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Chapter Twenty-Three

G emma's new gowns had arrived just in time.

At least if things were going to be a disaster tonight, she would look good in the process.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room while Ivy buttoned her into a fine silk gown of the palest blue.

Tiny jewels shimmered at the neckline, matching those that glittered amongst her curled brown hair.

Gemma stared at her reflection, hardly daring to believe what she saw.

She barely recognized herself in the lady looking back at her.

Never in her life had she worn jewels at her neckline and glittering combs in her hair.

Never before had she worn a gown of silk so fine it felt as if it would disintegrate the moment it was touched.

Even if Gemma had wanted to dress in such a way, her father's finances had never allowed it.

Most of her old clothes were cheap ready-to-wear pieces, and she had made her debut in an old-fashioned gown once belonging to her grandmother.

But now, for the first time since she had become Wyatt's wife, she almost looked befitting of the role of duchess.

Almost. Because despite the fine gown and the elaborate hairstyle, and the makeup Ivy had spent an eternity perfecting, Gemma could see the fear and dread in her eyes.

“May I speak openly, Your Grace?” Ivy spoke up as she fastened the last of her buttons.

“Yes, of course.”

The girl peeked out from behind Gemma and offered her a smile in the mirror. “You look exceptionally beautiful tonight. But you would look even more so if you smiled a little.”

Gemma sighed. Ivy was right, of course. What kind of hostess would she be if she sulked her way through the whole event like this? She would look as though she were unhappy to be the Duke of Larsen's wife, that's what.

“I am afraid I do not feel much like smiling, Ivy,” she admitted. “I am far too anxious.”

Ivy gave her sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry to hear it, Your Grace. But I know you will do just fine. After all, it's only one night.”

She is right; it is only one night. No matter what happens, I can get through it.

No matter what the Henfords, or the Duchess, or her father, or the gossiping ton threw at her, she would survive it, just as she had survived everything else that had been thrown at her so far.

And afterwards, perhaps she could show her husband the new nightgown that had arrived with the dresses…

She looked down, lest Ivy caught the flush that suddenly colored her cheeks. Then she drew in a breath and straightened, forcing herself to meet her own eyes in the mirror.

You can do this.

“All right, ma'am,” said her maid. “You're ready.” She flashed her a smile. “Do try and enjoy yourself.”

Gemma drew in a breath. “Thank you for everything, Ivy. I am going to go and find my husband.”

Finding Wyatt was not difficult. The moment Gemma stepped out of her bedchamber, she caught sight of him making his way toward her wing of the house. At the sight of her, he stopped in his tracks.

“Gemma. You look…” He swallowed visibly. Then he made his way toward her and took her hand. “Breath-taking.”

Gemma felt a smile on the edge of her lips.

No one had ever called her breath-taking before.

“As do you,” she said. Wyatt was dressed in a simple black suit and crisp white shirt, the cobalt cravat at his throat making his eyes look intensely blue.

Sometimes, like right now, Gemma caught a glimpse of him and could not believe he was her husband.

How had she managed to secure a man as fine as this?

Through scandal and drunkenness, whispered the voice in the back of her head. Gemma willed it to stay quiet.

“Are you ready to go downstairs?” she asked, forcing a steadiness into her voice she did not really feel. “The guests will be arriving shortly.”

Wyatt squeezed her fingers. “In a moment. I… I just want you to myself for a moment.” He pulled her close and pressed his lips into her neck. “Gemma. How am I going to keep my hands off you all night?”

A sudden swell of desire pulsed between her legs.

“Who says you have to do that?” The words fell out without her having any knowledge of it.

The moment they were out, she could not believe she had said something so wanton.

But when Wyatt looked up at her with a faint smile on his lips, his eyes were filled with such desire and affection that she could not bring herself to regret it.

Desire and affection—or love? Despite her best intentions, Gemma had been unable to push aside the Dowager Duchess's proclamation that Wyatt was in love with her. To even consider such a thing felt foolish… but that look in his eyes… Could she truly have misread it so completely?

“Your lady's maid,” Wyatt said, slightly breathless, “is she still in your rooms?”

“Yes. She is tidying my things.” And before she could make sense of what was happening, he was tugging her down the hallway toward his quarters. Without releasing his grip on her hand, he shouldered open the door to his bedchamber and tugged her inside, locking the door behind them.

In one swift motion, he turned her so her back was pressed against the door.

In spite of all Wyatt's nightly visits to her, Gemma had never once set foot into his bedchamber.

She had always assumed such a thing to be a point of control for him; if he was the one to visit her, he could leave when he wished, without having to make such a request of her.

Now she was inside, Gemma let her gaze roam freely around the room, with its dark wood four-poster bed, and embroidered chaise longue beneath the window.

Beyond the glass stretched the same expansive view of the garden Gemma had from her own quarters.

The entire space was filled with her husband's scent and made her desire intensify.

Wyatt sank to his knees, pushing Gemma's dress to her hips, his mouth moving straight to her center. Gemma forced herself to swallow her cry. “Wyatt,” she gasped, “the house is about to fill with people.”

He looked up, grinning devilishly. “You'd best be quiet then.”

With her back pressed hard against the door, and her husband supporting her shaking legs while he pleasured her with his tongue, Gemma was taken back to the first night they had spent together.

The night Wyatt had played at Captain Midnight, and she his helpless captive.

Since then, he had visited her bed on many occasions, but Gemma knew she would never forget that night in the library.

With one hand, Gemma clung hard to Wyatt's shoulder, knowing it would only be seconds before her legs gave way beneath her. Her other hand she pressed hard to her own mouth, not trusting herself to control her moans of desire.

Pleasure crashed over her, weakening her legs.

Before she could catch her breath, Wyatt stood, lifting her into his arms and pinning her against the door.

He entered her hard, and this time Gemma had no hope of controlling the near-scream that he drew from deep inside her.

She buried her head against Wyatt's shoulder, certain there were people in the house who had heard.

“Let them hear,” Wyatt murmured, as though reading her thoughts.

“Let them hear what I do to you. And what you do to me.” Gemma wrapped her arms tight around his shoulders, submitting to the whims of her body as Wyatt thrust into her, harder with each stroke.

When the pleasure peaked a second time, setting every inch of her body alight, Gemma let herself cry out, far too lost in the sensations by now to care who heard her.

Moments later, Wyatt groaned against her neck as he reached his own climax, and for several breathless moments, he just stood with her in his arms, their heavy breaths mingling with each other's. Finally, he lowered Gemma gently to the ground but kept her close, his forehead resting against hers.

“I've never been in your bedchamber before,” Gemma said finally.

Wyatt shifted slightly to look her in the eyes.

He kept his palm pressed firmly to her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline.

“I have lost count of the number of times I have fallen asleep in that bed, wishing you were sharing it with me.” The moment he spoke, he pulled his eyes away from hers, as though he had admitted something he had not intended to.

Gemma's heart began to quicken. “But… when you come to my bed… You always seem in such a hurry to leave…”

Wyatt let out a short laugh. “Believe me, Gemma, it takes a great deal of willpower on my part to get out of your bed each night.”

She stared at him. “Then why…?”

A slight frown crossed his features. “I thought that was what you wanted. You've always been so clear on the fact that you never wanted a husband. And after all I've put you through, I thought the least I could do was give you your own space to sleep at night.”

“And then pack me off to Devon once I've given you your precious son?!” Gemma blurted.

She had no idea where her sudden anger had come from.

Her mind was awash with confusion and frustration.

Wyatt was right—she had never wanted a husband.

She had not been shy about letting him know that.

But now… Now everything was different. And that was more than a little terrifying.

“Pack you off to Devon?” Wyatt repeated, his expression one of utter bewilderment. “I would never pack you off to Devon , Gemma. I thought that was what you wanted. I was just trying to make you happy. You told me?—”