Page 41

Chapter Twenty-Six

W hen Gemma returned to the ballroom, the string orchestra was in full swing, the dance floor a chaos of color and movement. The sight seemed to blur in front of her eyes. Her heart was still thumping hard against her ribs, and a headache was beginning to pulse behind her forehead.

She scanned the crowd, desperately seeking her husband. More than anything, she wanted to sink into his arms, and have him tell her everything would be all right.

We will fix this. Everything will be fine. All I have to do is find Wyatt.

She spied him over by the buffet table, a glass of whisky in one hand. She hurried through the crowd towards him with barely a thought for decorum. Wyatt's eyes pulled towards her. He strode out to meet her.

“What has happened?” he murmured. “I've been looking for you. Is it your father? I did not see him enter with Lady Hilt and your sister.”

“I need to speak with you,” Gemma told him. “Alone.”

Wyatt nodded. Without a word of question, he set his glass down on the nearest table and guided her out of the ballroom, a firm hand to the small of her back. He led her into the library and locked the door behind them. At once, the music and laughter of the party became muted.

Gemma rushed to her husband and sank against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. At the feel of his body against hers, here in this room filled with so many memories of him, a little of the tension began to drain out of her.

Wyatt pressed his broad palm against her upper back and kissed her hair. “Tell me what has happened.”

Gemma let out her breath, stepping out of his embrace and lacing both her hands around one of his.

“Father has taken ill,” she said. “He has been banned from the gentlemen's clubs after the incident at White's. But someone has been spreading even worse rumors about him. The press reported that he has stolen from Lord Tarver, his former business partner. And now the men he owes money to have been at his door, making threats.” Her voice wavered.

“The stress of it was too much for him. Grandmother says he has taken to his bed and the physician has been called.”

Wyatt let out his breath. “I am sorry, Gemma.”

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his pleadingly. “You can fix this,” she said. “I know you can. Speak with Lord Tarver. Tell him to make a statement saying my father was not to blame.”

Wyatt sighed. He pulled his hand from hers and raked his fingers through his thick dark hair. For several moments, he did not speak. Finally, he said, “I am not going to do that. I'm sorry.”

On instinct, Gemma released her grip on his hand.

“What?” she demanded. Not for a moment had she imagined he might refuse.

Did he not understand what was at stake?

“But people would listen to you. You are a Duke! If you told them you had reason to believe my father was innocent, they would take that into account.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “They would.”

She planted her hands on her hips and could feel anger beginning to simmer inside her. “But?”

Wyatt sank back against the door and closed his eyes.

“Gemma, your father, he…” He sighed. “I have tried to help him.

As I'm sure you and your sisters have time and time again. But sometimes men like him… they simply do not wish to be helped.” He looked up to meet Gemma's eyes.

He faltered slightly when he saw the anger in them.

But he pressed on nonetheless. “Sometimes there has to come a point where people must pay for their mistakes. There are only so many times we can keep digging them out of their own messes.”

“He is my father ,” she hissed. “I will never stop trying to help him.” She stared at Wyatt, hardly able to believe what was coming out of his mouth. “Are you truly saying you expect me to just leave him to his own devices? To let him face punishment for a crime he did not commit?”

“How do you know he did not commit it?” Wyatt challenged her.

“Because!” Gemma hissed. “I know him! He is my father. He would never do such a thing!” Even as she spoke the words, she could hear how flimsy they sounded, how hollow. She could not claim to be surprised when Wyatt said:

“I hardly think such reasons would hold up in a court of law.”

Gemma felt rage flare inside her. This was not the petty, childish anger she had felt at Wyatt Felps when he had called her Lady Highbrow, or when he had kissed her unbidden in the Henfords' music room.

This was pure unbridled fury that he might believe such things about her father.

That he might put so little stock in the things she had to say.

That he might be refusing to help her in her family's time of need.

“I see,” she said tautly. “You would rather believe the word of the gossipers in the ton over that of your own wife.” She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep her voice low.

“I thought tonight was about showing society we did not listen to rumors and gossip. I thought it was about showing the ton we were better than that.”

Wyatt shook his head in frustration. He began to pace across the library.

Back and forth past the bookshelf containing the cursed Captain Midnight .

“How can you just sit back and support him after all he has done to you and your sisters?” he demanded.

“What has he ever done to earn your support? Or your respect, for that matter?”

Gemma's eyes flashed. “And you think you are so much better?

For years you were the ton 's most notorious rake! And you were proud of it! Proud of the way you went out every night drinking and gambling. Just like my father! And you—” she jabbed a vicious finger against his chest, “you never considered yourself unworthy of respect!”

Wyatt clenched his jaw, but he did not speak.

“Besides,” Gemma continued, her anger gaining momentum, “What do you even know of my father? You have barely even spoken to the man!”

“I know enough,” Wyatt said sharply. “You have told me on several occasions how difficult he is, and how much he has damaged your family's reputation. I have watched you and your sisters try and keep him in check. And I know that each time I sent money to Volk House, it was your sister and grandmother who wrote back and thanked me. I never had a single word of gratitude from you Father.”

“Is that why you did such a thing?” Gemma demanded. “Because you wanted gratitude? Recognition? You wanted everyone to know what a fine and generous man the Duke of Larson is, giving tithes to an ungrateful bastard like the Earl of Volk? “

“That is not fair, and you know it,” Wyatt hissed. “There's barely a soul on earth who knows I've been giving your family money. Need I remind you that I even kept it from you because I did not want to hurt you?”

She glared at him. “How immensely honorable of you.”

“Gemma.” Wyatt reached for her hand, but she yanked away wildly. In response to her coldness, he folded his arms across his chest, a hard look falling across his eyes, as though he was closing himself off from her. In spite of her anger, Gemma felt a tug of regret.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice hardening. “You are my wife, and I will support you in any way I can.”

“Any way except?—”

“But,” he continued, cutting her off, “I also have my own family name to protect.”

Gemma snorted. “You sound like your mother.”

“Well,” said Wyatt, “perhaps in this respect she may be right.”

Her eyes widened. Not once had she ever known Wyatt to take his mother's side on anything.

Who is this man? The Duke standing in front of her right now felt suddenly like a stranger.

She could hardly believe she had had such fierce feelings of affection for him.

She could hardly believe she had been on the verge of telling him she was in love with him.

She took a step back from him, staring him down.

“Gemma, I have done my best to support your father,” he began, his voice stilted and sickeningly formal.

“But if I were to press Lord Tarver to make a statement, and then it was proven that your father did steal the money, both Tarver's name and my own would be tarnished forever. And I cannot do that to my mother and grandmother. Especially after?—”

“The shame of marrying me?” Gemma finished icily.

Wyatt sighed, opting not to finish the sentence. “Your father has made his own mistakes,” he said heavily. “I cannot clean them up for him. I am sorry.”

“You can,” Gemma hissed. “You just do not wish to.” Unable to look at him any longer, she turned away and went to look out the window into the dark garden.

In the wordlessness, she could hear the rain pattering against the glass.

The lamplight in the garden behind the house looked distorted and golden through the droplets sliding down the window.

For a moment, Gemma thought she saw a figure sidling through the dark garden.

She blinked and looked again. Just my imagination.

“I thought we trusted each other,” she said bitterly, not looking at her husband.

“Of course, I trust you, Gemma. I?—”

“And yet you refuse to believe me when I tell you my father is innocent.”

Wyatt smacked his palm against the door in frustration, making Gemma whirl around to face him again. “You have nothing to base that on,” he said. “Not a thing except your desperate hope that that is the case. I am sorry, but that is not enough for me.”

“So what?” she demanded, striding up to him.

“You are just to sit by and let these thugs come to the door of Volk House tomorrow? Let them do as they wish to my invalid of a father? And to my sisters and grandmother.” Wyatt rubbed a hand across his smooth-shaven jaw.

Before he could speak, Gemma said, “I suppose none of that matters to you, does it. As long as the precious Larsen name does not get tarnished any further.”

He let out a sigh, and that was all the response she needed. She shoved her way past him and charged out the door before he had a chance to respond.