Dowager Duchess the satisfaction.

Nor would she let herself be taken in by the wiles of the Duke of Larsen.

At least not any more than she had been already.

The Duke let out an audible sigh.

“I have already told Her Grace I will take her on a tour of the house and grounds this morning,” the Dowager Duchess said, trying to inject some warmth into the frostiness that hung over the table. “Is that not right, my dear?”

“Yes,” Gemma said reluctantly. “That's right.”

“Perhaps you might join us, Wyatt, dear?”

“No.” The word slipped out of Gemma's mouth before she could stop it. “I would rather you did not.”

The Duchess clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I think before you traipse off around the garden, Her Grace has a little to learn about etiquette.”

“Etiquette?” Gemma repeated, anger rushing through her. If there was one thing she prided herself on, it was her etiquette.

How dare she suggest otherwise!

“Indeed,” the Duchess repeated coolly. “Such as honoring your husband by turning up at the dinner table when he requests your presence. And speaking only when spoken to.” She looked skyward for a moment. “Not to mention being somewhat more open to constructive criticism.”

Gemma's cheeks burned.

“Mother,” the Duke said wearily. “Please.”

“Please, what ?” the Duchess snapped, slamming down her fork. Her flinty eyes darted between her son, the Dowager Duchess, and Gemma. “It was the three of you that got us into this terrible situation. Heaven only knows what people are saying about our family now.”

“Oh, do calm yourself, Martha,” the Dowager Duchess sighed. “You'll burst a blood vessel.” She looked over at Gemma. “You shall have to excuse her, my dear. She has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

The Duchess's face turned crimson. “Might I remind you that our family's good standing is at stake? Or have you forgotten? As for what poor Miss Henford must think of us, I cannot even begin to imagine.” She shook her head.

“Someone has to attempt to clean up the mess.” She picked her fork back up and jabbed it in the Duke's direction.

“And if this drunkard's daughter is now your wife, the least she can do is be on her best behavior!”

Gemma gritted her teeth, forcing down an angry retort. Letting her fury loose at her first meal at Larsen Manor would only prove the Duchess right about her lack of etiquette. She bit into her toast to stifle the urge to speak.

There is no way I am going to prove her right about anything.

The Dowager Duchess was right about one thing: the library at Larsen Manor was simply spectacular.

Yesterday, after their ill-fated breakfast, Gemma's mother-in-law had taken her aside and given her a strict talking-to about the manner of speech that was appropriate for a duchess, and a patronizing blow-by-blow rundown of each member of the household staff, and the tasks they were responsible for.

Gemma had never been so humiliated in her life.

Moments after she had escaped to the safety of her bedchamber, thanking the heavens that she had managed not to cry, the Dowager Duchess had appeared at her door to take her on the promised tour of the gardens and house.

As though sensing the anger and frustration roiling inside her, the old woman had led her out into the garden and through a maze of fragrant roses, then into the densely wooded section at the back of the property.

With the warm breeze on her cheeks and the sun streaking through the gaps in the branches, Gemma felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.

and the tears that refused to leave her finally sink back beneath the surface.

“You mustn't take Martha's comments to heart,” the Dowager Duchess had told her, walking among the trees with her arm looped through Gemma's.

Gemma let out a humorless laugh. “It is a little difficult not to. She has made it achingly clear how unwelcome I am in this house.”

The old woman put a soft hand to Gemma's arm. “You are not unwelcome here at all, my dear. I, for one, am very pleased to have you.”