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Chapter Nineteen

W yatt supposed she was right. No doubt the ton would relish seeing the two of them together in public. Tongues would be set wagging that would not be silenced for weeks. But there was hardly anything indecent about taking his wife to the theater.

Does she intend for us to hide away at home for the rest of our lives?

Surely allowing themselves to be seen in public was the way forward.

There would initially be gossip, he had no doubt.

But it would eventually die down, just like it always did.

Nonetheless, he understood Gemma's reluctance.

But he could not deny it frustrated him.

In fact, there were many things about his wife that frustrated him. Many things he struggled to understand.

Such as that look of hurt in her eyes when he had apologized for not returning to her bedchamber last night. What was he to make of it when her words said one thing, but her expression said something completely different?

Hell, it had been so much easier when his dealings with women had involved crawling into their bed at midnight and then leaving before sunrise.

But none of those encounters had ever brought him as much satisfaction—and as much pleasure—as his night with Gemma had.

He was overthinking things, surely. The thing to be taken from all this was that Gemma had finally allowed him into her bed, and now there was a chance she might carry his child. The chance that he might not die without an heir after all, as he had come to fear would be the case.

But was last night just a one-time event for her? Despite the passion that had engulfed her while she was in his arms, the moment they had finished, her cold exterior had fallen back into place. The walls he had spent all week chipping away at had so quickly been rebuilt.

Wyatt knew the chances of her finding herself with child after just a single night with him were slim. Would she be willing to accept her wifely duties on a regular basis?

Wifely duties… He hated how formal it sounded.

And there had been nothing dutiful in the slightest about what he and Gemma had shared last night.

Nonetheless, he had to remember that securing an heir was the most important thing, he reminded himself.

After all, it was the only reason he had agreed to marry in the first place—albeit to Henrietta Henford.

Securing an heir was what he had to focus on.

And what he had to get Gemma to agree to. Somehow.

Wyatt let himself into his office and sank into his high-backed leather desk chair. His account books were piled up on the table, ready for his inspection today, but his mind was racing too quickly to focus on sums right now.

The consummation of their marriage presented no small opportunity. Wyatt needed an heir from Gemma, and he needed one soon. After all, his father had passed away when he was just a few years older than Wyatt was now. There was every chance he might succumb to the same early death.

But Wyatt was acutely aware of how much Gemma did not want to be considered as merely a means of securing her husband a child.

“Why should I wish to spend my life as nothing but a means for a gentleman to produce an heir? Am I not worth more than that?”

And yes, he acknowledged, she was worth more than that.

Somehow, he would see to it that Gemma gave him what he wanted—needed.

But he would also make sure she got everything she desired in return.

Wyatt drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk, thoughts churning.

He was certain the accounts were going to be utterly ignored today.

When Gemma stepped into the dining room that evening, she stopped in surprise to see just two places set at the table. A tall candelabra sat in the middle of the table, casting a gentle glow across the room.

“Where are your mother and grandmother?” she asked, hovering in the doorway.

She had dressed up a little for dinner, he noticed, having discarded the mud-colored dress for a soft pink gown.

With a pang, Wyatt realized she had been wearing the very same dress the morning they had woken up in bed together.

Was she unaware of it? Or was she trying to tempt him?

If she was, it was working. He took a sip of wine and forced himself to focus.

“I've requested that they dine upstairs tonight,” he told Gemma.

“I thought you and I would benefit from some time alone together.” She looked uncertain, still standing in the doorway.

Wyatt gestured to the chair opposite his. “Please.”

Finally, she stepped inside the dining room. One of the servants, who had been patiently waiting for her to enter, pulled back Gemma's chair, allowing her to sit. Another filled her glass with red wine.

Gemma took a tiny sip, then looked up at him with her wide blue eyes. Eyes, Wyatt noted, that held not a small amount of suspicion.

I suppose I deserve that. Given I broke my promise about not going out less than a day after making it… For not the first time, he cursed Jonah Anderson’s name.

“What is it you would like to speak of?” Gemma asked finally. “Wyatt?”

Well, that was something. At least she hadn't reverted to her old formality.

Wyatt nodded his thanks to the footmen as they slipped silently into the room and deposited a plate of venison pastries in front of each of them. Wyatt sipped his wine, waiting for the servants to disappear before beginning to speak.

“I need an heir,” he said, cursing himself for his bluntness.

A smile quirked on Gemma's lips. “I thought we addressed that matter last night.”

Wyatt returned her smile. “Well, yes.” It boded well that she was willing to speak of their night together—and with a smile on her face at that. It suggested she did not regret it, as he had feared. “But of course?—”

“There is little chance of me finding myself with a child after just one night with you,” Gemma finished. She took a hurried mouthful of wine, as though to steady herself.

Wyatt swallowed. “Indeed.”

For several moments, Gemma was silent. She picked up her knife and fork and cut into the pastry, without bringing it to her mouth.

Wyatt wondered what she was thinking. Had she ever considered becoming a mother before?

He knew well that her plans for life had not involved a husband or children.

How must it feel to have had her existence so abruptly overturned?

Nonetheless, here they were. He needed an heir from Gemma.

It was a non-negotiable thing. But he was determined to make things as easy for her as possible.

Wyatt turned the stem of his wine glass, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

This was to be a delicate conversation, for certain, and it would do him no good to go crashing headlong into the matter as he seemed to be doing so far.

“With the goal of securing an heir in mind, I have a proposal to make,” he began. His words came out sounding far more businesslike than he had intended. But then again, he supposed that was for the best. No doubt such an approach would appeal to the level-headed Gemma.

“A proposal?” she repeated.

“Yes.” He folded his hands in front of him on the table. “I know you never wished to marry or to be tied down to a husband and family.” Gemma gripped her wine glass, her lips parted slightly, as though she had no thought of where this was headed. “So I am willing to give you that.”

She laughed incredulously. “And how exactly do you plan to do that? The thing is done. I am already your wife, in case you had forgotten.”

Wyatt ignored her sudden sharpness. “Yes. But once you provide me with a son, I will give you back the freedom you desire.” Wyatt glanced down at his food but made no move to pick up his cutlery.

“As you may know, my family has a sizeable estate in Devon. It can be yours if you wish it. And you will have the freedom to read or learn or travel, or whatever it is you wish to do with your time. I will see to it that your lifestyle is well funded.”

Gemma was staring at him, slightly wide-eyed. “Devon,” she repeated.

“Yes. Or if that is not to your liking?—”

“Devon is perfectly to my liking,” she said abruptly.

Wyatt swallowed. “Good.” Why does this feel anything but good?

For long moments, Gemma didn't speak. She picked her napkin up off her lap and began to fold it into miniscule triangles.

“And once I have been removed to Devon,” she said crisply, “what exactly are you proposing might be my relationship with my son? And any daughters we might produce while attempting to give you an heir?”

The chill in her voice made the muscles in Wyatt's neck tighten, but he pressed on.

He had spent long hours thinking through this proposal; trying to come to arrangement that would both secure him the heir he needed, and give Gemma the freedom she desired.

He had imagined she might be a little more open to the proposal. Grateful, even.

“Your relationship with our children will be entirely determined by you,” he said, attempting what he hoped was a genial smile. “I would never seek to keep you from them.”

Gemma gave a faint nod. She picked up her knife and fork again and sliced another sliver off her pastry.

“Well,” she said brusquely, “that sounds like a perfectly suitable arrangement, Your Grace. You have obviously thought this through very carefully.” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin, then placed it carefully beside her plate.

“You may visit my bedchamber tonight as you see fit.”