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I am sure you are… Gemma had thought. But she did not say it.

In spite of her meddling, she could not help but like the Dowager Duchess.

She had always been warm to her whenever she visited Gemma's own grandmother.

And the kindness she was showing her now, in these trying first days at Larsen Manor, felt like the air she needed to breathe.

“I can tell the staff like you very much too,” she continued. “And as for my grandson, well…” She faded out, a tiny smile on the edge of her lips.

Well, what…? Gemma wanted to demand. But she could not do so. She could not give any inkling of how often thoughts of her new husband were occupying her mind.

“Well,” the Dowager Duchess said again, picking up the thread, “perhaps you will have a happier marriage than you might have imagined.”

Gemma shook her head. “I do not see how that can happen.”

The Dowager Duchess just offered her a smile and led her back into the house. She guided her through the grand entrance hall and past the parlor, into a room at the back of the house.

Suddenly forgetting her surliness, Gemma let out a gasp.

The library was filled with books from floor to ceiling, the shelves broken only by the enormous window that let sunlight pour in and made the dust motes sparkle.

And perhaps this, she thought, was the one thing that could make her marriage bearable.

So it was here to the library she had escaped that morning, after another funereal breakfast with her new family. Another night lying sleepless in bed, longing for her husband's touch, and dreading it at the same time.

That morning, the Duchess had not been able to resist a jab at Gemma's wardrobe. Had suggested to her son that he send his wife to a seamstress who would create her some new outfits “befitting her new and unfortunate station . ”

Gemma was trying her best to do as the Dowager Duchess had suggested, and not take the Duchess's comments to heart. But that was a difficult thing to do when they were so blatantly intended to cut her down.

And so for now, she planned to gather as many books as she could and disappear upstairs to the safety of her bedchamber. Lose herself for a few blissful hours in a world far away from this one.

Gemma trailed a finger along the spines as she made her way from shelf to shelf, dimly aware of a faint smile on her lips.

The first genuine smile she had managed since she had set foot in Larsen Manor.

The collection was astonishing. Books that looked to be at least a hundred years old shared space with the newest novels and poetry anthologies.

Stories and reference books on every topic, from Ancient Greece to astronomy, from gardening to Baroque composers.

Enough to keep her entertained for years.

A family collection, the Dowager Duchess had told her. “And you, of course, must use it—and add to it—as you wish.”

Gemma's gaze drifted upward to the shelves high above the mantel.

And for a moment, her breath left her. Her eyes widened.

Tucked in innocently between a Latin textbook and a copy of Robinson Crusoe was a book by an author known only as Wilde Rose.

Captain Midnight. The title glimmered out at her in brassy gold writing.

Gemma had never read the author's work. But she knew well what it entailed.

Wilde Rose's work had been banned for a number of years—she could only imagine how there had come to be a copy in Larsen Manor.

She had heard stories about her books—about the sensual and scandalous scenes they portrayed.

Her friends had whispered about them behind their hands and giggled, red-cheeked.

Had tried many times to get their hands on a copy—always unsuccessfully.

Gemma had done her best to pretend she was not interested in such filth.

And indeed, back then, her interest truly had been minimal.

But she could not deny that, right now, her gaze was drawn upwards toward cursed Captain Midnight .

The morning she had awoken in bed beside him, the Duke had stirred something within her that had long been dormant. Something she knew little of. And something she was sure Wilde Rose's books could enlighten her of.

No. That is the last thing you need…

If she was to succeed in staying away from her husband, she needed to tamp down her desire for him. Not stoke it through sordid and filthy literature!

Besides, she could not imagine the shame if anyone from the house caught her in possession of such a thing!

A scramble of claws flew down the passage, followed by the clip-clop of human footsteps. There was a light knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Gemma's grandmother. Two short-legged terriers barreled past her and began chasing each other around the room.

Gemma rushed at the Dowager Marchioness, throwing her arms around her. “Grandmother!” She squeezed her tightly. “I am so pleased to see you.” To her embarrassment, tears of relief began to well behind her eyes. Her grandmother wiped one away as it slipped down her cheek.

“And I am pleased to see you, my darling. How are you faring?”

“Oh Grandmother, I…” Gemma stopped herself before she could launch into a recitation of her woes.

She knew the Dowager Marchioness would go back to her family and tell Veronica and Jane everything, and the last thing Gemma wanted was for her sisters to be concerned about her.

She forced a smile. “The library is wonderful.”

“Isn't it? I have always admired it. I am very glad you will get to enjoy it.”

“How is Father?” Gemma asked. “And Veronica and Jane? Are they well?” Though it had been mere days since she had seen them, Gemma missed her family with an intensity that made her ache.

“Your sisters are well,” the Dowager Marchioness said with a smile. “As for your father, well…” She shook her head, as though sensing that now was not the right time to launch into yet another attack on the Earl of Volk. Gemma was grateful.

“Please tell them I miss them very much,” said Gemma. “And I will come and visit soon.”

Her grandmother nodded. “Of course. Patch!” She hurried across the room and herded her dog away from the potted fern in the corner of the room, upon which the dog was firmly considering hiking its leg.

A seriousness darkened her expression as she returned to Gemma's side.

She took her granddaughter's hand. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess, tells me you and your husband are yet to… warm to each other.”

Gemma smiled wryly at her grandmother's choice of words. “How can I warm to him, Grandmother? I barely know him. And I was forced into becoming his wife through no fault of my own.”

“That may be so,” said the Dowager Marchioness.

“But the fact remains that he is indeed your husband. And you can either make the most of it, by getting to know him. Or you can live the rest of your life in misery.” She gave Gemma a gentle smile.

“I know the Duke of Larsen is not the kind of man you would have chosen as your husband—if indeed you would have chosen any man at all. But I know he is a decent man, beneath all that brazenness and bluster.”

“A decent man?” Gemma repeated. “He's an immoral rake. Was it not you who told me to stay away from men who like the drink and the gambling halls?” She shook her head. “The Duke of Larsen is just like my father.”

“Are you certain about that?”

Unbidden, Gemma found herself thinking of the way the Duke had come to her bedchamber last night, asking after her wellbeing.

She could not deny that, as infuriating as their encounter had been, he had been doing his best to care for her.

And when, she wondered distantly, was the last time her father had done such a thing?

“I cannot allow myself to warm to him, Grandmother,” Gemma found herself admitting. “Because then… then they win.” She sniffed. “The Dowager Duchess will get what she wants. And when people gossip about me and speak of my licentiousness, they will be right.”

The Dowager Marchioness raised her eyebrows.

“Gemma,” she said, “you are an intelligent young lady.

But I'll be damned if that is not the most foolish thing I have ever heard.” She pinned her with a hard expression.

“Are you truly going to condemn yourself to a life of loneliness and misery because you see this as some kind of competition?”

Gemma lowered her eyes shamefully. Some distant part of her knew her grandmother was right. But she could not bring herself to feel otherwise.

“And,” the Dowager Marchioness continued, “there is nothing licentious in the world about allowing your husband into your bed.” She bent her head to catch Gemma's eyes. “Perhaps you are frightened?” she said tentatively. “Of your wifely duties?”

I am frightened of the way my body reacts when I am around my husband. I am frightened of the way he makes me feel. Because I have always prided myself on being in control. And around him, I am anything but…

But to her grandmother, she said, “No, I am not frightened. I just do not wish to be married.”

“Come on.” The Dowager Marchioness looped her arm through her granddaughter's.

“It is a beautiful day. Far too fine to be cooped in up here with your thoughts, no matter how wonderful a library it is. Her Grace and I have taught Patch and Lucy some new tricks.” A wide smile lit her face. “Just you wait and see!”