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Chapter Sixteen

“ I t seems your husband will not be joining us tonight.” Did Gemma detect a hint of a smile on the Dowager Duchess's lips? In any case, her tone of voice suggested she had enjoyed delivering the news.

Gemma forced herself to keep her voice level, despite the way her heart was crashing with disappointment.

“Is that so?” Anger began to gather inside her.

The Duke had been the one to approach her today; the one to suggest they might become friends.

And at their first meal since, he had decided not to show himself?

Without bothering to notify her of his absence?

I do not know why I am surprised.

Gemma had learned well enough who Wyatt Felps was.

Her two days with him at the Henfords' party had taught her more about him than she ever wished to know.

He could smooth-talk her as much as he wished, but she knew that men like him were not to be trusted.

Her father had taught her that. Time and time again.

Nonetheless, she was determined not to let the Dowager Duchess sense her irritation. She forced a demure smile. “Very well,” she said shortly. “I am sure he will have a pleasant evening.”

The Dowager Duchess reached over and patted Gemma's wrist. “Not to worry, my dear. I am sure wherever your husband has gone, it must be important.”

In spite of herself, Gemma's mind began to race.

Was it truly something important? Or had he just succumbed to habit and gone seeking a night of freedom at the gambling halls—or worse?

Was he seeking release in another woman's bed?

Seeking the pleasure she was denying him?

Why did the thought of that make her feel so wretched?

The decision not to consummate their marriage had been hers alone.

She took a hurried sip of wine, willing the alcohol to slow her somersaulting thoughts. Willing it to dull the inexplicable ache in her chest.

“Important,” the Dowager Duchess repeated with a shake of her head. She sliced rather aggressively into her roast beef. “Indeed. It seems it is always of great importance when Lord Anderson is involved.”

Gemma's heart sank. If the Duke had gone out with Baron Anderson, it was all but an assurance that he was out in his cups. And it was more than likely that there were other women involved.

She took a hurried mouthful so she could not be expected to speak. And she cursed herself silently.

You know men like him never change. How could you be so foolish as to think otherwise?

“Well?” said Wyatt. He and Jonah sank into the lush blue velvet armchairs in the corner of the White's bar.

The place was beginning to get busy, filled with well-dressed gentlemen, and the dull hum of chatter and laughter.

A fug of cigar smoke thickened the air. Wyatt let out a cough.

“What is so important that you had to drag me all the way out here?”

Jonah sipped his brandy. “We shall get to that. But first things first. Tell me all about you and Lady Highbrow.”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes slightly but decided he didn't have the energy to berate Jonah for his latest dig at Gemma. “Truly,” he said, “there's little to tell.” He brought his glass to his lips and felt the liquor slide smooth and warm down his throat.

“What do you mean, little to tell?” Jonah demanded.

Wyatt sighed, raking a hand through his thick black hair. “You know what she's like. She's the coldest woman in the ton . Won't let a soul near her. Not even her husband.”

Jonah raised his eyebrows. “You mean you've not…”

“Ravished her?” Wyatt repeated wryly. “No. I have not.”

“Not once?”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Jonah leaned back in his chair, studying his friend with a critical eye.

“So let me get this straight,” he began.

“You have promised your wife there will be no more drinking, no more gambling, and no more women. But she is also not allowing you into her bed.” He shook his head.

“What kind of cursed life is that, old man?”

Wyatt groaned. It did sound utterly dire when he put it like that.

“Why did you do it?” Jonah asked, crossing one leg over the other. “Why make such a promise? You told me again and again that nothing would change after you married Miss Henford.”

Wyatt did not respond straight away. Primarily because he did not know the answer. It was true—he had had no intention of ending his philandering ways once he married Henrietta. But with Gemma… Somehow, things felt different. But he could not quite make sense of why.

Gemma was different. Different to Henrietta; different to all the other ladies he had met in the ton .

She was intelligent, sharp-witted, and feisty.

She cared fiercely about her family and wanted more from her life than just to find a husband with a lofty title.

And yes, she was infuriatingly stubborn and strong-willed.

But somehow that only drew her to him even more.

“I suppose I want to please her,” he said, sounding as uncertain as he felt.

Jonah let out a snort of laughter. “Quite a challenge to do that from outside her bedroom door.”

Wyatt smiled wryly. “Indeed.”

“What a terrible bloody mess,” said Jonah. “You used to tell me you wanted a big family. Children running all about the place. And now what? You have a wife in name only? You're never to be a father?”

Wyatt took another hurried sip of brandy.

It was true, he had always wished for a large family.

Sons and daughters he could play with in the extensive gardens of Larsen Manor.

Children he could read to, teach the ways of the world, watch grow into their own people…

He had always just assumed that one day that vision would come to fruition.

But now it felt almost unreachable. “Well,” he said, “it's like I said earlier.

I suppose sometimes things don't turn out the way we plan them.”

Jonah reached over to clap him on the shoulder.

“Hell, I am sorry, Larsen.” A faint glimmer appeared in his eye.

“But I really think you ought to reassess that promise you made.

You can't be expected to live like a monk, after all.

You're a young and handsome man—” he grinned “—relatively speaking. And it sounds as though you have little hope of squeezing an heir out of Lady Highbrow. After all, you managed to get in her bed once before, and not a single thing came of it. Sounds like a lost cause to me.”

Wyatt said nothing. He had managed to get into Gemma's bed once before—through circumstances that were still an utter mystery.

Not only that, he had succeeded in seducing her in the Henfords' music room the very next night.

Gemma could put up a facade of cold indifference all she wanted, but Wyatt remembered the way she had sunk into his arms. The way her body had pressed longingly against his.

The way she had groaned and sighed and pleaded for more.

Perhaps all is not lost after all.

Perhaps he just had to take a chance. Tease her a little. Remind her of what she was missing. Remind her of what her body longed for.

“And Miss Henford?” Jonah asked curiously. “Have you spoken with her?”

Wyatt let out an incredulous laugh. “Spoken with her? I rather think she might skin me alive if I dared show my face at her house, don't you think?”

Jonah hummed. “You're probably right. So, what? You will never see her again?”

Wyatt sighed. He knew an apology to Miss Henford was long overdue. But he also knew there was absolutely no way her family would let him through the front door—let alone get out a word of apology.

Nonetheless, he knew there was little chance he could escape this whole sorry debacle without ever seeing her again.

There would be invitations to balls, to soirees, to garden parties…

At least once the chatter over his scandalous marriage settled down.

Refusing to attend such events out of fear of seeing Henrietta would only stoke the gossip he was sure the ton was currently thriving off.

With any luck, the scheming Henrietta would soon find another eligible nobleman to marry, and they never need deal with each other again.

He emptied his glass and waved to the barman for another. “Enough about me,” he said firmly. “I want to know what this business of yours is that has you so worked up.”

“Ah,” said Jonah, suddenly glum. “That.”

Wyatt leaned forward. “Yes. That. Spill it, Anderson. I've waited long enough.”

Jonah scrubbed a hand across his shaven jaw and looked across the bar. “Well. The thing is that I…”

Wyatt nodded his thanks to the barman as a second glass of whisky appeared on the small table between their armchairs. “You what?”

Jonah's face took on a faraway expression, and he feigned immense interest in the brandy dregs at the bottom of his glass. “I've done something foolish,” he said finally. “I've taken up with a lady I should not have.”

“Oh?” Though Wyatt was faintly interested in his friend's latest antics, he could not deny this felt like something of an anticlimax.

Taking up with ladies he shouldn't have was Jonah Anderson’s favorite pastime.

“Who is it?” he pressed. “And why should you not have done it?” He was suddenly very desperate for Jonah to spit it out so he could hurry home and have another try at thawing out Gemma.

Jonah stood up suddenly and began to pace back and forth across their corner of the bar. Wyatt frowned. He had never seen his friend this anxious. “Anderson? What is it? Or rather, who is it?”

“I can't say,” he blurted. “But she is a married lady.”

“A married lady?” Wyatt repeated. “That's it?” He had lost count of how many times the two of them had taken up with married ladies. Certainly, neither of them had ever had such a crisis of conscience that it warranted a confession such as this one.