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Chapter Thirty-Two

W yatt followed Gemma up the staircase to the top floor of Volk House.

He found his eyes drifting around his wife's family home.

Evidence of Lord Volk's financial problems was everywhere; in the chipped and discolored paint on the walls and the cracked window at the end of the passage.

In the hallways so empty of servants, and the simple, flavorless biscuits the maid had served him and Gemma in the drawing room.

Walking through this house gave him a better appreciation for his wife than he had ever had.

Surely, growing up as the Earl of Volk's daughter had not been easy in many ways.

And yet look how confident and strong the experience had made Gemma.

I love her . Saying the words had been far easier than he had ever imagined.

Indeed, right now, it felt as though he could never not say them again.

But at that moment, as he had murmured those three words to his wife, he had felt intensely vulnerable.

Because if Gemma had not returned his declaration of love; if she had told him his distrust had ruined what they had had; if she had demanded to be sent to Devon once their son arrived, he did not know if he would have survived it.

When she had told him she loved him too, Wyatt had felt as though his heart might explode with happiness.

Why did I ever fear falling in love? Every scrap of pain it brought was far outweighed by the joy of it.

As she made her way up the stairs, Gemma tugged awkwardly at the day dress she had changed into.

The pale green dress was snug around her shoulders, and slightly too short.

Wyatt guessed it belonged to one of her sisters.

He smiled to himself. Even in a poorly fitting dress with a look of irritation on her face, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

Gemma knocked tentatively on her father's bedroom door. “The physician is still with him,” the Earl's valet told them when he answered.

“Your Graces,” a voice called from inside the room. “Please come in.” Lord Volk sounded husky, but there was definitely a warmth to his words. Wyatt saw a smile appear on Gemma's lips. She hurried into the room.

Lord Volk was sitting up in bed, in his nightshirt, an old Spencer jacket draped over his shoulders. He looked pale and tired, but there was a smile on his face. Beside him, the physician was taking several small vials from his bag and lining them up on the Earl's bedside table.

“Father,” Gemma gushed, rushing forward to take his hand. “How are you feeling? You look much better this morning.”

“Indeed, I am,” said the Earl. He turned to Wyatt. “Your Grace. My mother-in-law told me what you did. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Think nothing of it, My Lord,” said Wyatt. “You are family.”

Gemma caught his eye and smiled. She turned to the physician. “Will my father be all right?” she asked.

“He seems much stronger this morning, Your Grace,” the physician told her. “I recommend he takes these sleeping draughts to ensure he gets the rest he needs to recover. And of course, no more drinking and late nights for a time.” He looked pointedly at the Earl, who chuckled thinly.

“Yes, yes, my good fellow. You have made yourself clear. But how on earth is a man to make it through the day without a little assistance from the bottle?”

Wyatt watched Gemma's shoulders slump forward. Her smile faded. “Father,” she said firmly, “your physician has told you in no uncertain terms that?—”

“Thank you, my dear. That is enough. We will continue this conversation later.” The Earl shuffled back on the pillows, drained by the prospect of the discussion—or at least doing his best to pretend he was.

Gemma turned to the physician. “My father and I will continue this conversation later,” she assured him.

The older man flashed her a smile. “Very good, Your Grace.”

Gemma leaned forward to kiss the Earl's cheek. “Get some rest, Father.” She gave him a fierce stare that Wyatt was very glad he was not on the receiving end of. “This discussion is not over.”

Gemma stood in front of the mirror in her dressing room at Larsen Manor, carefully examining her reflection.

She had instructed Ivy to leave her dark hair loose tonight and it cascaded over her shoulders in long, silky waves.

Her cream-colored gown was knotted tightly at her narrow waist, with the object—a gift for Wyatt—tucked tightly against her hip.

Beneath the robe, the silky folds of her new nightgown were soft against her skin.

The feel of it made every fiber of her body tingle.

It felt like a precursor to what her husband would do to her later.

Gemma closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She could hear the patter of rain against the glass, and the faint crackle of the fire staving off the sudden late-summer chill. There was nowhere Gemma wanted to be more than the warmth of her husband's arms.

With her heart pumping in anticipation—and a few lingering nerves—Gemma stepped away from the mirror and opened the door to her bedchamber.

She peeked out into the hallway. A faint glow of light came from the Dowager's bedchamber at the far end of the hall, but apart from that, the passage was empty.

On quick, light feet, Gemma scurried down the hallway and knocked on her husband's door.

Surprise lit Wyatt's features as he opened the door to her, but before she could offer an explanation for her unplanned visit to his room, he pulled her inside and kissed her hungrily.

“Well,” he said. “This is a rather lovely surprise. I was on my way to see you.”

“Not tonight,” Gemma said, his kiss leaving her almost breathless. “Tonight, I want to spend the night in here.”

“You can spend every night of the rest of your life in here if you wish to.” Wyatt scooped her into his arms and she wrapped her legs instinctively around his waist, desire coursing through her.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. He kissed her lips, then stood up, looking over her. “I have something I think you might like to see.” He went to the chest of drawers in one corner of the room and took a page from the top of it. Handed it to Gemma.

She raised her eyebrows. “The gossip pages?” She shot him a playful smile. “I thought you were above such things, Your Grace.”

He chuckled. “Well. This one I just couldn't resist. Read it.”

Gemma scanned the page until the headline leaped out at her.

The Duke of Larsen's Lucky Escape

She began to read out loud: “Miss Henrietta Henford, the former betrothed of the Duke of Larsen, has been implicated in the recent robbery of the Marquess of Tarver. Sources claim Miss Henford orchestrated the theft in an attempt to tarnish the name of her rival, Gemma Felps, the Duchess of Larsen…”

Gemma could not hold back a smile. “Oh dear.”

Wyatt chuckled. “Oh dear, indeed. It seems Miss Henford returned everything she had the stable boy steal, and Lord Tarver has chosen not to press charges. But I do not imagine our dear Henrietta will find herself a wealthy nobleman to marry any time soon.” He smiled.

“More to the point, your father's name has been cleared.”

Gemma reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know that was in no small part thanks to you.” She let out a sigh she was unable to hold in.

“Now if only my father would see the light and give up the bottle…” In spite of all the good news, Gemma had left Volk House that afternoon with a faint sense of despair on her shoulders.

Though her father had agreed that he would try to cut back on his drinking, she knew he had only said as much to put an end to the conversation.

Knew that the moment her back was turned, he would have another whisky glass in hand.

“He will,” Wyatt told her firmly. “One day. I know it.”

Gemma smiled. “Oh, you do, do you?”

“I do.” He took the gossip page from her and screwed it into a ball. Tossed it into the fire. A burst of bright orange flames erupted in the fireplace, then disappeared almost as quickly as they had appeared.

Gemma stared into the hearth, her eyes glazing over in the hot light, aware of a faint smile on her face. Perhaps Wyatt was right. Perhaps one day her father would surprise them all and break his terrible drinking habit. But she was not going to think about that now.

She took Wyatt's hand, tugging him back onto the bed with her. “Was that Lord Anderson's voice I heard in the parlor this evening?” she asked.

“Yes.” Wyatt brought her fingers to his lips, his eyes taking on a faraway expression. “I sent for him earlier today. Asked him to explain himself regarding his affair with Miss Henford and her mother.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “And?”

Wyatt sighed. “He admitted he began visiting Miss Henford's bed not long after my betrothal to her.”

Gemma let out a breath. “Oh Wyatt. I am sorry. That is awful.”

He nodded, tracing a finger over her thumbnail. “I know I made no secret of the fact that I never wished to marry Miss Henford. So perhaps I have no right to feel betrayed but…”

“A man's best friend does not take his wife-to-be to bed,” Gemma said matter-of-factly. Her directness brought a smile to Wyatt's lips.

“In any case,” he said, “I think Lord Anderson and I have just become too different. I feel as though our friendship has come to a natural end.”

Gemma kissed his fingertips. “I am sorry.” She smiled crookedly. “But I think I have something that may cheer you up.”

“Oh yes?” Wyatt raised his dark eyebrows. “And what would that be, my dear Duchess?”

Gemma grinned, untying her robe and producing the book she had hidden inside it. She pressed the volume into Wyatt's hands. “No,” she said. “Tonight, I am not the Duchess. Tonight, I am Captain Midnight's helpless captive. And I am ready to all that he wishes.”

Wyatt grinned, pressing his lips into hers. “And once the Captain is done with you, I am going to hold you in my arms and never let go.”