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Chapter Twenty-Eight

G emma heard the screams from inside her bedchamber. She threw down the spare petticoats she had in her hands, ready to pack into her overnight bag. “Carry on packing my nightclothes,” she told Ivy. “I shall be back in a moment.”

Ivy nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

Gemma hurried out into the hallway to find the guestroom door flung open, with Wyatt and Miss Henford standing in the doorway. “What on earth is going on?” she demanded.

At the sight of her, relief flooded Wyatt's features. “Gemma, I…”

His impropriety caught her off guard. Clearly, he was so relieved to see her he had neglected to address her formally in front of their guests. But Gemma remained unmoved. No slip of the tongue could make up for what he had said about her father. Or for the distrust he had shown in her.

She turned away hurriedly and looked past him into the room. Baron Anderson was sitting up in bed beside… Miss Henford's mother?

Lord Anderson cleared his throat, his cheeks crimson with embarrassment. “Might we have a moment of privacy to…tidy ourselves before we discuss this?”

“No, you may not, My Lord!” Henrietta stormed into the room, her rose-pink skirts billowing out behind her. “What is this?” she demanded. “Mother?!” She planted her hands on her hips and turned her fiery gaze onto the Baron. “How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this?”

Gemma blinked. At once, the fact that she had found Henrietta's mother hiding in the garden made sense. No doubt she was waiting for a chance to sneak away for some privacy with her lover. But as for Miss Henford's accusations against the Baron… What did she mean by how could you do this to me ?

Wyatt folded his arms. “Yes, Anderson. I think an explanation would be prudent.”

Lord Anderson nodded rather desperately towards his breeches, which lay discarded on the floor. “Your Grace, may we just?—”

“No,” said Wyatt. “I think we would all like an explanation now.”

The Baron's eyes darted from Wyatt to Henrietta. He tugged the bed covers up towards his bare chest. “I am sorry,” he said. Gemma wondered which of them he was speaking to. Perhaps he was just sorry he had been caught in such a compromising situation.

“How could you do this to me?” Henrietta demanded again, flouncing dramatically past the bed. “I thought you loved me.”

Gemma pressed a hand to her mouth, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. If it weren't for the tumult of emotions roaring around inside her, she would almost have laughed at the look of theatrical despair on Miss Henford's face.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “Wait.” He pointed a finger in the Baron's direction.

“Tell me, My Lord. Have you been having an affair with Miss Henford? And her mother?” A complicated look fell over his features as if he could not decide if he wanted to laugh or cry.

Gemma rubbed her eyes. This whole mess was beginning to make her head hurt.

“Oh don't look so damn put out, Larsen,” the Baron snapped, his face reddening. “It's not as if you ever wanted to marry her.” He turned to Henrietta. “How did you know I was up here with your mother?”

“I did not know you were here with my mother .” Henrietta spat the word out as though it were poison. “I thought you were up here with the Duchess .”

Gemma felt a jolt in her chest. Henrietta had brought Wyatt up here to catch her in bed with Lord Anderson? The thought was so ludicrous she almost laughed. But the fact that Wyatt had willingly followed his former betrothed up here to catch her in the act was no laughing matter.

He does not trust me. He refuses to believe me when I say my father is innocent. And he doubted me enough to follow Miss Henford up here to catch me in bed with another man. His best friend at that…

The knowledge of it stung and she found herself blinking away fresh tears. She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself not to cry. No way in hell would she let any of these people see how much their scheming and distrust had affected her.

Especially not my husband.

She found herself glaring fiercely at the Duke. As though feeling her eyes on her, he glanced at her, then quickly looked away.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” Henrietta's mother began. She shuffled further beneath the bedclothes, as though trying to hide herself. “I?—”

“You're sorry?!” Miss Henford demanded. “Sorry will not fix things, Mother!” Her voice wavered dramatically. “Lord Anderson and I were in love. You have stolen the man of my dreams from me!”

Her mother snorted, the apologetic look vanishing from her face. “Man of your dreams. What rubbish. If you truly cared an inch about Lord Anderson, you would never have led the Duke up here to catch him with his wife.”

Henrietta faltered and she seemed to wither slightly under the Baron's questioning gaze. “Oh do not look at me like that, My Lord,” she snapped at him. “You know you have nothing to offer me. I am not the kind of lady who becomes a baroness.” She glared at Gemma. “I was supposed to be a duchess .”

“Leave,” Wyatt said suddenly. “This instant.”

Wild anger flickered across Miss Henford's eyes; the same unbalanced, animalistic look Gemma had seen from her on the day of the wedding.

She jabbed a finger under the Duke's nose.

“And you have betrayed me worst of all, Your Grace. We were supposed to spend our lives together. We were supposed to be a family. Instead, you drag the Larsen name through the mud by marrying Lady Highbrow?”

Wyatt's jaw tightened, his blue eyes suddenly dark with fury. “You have one minute to get out of my house. Or else.”

Henrietta snorted as she made her way down the stairs. “Enjoy your life with this thief's daughter, Your Grace. If you are looking for a nice gift for her, I hear her family has a penchant for diamond brooches.”

Gemma froze. For a moment, it felt as though the floor was tilting beneath her. She grappled at the wall to keep her balance. “What did you say?”

Henrietta spun around and gave her a withering look. “Oh do not look so surprised, Your Grace. The entire ton knows your father was caught with his hands in Lord Tarver's safe. It's all anyone has been talking about all evening.”

“No.” Gemma took a step closer to her, her heart thrashing against her ribs. “No one knows about the brooch. Lord Tarver told my grandmother that in confidence. He assured her that detail was never leaked to the press.”

The color drained from Miss Henford's face.

Her lips parted, as the realization of her mistake swung at her.

“Well,” she said, her voice thin. “Lord Tarver was obviously lying. Or… or the constable leaked word of the brooch to the press.” But the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Her eyes began to dart nervously between Gemma and the Duke.

“Henrietta?” her mother spoke up. “What in heaven's name have you done?” Clutching the bedclothes to her chest, she reached down to the floor for her underclothes.

“This was all your doing!” Gemma hissed. “You are the one who stole from Lord Tarver! You set my father up!”

Wyatt marched up to Gemma's side. Instinctively, she felt herself take a step away from him. “Is this true?” he demanded.

Miss Henford's mother appeared behind them, hurriedly pulling on her shoes. “Henrietta?”

“Oh do not act so aghast, Mother,” Miss Henford demanded. “It's all your fault. You should never have hired that new stableboy. Don't you know he spent half his life picking pockets on Drury Lane?”

Henrietta's mother pressed a hand to her mouth in disbelief. “Do you have any thought of what you've done, child? You could go to prison for such a crime.”

“Calm yourself, Mother,” Miss Henford hissed. “I am not going anywhere. I've never been within two miles of Lord Tarver's office. If anyone is going to prison, it's that dreadful stable boy.”

Gemma stared Miss Henford down. She knew she was likely dishing out the same animalistic glare the young woman had once given her. But she could not make herself care. “My father has taken ill,” she hissed, “because of what you did. If he dies, I will never forgive you.”

Wyatt stepped close to Miss Henford, looming over her threateningly.

“Here is what you are going to do,” he said to her, his voice low and dark.

“You are going to go straight to Lord Tarver and return every penny you had that poor boy steal from him. And the brooch too. And you had best pray he chooses not to pursue the matter with the constable.”

Miss Henford swallowed visibly.

“And you will not come anywhere near me or my wife—or her family—again. Do I make myself clear?”

Miss Henford nodded, cowering under the bulk of the Duke. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.” Wyatt stared her down. “Now I am not going to ask you again. Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

Miss Henford turned without another word and raced down the staircase. Her footsteps echoed as they tapped rhythmically against the marble.

“I am so sorry, Your Graces,” Miss Henford's mother squeaked behind them. She looked like a sorry figure with her disheveled hair and smudged makeup, her gown laced too loosely and hanging crooked on her shoulders.

Wyatt gave her little more than a passing glance. “You can get out of my house too.” He turned to Lord Anderson. “Both of you.”

The Baron, who was entangling himself in his cravat, put a hand to Wyatt's shoulder. “Come on, Larsen,” he said, chuckling humorlessly, “don't be like that. You know?—”

“I told you to leave,” Wyatt said tautly. “Now.”

The forced grin disappeared from the Baron's face and he swallowed visibly. “As you wish,” he said. Then he hurried down the staircase after his lover.

For a moment, Gemma stood silently beside her husband, listening to their footsteps disappear. What would he do now, she wondered? What was he thinking? He reached for her hand, but she pulled away almost on instinct.

“Gemma,” he began. “I?—”

“I do not wish to hear it,” she snapped. She turned on her heel and began to march back towards her bedchamber.

“Where are you going?” Wyatt called after her. “The guests…”

“I do not care a scrap about the guests,” Gemma hissed. “My father is very ill. And I have no intention of not going to him.”

“You cannot just leave in the middle of our own ball,” said Wyatt, but his words sounded weary, as though his heart was no longer in it.

Gemma whirled around and gave him an icy smile. “Do not think anything of it, Your Grace. I'm sure the ton would expect nothing less from such a scandalous lady as the Duchess of Larsen.”