Chapter Three
“ A nderson! Open up or I will break the door down!”
Wyatt pounded on Jonah Anderson’s bedchamber door.
He needed answers. And quickly. He knew it was only a matter of time before his mother found him and demanded an explanation for whatever in hell had gone wrong last night.
Because while he remembered little beyond hazy images of Gemma Caster's face, he felt quite certain that his behavior had been less than gentlemanly.
Ungentlemanly behavior was not something Wyatt usually cared about. But even he could see that acting in such a way at the house of his betrothed's family—and so close to their wedding, nonetheless—was a step too far.
“Who is it?” Through the closed door, Jonah sounded irritated at having been interrupted.
“It's me,” Wyatt hissed. “Open the damn door.”
There was a scrabble of hurried footsteps and Jonah opened the door a crack, poking his head out into the passage. His fair hair was tousled, and Wyatt could see he was without his shirt. “What do you want, Larsen?”
Wyatt tried to peek over his friend's shoulder into the room.
It was unlike Jonah to be so cagey, and Wyatt wondered distantly if he was hiding something.
Or rather, someone. Then he realized that he really could not have cared less if Jonah had Queen Charlotte in his bed.
He had far more pressing concerns right now.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice low. “It's urgent.”
Jonah hesitated, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Just give me a minute to dress. I'll meet you in your room in a moment.”
Wyatt nodded and hurried back down the corridor. The clinking of plates and cutlery told him breakfast was nearly over. Soon his mother would be on his tail, seeking an explanation. And probably an apology.
After what seemed an eternity, Jonah let himself into Wyatt's bedchamber.
“What happened last night?” Wyatt demanded, without preamble. “Between me and Lady Gemma?”
“Oh, that?” Jonah chuckled. “You don't remember?”
“No,” Wyatt said through clenched teeth. “Clearly.”
Jonah laughed again. “Well. The two of you spent most of the evening arguing and challenging one another to a few foolish little games.” He grinned. “Seems you had a little more to drink than I thought.”
“It seems I did.” Wyatt lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “I woke up in Lady Gemma's bed this morning.”
“ What ?” Jonah's gray eyes widened. “You and Lady Highbrow? Did you?—”
“No,” Wyatt snapped. “Of course not.” He began to pace.
“I know I would have remembered that .” There is no way I could have forgotten such a thing.
The fleeting feel of her hand against me is burned into my memory…
“Besides, you know she's the coldest lady in the ton .
Do you really think she would have let me near her, even if I'd wanted to?”
Jonah laughed heartily. “It would have been the scandal of the century.”
Wyatt glared at him. “I am glad you find it so amusing.”
“Come on now, Larsen. You know you bring these things on yourself.”
Wyatt sank into an armchair in the corner of the room.
He knew Jonah was right. Since returning home from Eton, he had developed something of a reputation.
Everyone in the ton knew he was fond of the gambling halls.
Even fonder of having a lady or two in his bed.
But last night, he had had no intention of behaving in such a way.
After turning thirty last month, he had succumbed to pressure from his mother to finally marry.
And he had every intention of seeing the wedding through.
Though he had no strong feelings toward Henrietta Henford—in truth, he barely knew her—he knew she would be a highly suitable and obedient wife.
The kind who would turn a blind eye to his philandering and other misadventures.
In Henrietta, he would have the means to secure the necessary heir, without needing to give up the way of life he loved so much.
Why would he have risked that to go chasing drunkenly after another lady?
Especially one as frosty as Lady Highbrow?
But he knew there was little point trying to explain himself to Jonah. His actions spoke for themselves. Instead, he asked, “How furious was everyone?”
Jonah's smile faded a little, and he took on a look of faint sympathy. “Well. Miss Henford took to her rooms when you and Lady Gemmastood up on the tea table to read out your poetry. She has not come out since.”
Wyatt groaned. Sounds as though I made a right fool of myself last night. He felt dreadful for humiliating his future wife this way, especially so close to their wedding.
He rubbed his eyes and stood reluctantly. “I had best go make my apologies.”
Wyatt was halfway down the sprawling passage on the other side of the manor before he realized he had no idea which of these rooms belonged to his wife-to-be.
But just as he was about to turn on his heel and find someone to ask for directions, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind one of the closed doors.
A familiar voice, yes, but there was nothing familiar about the anger behind it.
“I want all these guests gone !” Miss Henford demanded. “This instant! The last thing I wish to do right now is celebrate my wedding to that degenerate fool!”
Wyatt froze in the hallway. He had never heard his betrothed raise her voice before. In all their albeit limited dealings, Henrietta Henford had been nothing but sweetness and light. He was slightly taken aback—though he knew well enough that he deserved her harshness.
“I have never been so humiliated in my life!” Miss Henford wailed.
“You have nothing to be humiliated about, Henrietta.” Wyatt recognized the voice of one of Miss Henford's friends. “It is her who ought to be embarrassed. That dreadful Lady Gemma.”
“Lady Highbrow.” Miss Henford spat out the name as though it were poison. “Who does she think she is?” Wyatt heard her sharp footsteps clomp back and forth across the room. “It is all the Dowager Duchess's fault,” Henrietta continued. “The mindless old bat.”
Wyatt felt his shoulders tighten at the mention of his grandmother.
“She has no decency left. Dressed up like a peacock and trotting around the place with that filthy rat of a dog. She was the one encouraging Lady Gemma and my husband-to-be last night. Who does she think she is, enabling such behavior from insignificant people like Lady Highbrow?” She snorted.
“If I had my way, the Volks never would have set foot in my house. But the Dowager Duchess insisted on it.”
Wyatt blinked, caught off guard both by this piece of information, and the hateful words flowing from his betrothed's mouth.
He knew his grandmother had pushed the Henfords to invite Lord Volk and his family to the party.
Knew that if Henrietta and her family had had their way, the disgraced Earl and his daughters would never have set foot inside this house.
His grandmother and Lady Gemma's were the best of friends, so her insistence that the Volks attend was to be expected.
But the knowledge that the Dowager Duchess had encouraged their uncouth behavior last night was surprising.
Or perhaps it is not…
Wyatt knew well that his grandmother did not approve of Miss Henford.
Then again, his grandmother approved of few of his mother's decisions.
Since Wyatt's father had died when he was six, the two ladies had battled each other for control of his upbringing.
He had memories of them arguing over everything from bedtime to schools, to what he would eat for dinner.
Wyatt had been under their thrall until escaping to Eton at the age of ten-and-two.
These days, though he was determined to make his own life, the ongoing war between the Duchess and the Dowager Duchess showed no signs of abating.
Had his grandmother enjoyed his drunken antics last night because she had known they would upset Miss Henford? Perhaps cause her to question whether she was marrying the right man?
“Just you wait until I am Duchess of Larsen,” Henrietta said darkly. “I'll see to it that the Dowager Duchess is out of the house. And the Duke's mother too. I shall have full control of Larsen Manor. And those two meddling witches will be out of our lives.”
Wyatt's stomach turned over. He had always known Henrietta Henford was ambitious—she and her family had made it known that they would settle for nothing less than a duke as her husband. But he had no idea her determination went this far. And that it had such a cruel and poisonous streak.
“Come on now,” her friend said gently. “You do not mean any of that. You are just angry.”
“I mean every word of it,” Miss Henford hissed.
And with a heaviness in his chest, Wyatt realized he believed her.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4 (Reading here)
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
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- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
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- Page 38
- Page 39
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- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57