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Chapter Twenty

G emma could not make sense of why she felt so hollow or make any sense of the ache in her chest. She had meant what she had said at dinner: Wyatt had clearly thought this proposal through carefully.

And yes, she could see that it ought to make her happy.

After all, Wyatt had heard from her own lips how averse she was to marriage.

And here he was providing her with a way out; offering her the life of freedom she had desired for so long. Surely it was the perfect arrangement.

Good Lord, am I crying ? What is wrong with me?

Gemma wiped her tears away hurriedly and pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. She knew Wyatt would appear at her door soon, and there was no way in heaven's name she was going to let him see her tears.

She lay on her back, staring up at the canopy.

In light of Wyatt's proposal, even the thought of him sharing her bed—which last night had made her utterly helpless with desire—felt cold and businesslike.

Of course, with the cold clarity of hindsight, she could see he had only behaved the way he had last night in an attempt to woo her; an attempt to secure the heir he so desperately needed.

But she could not deny that, in the flickering lamplight of the library, his advances had felt like so much more.

But you do not want more !

She wanted a life free of husband. A life of freedom. Of being her own person, and answering to nobody, least of all the expectations of the ton . She wanted everything Wyatt was offering.

Don't I?

Of course she did. Of course, of course, of course.

So why did the thought of Wyatt packing her off to Devon sting so much?

The gentle knock at the door made Gemma stiffen.

That morning, when she had awoken with her body still alight from her night with Wyatt, she had found herself looking forward to that evening.

Looking forward to the prospect of what it might entail.

But now she felt like a nothing more than a means to an end.

The vessel that would give the Duke of Larsen his precious heir.

Was this what her life would be like now? Lying on her back and submitting to her husband until she gave him the son he needed? Gemma sighed. How could she be surprised? As the eldest daughter of an Earl, that had always been her lot. She had just been too stubborn to see it.

“Come in,” she murmured, well aware of how flat her voice sounded.

Wyatt opened the door quietly and stepped inside, a single candle in his hand.

The flickering light in front of his face accentuated his sharp jaw, with its faint hint of dark stubble.

He set it down on the bedside table, shrugging off his boots and waistcoat.

Then he slipped onto the bed beside her.

Good to see he is wasting no time…

“Good evening,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

In spite of her anger, the feel of his fingers grazing her skin brought Gemma's body to life, and suddenly, her anger at him began to fade. Not that she had any intention of letting him see that.

“Good evening,” she ground out.

His fingers traced her cheeks, a faint frown darkening his features. “Is everything all right?” he asked gently. “You seem bothered.”

Gemma gave him a syrupy smile. “Why should I be bothered?”

Wyatt faltered. “I can… leave if you wish…” He shifted on the bed, and Gemma realized she very desperately did not want him to leave.

“No,” she murmured, grabbing tightly to his upper arm. “There's no need for that. After all, we have an arrangement. Do we not?”

Wyatt hesitated for a moment, his nose inches from hers.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice husky.

“Indeed, we do.” He bent forward, capturing Gemma's lips with his own.

And at once she felt herself submit to him, her body melting beneath his.

She felt herself pulling him close, desperate for him to deepen the kiss.

How was it possible he might have such vast control over her body, in spite of what her mind wanted?

In one smooth movement, Wyatt tugged his shirt up over his head, and Gemma found her hands working over his chest and shoulders, her fingertips toying gently with the sparse curls of hair.

She heard her husband gasp, and a rush of satisfaction went through her at her ability to elicit such a sensation from him.

Wyatt tugged her nightshift up over her head and began to trail kisses across her collarbone and down toward her breasts. “No Captain Midnight tonight,” he said, and Gemma could feel his smile against her bare skin. “I am afraid this time it's just me.”

A laugh escaped her; one that quickly became a moan as Wyatt's tongue found her nipple. “I think that's perfectly acceptable.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Only you could manage such a response.” His broad hand worked his way up Gemma's inner thigh, making her back arch with need.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” she managed, her breath coming hard and fast.

His teeth grazed lightly over her breast. “My fine, upstanding little lady.”

“There is nothing wrong with being fine and upstanding,” Gemma panted. “I?—”

Wyatt slipped a finger inside her, turning her words into an unintelligible mess. She closed her eyes, unmoored by the unfamiliar sensation.

“All right?” he asked, his lips brushing hers.

“Yes,” Gemma managed breathlessly. “Yes… Wyatt…”

He kissed her deeply as his finger began to move inside her, drawing her quickly to that place where her pleasure threatened to overwhelm her.

Time seemed to simultaneously speed up and stand still, and Gemma lost any sense of where she was.

Which way was up? And which way was down?

All she was aware of was the sensations Wyatt was drawing from deep inside her.

All at once, pleasure crashed over her, violent and all-consuming, and she cried out against his lips.

Waves of pleasure washed over her and Gemma clung hard to her husband, as though he might anchor her against the tide of sensations. He withdrew his hand and she heard herself cry out, protesting the loss of him. To her surprise, he sat up in the bed and pulled her on top of him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured. “Really see you. I want you close to me.” He pulled her down gently onto his firm shaft, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Gemma pressed her lips against his neck and let out a long moan.

This time, there was none of the pain she had felt last night; just an intense and inexplicable heat. One she could not get enough of.

On instinct, she began to rock her hips back and forth, and she dug her fingers into Wyatt's broad shoulders.

He tossed his head back and groaned deeply.

And that faint gasp she had drawn from him earlier, Gemma realized, was nothing compared to the pleasure she was so obviously giving him now.

It was a blissful, powerful feeling. She never wanted it to end.

As she rocked back and forth, harder and faster, pleasure began to build in her core again, driven by the knowledge of the way she was making her husband feel.

And before she could make sense of it, she was drowned by another ocean of pleasure.

She clung hard to Wyatt's shoulders, feeling his body shudder as he reached his own release.

For long, breathless moments, they clung to each other, their bodies slick and heated, their chests rising and falling in tandem. Finally, Wyatt shifted slightly beneath her, and Gemma extricated herself from his firm embrace. She slipped back beneath the sheets.

Wyatt climbed off the mattress and reached for his breeches.

He is leaving again.

The knowledge made her ache. Gemma opened her mouth to ask him to stay, but found herself unable to form the words. That was not what this was. Both of them knew well that these visits to her bed, as enjoyable as they were, were about nothing more than business.

This was not about spending the nights lying in each other's arms or repeating the act long into the morning. Never mind that Gemma's body was already tingling, aching for more. Despite the heat emanating from her skin, she pulled the blankets up to her chin, suddenly feeling exposed.

Wyatt slipped his shirt on over his broad shoulders and fastened the button at his throat. Then he leaned over the bed and pressed a long kiss into Gemma's lips.

A sudden rush of emotion overcame her. “Will you—” …stay. Hold me while I fall asleep.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows in question. “Will I, what?” He stood over the bed, his lips inches from hers.

No. She could not do it. She could not let him know she felt this way. How could she admit to such things, when he had already made plans to dispatch her to Devon the moment she had served her purpose?

“Will you make sure you have collected all your clothing from the floor?” she said, sharper than she intended. “I do not want Ivy to know you were in here.”

A faint frown fell over Wyatt's face. “Of course,” he said tautly. “As you wish.” He stood up, without a kiss, and snatched his waistcoat from the floor. He bundled it into his hand and strode toward the door, without looking back. “Goodnight, Gemma.”

Gemma was not sure she had ever been so glad to see her sister. As Veronica climbed into the coach waiting outside Volk House, Gemma pulled her arms around her and held her tightly. “I have missed you so much.”

Veronica smiled, clearly surprised at her sister's uncharacteristic show of affection, then settled into the seat beside her.

“I have missed you too,” she told Gemma, lacing her fingers through her older sister's.

She laughed lightly. “But it has only been a fortnight.

You are acting as though we've not seen each other in years!”

A fortnight? Is that truly all it has been?