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The servant hurried off towards the kitchen and Gemma knew she could not put it off any longer. She closed the door to the drawing room and turned to face her husband.

For long seconds, Wyatt held her gaze wordlessly, his eyes dark with emotion.

“I did not mean for you to pay off my father's debts,” Gemma murmured. “That was not what I was asking of you. I would never?—”

“I know,” Wyatt interrupted gently. “But your family was in trouble. How could I just stand by and let it happen?”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said.” He dared to take a step towards her but did not attempt to take her hand. “I was a fool, Gemma. I ought to have trusted you from the beginning. When you told me your father had not stolen that money, I ought to have believed you. Without question.”

“Yes,” she said. “You ought to have. You damn well ought to have.” A tiny smile appeared on Wyatt's lips. “What?” Gemma demanded. “What in heaven's name could you possibly be smiling at?”

To her utter frustration, Wyatt's grin broadened. “Just my fierce and feisty wife. I missed you.”

The comment caught Gemma off guard, but she gathered herself quickly.

“You want fierce and feisty? I will give you plenty of that, Wyatt Felps! To think that on the very night you threw a ball to show the ton you were not ashamed of our marriage, you refused to help my father because it would have made you look bad! And,” she continued, her anger beginning to carry her away, “worst of all, you let that hideous Miss Henford take you upstairs,” she began to pace back and forth across the room, “to catch me in bed with Lord Anderson of all people!”

Wyatt grabbed her suddenly, putting firm hands to her shoulders to stop her pacing. “Gemma. Listen to me. Not for one second did I ever believe a word that came from Miss Henford's lips. I followed her upstairs because she told me she had seen you up there and I was so desperate to find you.”

Gemma hesitated, then felt herself soften slightly in his arms. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Of course, it is true. You know I would never think you capable of anything so scandalous and cruel. You are far better than that.”

Gemma thought back to the day the Dowager Marchioness had waved the gossip sheet under their noses, accusing Gemma of having an affair. Not for an instant had Wyatt believed the rumors. I know you , he had said. And: You would never do something like that. You have far too much decency.

He brushed his fingertips across her cheek.

“I know I ought to have trusted you when you told me your father was innocent,” he said.

“And I swear that from now on, I always will. But I am asking you to trust me on this too. I would never trust the word of Henrietta Henford over you.” He swallowed visibly.

“Gemma, I will never trust the word of anyone over you again. I promise.”

Gemma closed her eyes, feeling her anger beginning to drain away.

That fierce and feisty part of her tried to grab hold of it, tried to prevent her fury from escaping.

It seemed to say He deserves for you to be angry with him!

Gemma shook the foolish thoughts away. Because she knew Wyatt was right: if she was to expect him to trust her implicitly, she would have to do the same for him.

And that meant believing him when he told her how sorry he was.

Believing him when he told her he would never betray her again.

She felt herself sink against him and her arms wrap around his body, as though they had a mind of their own.

As he pulled her into a tight embrace, she realized how safe she felt, how secure.

And how damn tired. Not just from all that had happened in the past twelve hours, but from her whirlwind month as the Duchess of Larsen.

She closed her eyes against Wyatt's broad chest, breathing in the scent of him.

From now on, there would be no more games. No more doubt. Just honesty and trust.

Without extricating herself from his arms, she looked up to meet his eyes. “I am sorry about the ball,” she murmured. “I hope it was not too dreadful after I left.”

Wyatt smiled crookedly. “It's all right. I told everyone a wild cat was on the loose in the house. That seemed to empty the place out fairly effectively.”

Gemma gave a short laugh. “Really?”

Wyatt chuckled. “No. I told them you were unwell.”

“Your mother is going to crucify me,” Gemma groaned.

“I sent her off to bed with a rather mind-numbing nightcap,” grinned Wyatt. “Hopefully when she wakes up, she'll not remember a thing. We shall just tell her the ball was a grand success.”

Gemma laughed. She knew there was not a single hope of that happening. But somehow, it did not matter. Whatever the Duchess threw at her, she would face it. With her husband by her side.

Wyatt tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I do not care a scrap about the ball,” he said. “And I do not care what anyone else in the world thinks of us. Only you.” He drew in his breath, his expression growing serious. “I love you, Gemma. More than anything.”

Gemma felt her heart swell in her chest and the pain of the past night washed away in her joy. “I love you too,” she murmured. “So much.”

Wyatt kissed her hair. And then he stifled a yawn. Gemma looked up at him with mock indignance. “ That is your reaction to me telling you I love you? A yawn?”

He chuckled. “Forgive me.”

Gemma traced her thumb over his cheek, dark and rough with morning stubble. “You did not sleep last night either, did you.”

“Very little,” Wyatt admitted.

“My father's creditors,” said Gemma. “How did you find them?”

Wyatt gave her a slight smile. “Well. It's like you said. I'm no stranger to the gambling tables either. After the ball, I went out to White's and began asking around. Eventually I found the right people.”

Gemma wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly. To think I was angry with him for not sending word of apology last night. Instead, he was running around London in the early hours to clear my father's debts.

“Thank you,” she said, hoping the look in her eyes conveyed the ocean of gratitude she felt toward him.

Wyatt nodded. He bent his head to capture her lips with his, drawing her into a kiss that was once both deep and gentle. “I never want to fight like this again,” he said.

Gemma grinned. “Oh, we will fight, my dear husband. You know we will. Because you are one of the most cocky and arrogant rakes in the ton . And I am your fierce and feisty wife.” She felt a violent swell of love for him and pulled him into another impulsive kiss.

“And then we will make up and show each other just how much we love each other.”

“Well,” said Wyatt, his lips tracing a line down her neck. “That I believe I can live with.”