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Jonah was clearly hiding something. And Wyatt could not quite find the will to care.

These caddish antics, these nights in bed with married ladies, these small fortunes won and lost at the Whist tables, they felt like something from his old life.

Something he had left behind—or at least, was trying to.

“Well. If you're not going to tell me anything more…” He stood up and began to head for the cloakroom. “I am leaving,” he announced. “I?—”

“Already? We just got here.” The look of consternation vanished from Jonah's face almost as quickly as it had appeared. In its place was his customary mischievous grin. “We can't leave without a round or two at the Whist tables, old man.”

“No,” said Wyatt. I can't. I?—”

Jonah put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the narrow staircase that led up to the gaming rooms. A sudden burst of laughter floated down from upstairs.

“Yes, yes, yes, you promised your wife, and she's giving you nothing in return. So I really think you deserve just a little fun.” He clapped him on the back.

“Come on, Larsen. I'll have you home in plenty of time for you to stare longingly at Lady Highbrow's locked bedroom door.”

Wyatt sighed. “Fine. One game. But that's it,” he said, wondering why he found it so damn hard to turn Jonah Anderson down. Maybe Gemma was right. Maybe a habit was a hard thing to break.

Gemma had had just about enough of these sleepless nights. Just about enough of lying beneath the sheets and thinking of her husband in his bed at the other end of the house—or wherever in hell he happened to be tonight.

In spite of the physical longing, his absence from the house was a firm reminder that she was doing the right thing by keeping her distance from him. A firm reminder that men like him only led to heartbreak and broken promises.

But none of those thoughts were helping her sleeplessness.

Gemma threw back the bedclothes in a sudden burst of rebellion.

That's it. I am doing it.

She was going to creep downstairs to the library, and she was going to sneak Captain Midnight from the top shelf and bring it back up here to her bedchamber.

If fate had deigned to give her a chaste and loveless life, she could at least live vicariously through the heroines within those pages.

Perhaps in books, she could at least discover exactly what she was missing out on.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed her robe from the chair beside the bed and slipped it on over her nightshift.

She poked a head out into the passage, relieved to see no lights peeking out beneath bedroom doors.

Taking the lamp from her bedside table, she tiptoed downstairs on silent feet.

Slowly, carefully, she turned the door handle of the library and stepped inside.

She set the lamp on the table in the center of the room and looked about her in wonder.

In the half-light, the library felt almost otherworldly, with its un-curtained windows looking out over the dark garden, and acres of bookshelves reaching skyward.

Gemma's eyes drifted upward to the highest shelf, pulled toward the forbidden book like a compass toward the north.

She crept across the room and took the step ladder from the corner. Carried it to the shelf and climbed up carefully. Still, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the book, and she found herself holding her breath. Fear of falling, or fear of being caught, she could hardly tell.

Just as her fingertips grasped the spine, she froze. A sound in the hallway. Footsteps coming toward her. She released her grip on the book and whirled around. But before she could climb from the step ladder, the door opened, revealing her husband.

Gemma felt a jolt in her chest but forced the feeling away quickly.

“Oh.” He looked surprised to see her. “It's you. I thought someone had left a lamp alight.” He took a step toward her, looking at up her from her perch at the top of the step ladder. “I am glad you're here. I wish to apologize. For going out tonight. I should not have done it.”

Gemma snorted. “I see your promise is worth about as much as my father's,” she said icily. “Worth about as much as most men's.” But as she spoke, she felt her anger dying away a little. A genuine apology was more than she had ever gotten out of her father.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I truly am. Lord Anderson begged me to go with him. He said he had something very important to discuss.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “And?”

He shook his head. “And I should not have gone.” He lowered his glance momentarily.

“It does seem as though you were right. A habit is a difficult thing to break.” He looked back up at her.

“In any case, I wanted you to know that I did not… Well…” He swallowed visibly.

“The night entailed nothing more than a drink or two and a few rounds at the Whist tables. Nothing more. There were certainly no…”

“Ladies?” Gemma finished.

The Duke cleared his throat. “Indeed.”

Gemma hummed, doing her best to maintain a nonchalant expression, despite the relief that washed through her. “Well. Either way, it is of no consequence. Do as you wish. I don't care.”

She turned to climb down the step ladder, but just as her feet hit the floor, a book toppled from the shelf, landing with a dull thud at the Duke's feet.

Dread flooded Gemma's body. Because it was not just any book, of course. It was the book she had been attempting to dislodge when her husband had burst into the room. The book she absolutely, positively could never let anyone know she wanted.

Captain Midnight.