Gemma looked at him for a long second, and Wyatt felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed.

Her lips parted, but whatever words she was about to say seemed to die on them.

She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands.

“I do not believe you,” she said finally.

“I am sorry. But I have heard the same thing from my father time and time again. A thousand and one promises that things will be different. That he will stay away from the gambling halls. That he will never go near the drink again. But they are nothing but empty words. Within a week, he is back to his old ways again. Habits are hard to break.”

“I am sorry about your father, Gemma,” said Wyatt. “I truly am. You deserved better.” He lowered his eyes, trying to catch her glance beneath her bonnet. “But I am not your father. I am a man of my word.”

Gemma smiled wryly. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said. “But I will not believe it until I see it.”

“So Larsen,” said Jonah, striding into the sitting room and sinking into an armchair, “how goes married life with Lady Highbrow? Have you managed to ravish her senseless yet?”

Wyatt bristled. In truth, he was surprised it had taken Jonah so long to appear at Larsen Manor in search of gossip. He appreciated the space his friend had given him. But not his jaunty, over-confident tone of voice. “Anderson. That's my wife you're speaking of.”

Jonah's face lit up. “Ah! So there has been some ravishing!”

Wyatt lit a lamp on the mantel. The sun was sinking fast beneath the horizon and the room was filling with shadows.

He sank into the armchair opposite the Baron and stared into the rusty glow of the lamp.

“I wouldn't exactly say that.” That morning's civilized conversation with her in the garden had felt like no small victory.

And while lunch had not seemed quite as frosty as every other meal they had crawled through since their marriage, his wife was still doing her best to keep her distance from him.

Not a single moment had passed between them since their conversation that suggested he might one day be welcome in her bed.

Any suggestion of ravishing felt like some long-forgotten dream.

“Oh?” Jonah raised his pale eyebrows. “And what exactly would you say?”

Wyatt gritted his teeth, surprised at the irritation that was welling up inside him at his old friend's questioning.

The two of them had always spoken openly about their conquests and had always goaded one another into sharing as much information as possible.

But this felt different. Hell, this was different.

Gemma was not some harlot he had rolled around under the sheets with in search of a good time.

She was his wife. And she deserved better than to be the topic of some sordid gossip.

No doubt she was already being subjected to enough of that as it was, given the circumstances of their marriage. Wyatt had no intention of adding to it.

He shook his head, signaling to Jonah that the topic was closed. “It's none of your business.”

The sly smile did not disappear from the Baron's face, and Wyatt knew well he had not heard the end of the matter.

But in spite of Jonah's prying, he could not deny he was glad to see his friend at last. His week of marriage had been a trial to end all trials, what with Gemma's coldness and his mother's anger—not to mention the immense frustration that came from not being able to lay a finger on his wife.

Perhaps a drink—or several—with Jonah was exactly what he needed.

Wyatt stood and made his way toward the liquor cabinet. “Brandy?” he offered.

Jonah also got to his feet and began to rock back and forth on his heels. “Actually, I rather thought we might make a night of it.”

Wyatt recognized the gleam in his eye too well. And he knew exactly what Jonah Anderson meant when he planned to make a night of it. He shook his head. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

Wyatt glanced down. “I sort of… made a promise.”

“To who?” Jonah raised his eyebrows incredulously. “To Lady Highbrow?”

“To Her Grace ,” Wyatt hissed. “I am married now, Anderson. Surely you did not expect things to carry on just as they did before?”

Jonah folded his arms indignantly. “As a matter of fact, I seem to remember you using those exact words. You told me that nothing would change after you married Miss Henford. That your life would go on just as it did before.”

He's right. I did say that. The realization brought him a pang of regret.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he found himself wondering how things might have played out if he had married Henrietta.

Would he be standing here telling Jonah he no longer wished to frequent the gambling halls? Somehow, he doubted it.

“Well,” he said, “sometimes things do not turn out the way we expect.”

Jonah looked at him quizzically, as though trying to determine the meaning behind his words.

“Listen, Larsen. Whatever promise you made Lady High—to Her Grace , this is important.” He dropped his voice slightly, though there was no one around to overhear.

“There's something I need to tell you. Something I really need your advice about.

And I'd rather discuss it somewhere we might be a little more hidden.”

Wyatt hesitated. In spite of the promise he had made to Gemma, he did not want to let his friend down. He and Jonah had had each other's backs since they were children; he had no intention of abandoning him now, just because he had married.

But what if Gemma finds out ? It had been mere hours since he had promised her his visits to the gambling halls were over. And he knew well that her hatred of such places was well founded. Knew how much she and her family had suffered as a result of her father's gambling addiction.

“Somewhere more hidden?” he repeated. “Where could be more hidden than here?”

Jonah snorted. “Please. You've half of London strolling around this place waiting on you hand and foot. Anyone could overhear. Come on. Let's go to White's. Please, Larsen.” Jonah took a step toward him, an intense look in his eyes. “I wouldn't ask if it weren't so important.”

Wyatt sighed. He would find some way to explain himself to Gemma. If she even bothered to ask. Or notice he was gone. “Fine. But this is the last time. Understood?”

Jonah flashed him a relieved smile. “Perfectly.”

Gemma stood at the window in her bedchamber, watching as dusk drew long shadows over the garden. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. After her grandmother's visit today, the weight on her shoulders did not feel quite so unbearable.

Grandmother's visit? Are you quite certain that is what is making you feel better?

Gemma could not deny that her conversation with her husband in the garden had gone some way— some small way , she assured herself—to improve her mood.

And that was certainly a first. Usually, when she found herself in the company of Wyatt Felps, she left feeling a thousand times more dreadful than she had before.

Might I have been wrong about him? Just a little?

Yes, he was a cocky, arrogant cad with a string of bad behavior in his wake. But that afternoon, she had seen a side to him that felt genuine. Kind. She had seen a man whom she did not feel quite so horrified to have a husband.

This changes nothing , she told herself firmly. Just because he had shown himself to have a little decency did not mean she would let the Dowager Duchess win. She was not going to give in at the first word of kindness from the Duke.

In the back of her mind, she heard her grandmother's voice, scolding her for thinking of her marriage as a competition to be won or lost. And yes, some distant part of her could see the foolishness of it. But right now, it was all she had to cling to.

Nevertheless, as she rang for her maid to help her dress for dinner, she found she was not quite dreading the meal as much as she had in the past. Perhaps there was even a small part of herself that was looking forward to it.