Chapter Twenty-One

T he moment she returned home from her shopping expedition, Gemma went in search of her husband. Fielding, the butler, directed her toward Wyatt's office, and she found herself knocking tentatively on the door. She realized her heart was racing.

“Come in,” he called.

Gemma stepped inside and saw Wyatt's face break into a smile at the sight of her. “Gemma. You're home.” He stood up from his desk chair and made his way toward her.

Gemma clasped her hands nervously in front of her.

All the way home from Bond Street, she had been unable to stop thinking about Wyatt's generosity.

Surely having the Earl of Volk as a father-in-law was a source of shame for him, and yet he was going out of his way to ensure Gemma's family were as safe and secure as possible.

And the warmth she felt toward her husband at this realization was more than a little frightening.

What would he do if she admitted she had begun to grow feelings for him?

The cold, rational part of her mind told her she would be rebuffed; reminded that Wyatt planned to send her away once she had provided him with a son.

But that irrational part of her brain—the part that seemed to be in control more often than not these days—was churning through his kind words, his fiery kisses, and the passion shared between them when he visited her bed.

Was it possible that he felt the same? Or was she just being foolish?

Of course you are being foolish. You know he only ever wanted to marry so he could secure an heir. He told you as much from his own lips.

And then Gemma reminded herself that she had never wanted to marry either. And she had to admit that it had not turned out quite as horribly as she had once believed it might.

“I am sorry to interrupt your work,” she said.

“Don't apologize. I am pleased to see you.” Wyatt came toward her, his large hand cupping her elbow. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon? How is your sister?” His fingers moved absentmindedly against her arm.

Gemma let out a breath. “I had an… interesting afternoon.”

Wyatt raised his eyebrows.

“Veronica tells me you have been giving my family money.”

Wyatt faltered, a look of uncertainty passing over his features. “I have, yes. I… I am sorry if that was?—”

Impulsively, Gemma threw her arms around him.

“Thank you,” she gushed. “Thank you so much.” For a moment, Wyatt was caught off guard, then his arms slid around her waist, pulling her close.

His lips found the bare skin at the base of her neck.

Gemma let herself sink against him. She realized how achingly secure she felt in his arms. As though all the hurtful words she had heard that day no longer had the power to reach her.

“I am sorry I did not tell you,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. “I did want you to think I saw your family as charity or anything like that. The last thing I wished to do was shame you.”

Gemma pulled back, suddenly embarrassed by her impulsive show of affection. Unable to relinquish her hold on him entirely, she kept her hands in his. “I know. And I am so grateful. Veronica says Father has been getting worse. They say he got into a fight at White's. I don't know what?—”

The door flew open suddenly and the Duchess stormed into the room.

Wyatt released Gemma's hands. “Mother. Gemma and I were speaking.” His voice was crisp and cold. “I'll thank you not to come charging in here like?—”

“I don't care what the two of you were doing.” Gemma realized her mother-in-law was brandishing something in her hand—a newspaper of sorts. She charged up to them and waved it in Wyatt's face. “Just look at this. Look at it!” Her voice rose to an alarmingly high pitch.

Wyatt took the paper. A gossip sheet, Gemma realized sickly. She dared a glance at the Duchess, but the woman's gaze was so fierce that she turned away at once.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “The gossip pages, Mother? Do you not have more class than that?”

His mother jabbed a long finger against the paper, ignoring her son's jibe. “Just look at this,” she demanded again. “Look at what your wife has been doing.”

Gemma's stomach roiled. Her name was in the gossip pages? How was that possible? She had barely left Larsen Manor since she had arrived.

Wyatt scanned the page, his dark brows knitting in a deep frown. “Gemma. This says you have been caught having an affair.”

Gemma's eyes widened. “An affair?” Her throat was suddenly dry, and she could barely get the words out. “But I?—”

“Can you truly claim to be surprised?” hissed his mother.

“You know the kind of family she comes from. I told you not to marry her! I always knew she would be nothing but trouble!” She turned her blazing eyes on Gemma.

“You are just determined to ruin our good name, aren't you? Is it not enough that your own family is an utter disgrace to high society? You will not be happy until the lot of us are begging on the street!” She shook her head furiously, pacing back and forth across the room.

She whacked at the page again as she passed Wyatt.

“This never would have happened if you had married Miss Henford.”

Gemma felt tears welling behind her eyes. “This is a lie,” she managed. “I swear it. I never… I would never…” She drew in her breath, forcing herself to regain the composure on which she prided herself. “You know this is not true. I have hardly left Larsen Manor in a fortnight.”

“So you claim,” his mother snapped. “But according to this report, numerous people saw you climbing into a carriage alone with an unidentified man in Covent Garden on Tuesday night.” Her eyes narrowed. “Outside the Theatre Royal.”

Gemma's stomach churned. The Theatre Royal? The very place Wyatt had asked to take her, and she had declined…

Wyatt's glance darted between Gemma and his mother.

What would he do now, Gemma wondered sickly?

If she were thrown out of Larsen in disgrace, the ruin of her family would be complete.

They may as well pack up and disappear from London for good.

Veronica and Jane would never marry, and her father would?—

“Of course, I know this is not true.” Wyatt screwed up the page angrily and flung it into the unlit grate. “How dare you even suggest such things, Mother?”

The door flew open again and the Dowager Duchess strode into the room. She was in her stockinged feet and a garishly patterned purple robe, her gray hair in a messy cloud around her face. “What on earth is going on in here?” she demanded. “Some of us are trying to have a nap.”

“The Duchess has been caught having an affair,” Gemma's mother-in-law hissed, spitting the word out as though it were poison.

The Dowager Duchess snorted. “Oh please. An affair. I've never heard such rubbish in my life. Where in Heaven's name did you hear such a thing?”

His mother's cheeks were close to turning purple. “It was reported by the newspapers.”

“Rubbish,” Wyatt snapped. “It was reported in the gossip pages, Mother. I thought you would have the sense to know the difference.”

“Hardly,” the Dowager Duchess snorted before Wyatt shot her a warning look and she fell silent.

Wyatt's voice began to rise. “Gemma would never lower herself to such levels. She is a far better person than that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mother.”

His mother opened her mouth to speak, then fell silent, but she gathered herself quickly. “Do you not think you ought to at least make inquiries?” A little of the brassiness was gone from her voice.

“Make inquiries,” the Dowager Duchess repeated with a laugh. “Oh Martha, could you be more ridiculous? You really have outdone yourself this time.”

Wyatt made a sudden grab for Gemma's hand and tugged her with him out of the room.

Not releasing his grip on her fingers, he led her downstairs and into the safety of the parlor.

He sank back against the closed door. “Good Lord,” he said.

“Sometimes I have no thought of what I am to do with the two of them.”

Gemma smiled faintly. Wyatt stepped close and pressed his warm palm to her cheek. “I am so sorry.”

Gemma felt her tears threatening again—this time for a completely different reason. She blinked, two tears escaping down her cheeks. She let them fall unhindered onto her collar. “You believed me.”

Gemma knew that, a few weeks ago, if such a thing had happened, she would have gone flying out into the night on a desperate rampage to find whoever was spreading such lies about her.

And while yes, she hated the thought of being the subject of such sordid gossip, it paled in significance to the fact that Wyatt had believed her without question.

“Of course, I believed you,” he said, brushing her tears away with his thumb. “I know you. You would never do something like that. You have far too much decency.”

I know you . How had they reached this place? This place of knowing each other. Trusting each other…

A few weeks ago, when she had awoken to find Wyatt in her bed, the thought of them trusting one another had seemed completely unfathomable.

As would the prospect of these feelings that now arose at the sight of him.

Yes, Gemma had to admit her heart had always beat a little faster in his presence, but she had always assumed it was little more than a physical attraction.

Though she knew it was dangerous to admit such things, even to herself, she could no longer deny that things had gone much further than that.

Impulsively, Gemma pulled Wyatt toward her and pressed her lips into his. Warmth blossomed in her chest as she pulled him close. Was this what it felt like to be in love?