Page 34 of The Duke Dare (Love’s a Game #2)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
L ucian woke up to an empty bed. He pushed himself up to his elbows and frowned. Where was Gemma? She had sneaked out in the middle of the night? Like a doxy? That wouldn’t do. And why had she gone? He was certain she’d enjoyed herself last night.
And so had he.
Lucian fell back on the pillow as the memories of last night returned to him in vivid detail. He hadn’t imagined it. Gemma had been just as uninhibited and passionate as the first time. More so, since she knew what to expect. She hadn’t been a bit shy about what she wanted. She’d taunted him, actually. He liked that. A lot. He was hard again just thinking about it.
Far from being a timid innocent, Gemma had given and taken pleasure as if it was something to revel in. She was unexpected that way, his bride. He’d misjudged her about so many things. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
And it wasn’t just her lovemaking that surprised and delighted him. In addition to the physical compatibility, Lucian had learned that Gemma was savvy. She’d been immediately suspicious of him when he’d changed his behavior toward her, and she’d asked every question she’d been able to think of when negotiating their contract. She’d even thrown in some things he hadn’t thought of.
In addition to her beauty, she was clever. Clever, savvy, witty, and gorgeous. Not to mention strong. He shook his head. No wonder she’d become the darling of the ton . No wonder men like Pembroke threw themselves at her. Not that Lucian intended to allow Pembroke to throw himself at her ever again. No. She was his , and he intended to treat her like a precious gift from now on. To earn her respect and admiration. That would take time, he knew. But he was committed to his task.
And he would begin with a luncheon picnic in the garden.
Gemma poked a lock of hair under the edge of her bright-pink bonnet. She’d spent far too much time this afternoon poking at her hair. There was nothing left to poke, but she still couldn’t help herself. She and Lucian sat on an ice-blue quilt beneath the shade of an elm tree in the gardens behind the town house. A lovely picnic consisting of bread, meat, cheese, and grapes had been spread out before them. The servants had left them alone, per their master’s request.
Gemma sat primly with her back resting on a pillow that she’d propped against the tree trunk. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say anything. And she couldn’t look at him. All she could do was think about last night in bed with Lucian. Oh, God. She’d even begun thinking about him as Lucian .
It was one of the reasons she’d rushed out of bed this morning. The moment she’d awakened to see her gorgeous husband splayed out next to her, her skin had heated. The things he’d done to her last night. After they’d had sex the first time, fast and frantic, the next time he’d taken his time with her. Touched her slowly and made her burn for him before making her beg him to take her again. It was as if he wouldn’t give them what they both wanted until she was a pleading mess of heat and wetness, clutching at his hips and mindlessly murmuring his name. Only then had he slid into her, giving her relief from the deep ache between her legs. He’d given it to her twice more before they’d both fallen into a deep sleep.
And that was the problem. Despite being satisfied four times last night, when she’d awakened and saw him lying there, she’d wanted him again. Madness. And it frightened her so much, she’d quickly slid from beneath the blankets, wrapped a dressing gown around her nakedness, and hied off to a guest room where she’d called Anna to get the footmen to draw her a bath. It had been cowardly of her, but Gemma didn’t care. It had given her the reprieve she desperately needed. And when she returned to her bedchamber over an hour later, Lucian was gone.
But he’d soon sent a note asking her to meet him in the gardens for a luncheon at noon. Which promptly reminded her that in addition to spending the nights in bed with him, she would have to spend the days with him too. Doing things like picnic lunches and rides in the park, apparently. All while he did his best to charm her.
These would be the longest two months of her life.
“Would you like some food?” Lucian asked pleasantly as he sorted through the items sitting atop the quilt.
How could he do that? How could the man act as if they hadn’t spent the entire night tangled in a sweaty heap in each other’s arms, giving each other pleasure unlike any Gemma had known? She could still hear his groans and the way he called her name when he —
Not helpful.
She cleared her throat and made a show of poking some more non-existent errant hairs into her bonnet. “Yes, please,” she finally managed.
Why was this so awkward? Would it always be this way? If so, the next two months would be excruciating. And as for the two months, they weren’t even going about their arrangement properly by having lunch in their own backyard. “If you wanted us to be seen, we should have gone to the park,” she informed him as he piled bread and cheese on her plate.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Gemma nodded toward the grapes. “I mean our own gardens are hardly a place to make a show of things.”
His frown intensified as he pulled a cluster of grapes off the pile and placed it on her plate. “A show of things?”
She took the plate from him and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I assume the reason you want me to pretend to be happy is to keep up appearances for the ton .”
Lucian sat back on his heels and blinked. “Is that what you think?”
She arched a brow. “Isn’t it the truth?”
He reached down and plucked a grape from the cluster and popped it into his mouth. “Are you always so suspicious?”
She lifted her chin. “No, actually. I’m normally not suspicious at all.”
He smiled at her and it did things to her insides, things she didn’t want to examine too closely. “Only with me then?”
“Normally, I see the good in everything and everyone. Until they show me any differently. Like Lady Mary did for instance.”
“And like I did,” Lucian said solemnly.
Gemma nodded and pushed a grape around her plate. “I’m not myself around you. I can’t be.”
“Duly noted,” he said, rising back to his knees to pour the wine. “And thank you for your honesty.” He handed her the first glass of wine and met her gaze with a truly remorseful expression. “Look, Gemma. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before. I’m sorry I thought the worst of you. I realize now that I was wrong.”
Gemma couldn’t help her eyes widening in surprise.
He must have seen the skepticism on her face because he continued, “But I’m mostly sorry that I’ll have to re-earn your trust because of my stubborn pride.”
Wine glass in hand, she eyed him carefully. Lucian Banks was saying he was sorry. And not just sorry, but sorry and wrong . She wouldn’t believe it. Only it had to be more of his act to charm her in order to make her abandon the divorce. It was going to take much longer than the first few days of their agreement for her to believe he was anything other than an actor who would stop at nothing to save his family’s reputation. Anyone could pretend for a day or two. But two months was quite a long time.
Still, she watched him from beneath her lashes, intrigued by both what he’d just said and his appearance. She’d never seen him like this. So casually attired. His waistcoat was gone and so was his jacket. He didn’t even have a hat. He wore dark-brown breeches, black top boots, and a white shirt. He’d even forgone a cravat. He looked relaxed. He could be any man pouring a glass of wine while lounging atop a quilt in the grass. He certainly didn’t look like a duke, the leader of one of the most powerful families in the country. And he didn’t look like the overbearing, controlling ass she knew him to be either. Which reminded her how dangerous he was when he acted this way.
He settled back onto the quilt with his glass of white wine and crossed his legs in front of him. Such an unexpected pose. It made her smile, but she quickly hid her smile behind her wine glass when she took a quick sip.
Lucian settled into the quilt and sighed. “So, Gemma Brooks Banks, in addition to rides in the park and playing the pianoforte, what else do you enjoy doing?”
Her brows shot up. “There’s no one else here,” she pointed out.
He glanced around. “I know.”
“So….” She drew out the word slowly.
“So? What?” He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes on her, clearly confused.
She sighed and fluttered a hand in the air. “So, you don’t need to pretend to care about things such as what I enjoy doing.”
He pressed his lips together as if trying to squelch a smile. “What if I’m not pretending?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
He chuckled. “I mean I would truly like to know what you enjoy doing.”
Gemma popped her mouth closed and contemplated his statement for a few moments. He’d disoriented her, confused her. But she supposed she could answer his question. What harm would it do? “Well, I do quite like to play the pianoforte,” she admitted, allowing the hint of a smile to touch her lips.
“And you’re quite skilled at it.” He nodded.
“Thank you.” She couldn’t help the blush that slightly heated her cheeks. She took another sip of wine. “And I do like rides in the park, but not in the countryside.”
His eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head as if he found that bit of information interesting. “Why’s that?”
She settled back against the trunk once more, warming to her story. “Oh, I’ve never much cared for the countryside. It’s far too dull if you ask me. That’s why I was so opposed to it when you wanted to send me to Cumberland.”
“I’m sorry I did that,” he said quietly, his face taking on a serious mien.
She waved her hand in the air again. “It’s fine.”
He reached out and gently grabbed her fingers and squeezed. Warmth spread up her arm. “No, it’s not fine, Gemma. I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know who you were back then. I greatly want to learn, however.”
She shook it off and pulled her hand away. She had to. She couldn’t stand the look of genuine remorse on his face. Not meeting his eyes, she traced a fingertip along the intricate pattern of the quilt. What could she possibly say to that? Of course, her mind told her he was lying. He was trying to get her to give up the idea of a divorce. He’d told her that was his plan. And here she was spilling secrets to the man who was essentially her opponent. She shouldn’t have told him she hated the countryside. Now he could use it against her.
“Now for what you dislike,” he said, taking a long sip from his glass. His eyes remained trained on her. Watchful. Curious. “What else? Besides the country?”
She scrunched up her nose, contemplating the matter. She opened her mouth to reply when he surprised her by snapping his fingers and saying, “I’ve noticed you never wear earbobs.”
Gemma’s pure surprise felt like a blow to her chest. “You noticed that?”
“Yes. Even the night in your brother’s study. I noticed that about you. And you haven’t worn them since, at least that I’ve ever seen.”
A stiff breeze could have lifted her and blown her away. Her shock was so great. She hadn’t thought he’d noticed anything about her. Especially not the night they’d been forced into marriage. “I — I—” She was at a loss for words. And that never happened.
“I’m curious why you don’t like them.” He leaned forward and watched her intently as if truly invested in her answer. If this was an act, he was a scarily good actor.
Unthinking, she plucked at her bare earlobe. “They’ve always hurt my ears…unmercifully,” she explained. “Mama and I argued over my refusal to wear them on many occasions.” Why was she sharing this with him? Something about the way he was looking at her, the way he was asking her questions no one had ever asked before. Mama knew why Gemma disliked earbobs, but only because Gemma had told her, not because Mama had asked. It felt strangely comforting to have someone ask. It felt better than she ever would have expected it to.
“Makes sense then,” Lucian continued. “It’s the same reason I’m not wearing a cravat right now.”
“Cravats do look awfully uncomfortable,” she added with a tentative smile.
“They are, believe me. But I expect they are no more uncomfortable than earbobs and stays.”
At the mention of stays, her ears heated, which made no sense because they were far beyond the “stays” part of their relationship. He’d done things to her last night that left stays far in the dust. But it felt as if they were newly discovering each other today. Almost as if he was…courting her.
“What else, Gemma?” he asked, pouring a bit more wine into her glass. “What else should I know about you?”
She spent a few more moments poking at her hair. Think. Think. Think of something neutral to say. Something that doesn’t involve stays or feelings.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” she finally blurted. There. That was a neutral topic .
His eyes crinkled at the corners and he poked out his cheek with his tongue. “A dog? Really.”
“Yes.” She nodded and took a sip. “And not a big lumbering hunting dog either. I want a smaller one, a terribly loyal one, who’ll sit in my lap and be my constant companion.”
Lucian tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth, and Gemma had to glance away.
“What would you name this dog?” he asked.
She stared down into her wine glass, but a smile soon lit her face. “Oliver, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Lucian replied, laughing. “How silly of me not to know it.”
Gemma laughed. She never would have imagined a man as proper as Lucian using the word silly or laughing at himself the way he was doing now.
“I’ve had the name picked out since I was nine years old,” she continued. “I always quite liked the idea of the Lord Protector. I think it’s an excellent name for a dog.”
“Ah, so named after Cromwell?” Lucian said. “I see you know your history. And knew it at nine years old? Impressive.”
“I see you know your history too,” she countered, unwilling to examine the pride that had swelled in her chest when he praised her knowledge. “Did you ever have a dog?” she quickly asked.
Lucian took a sip of wine and nodded slowly. “I did,” he said. “My father quite enjoyed hunting fowl. He had a pack of spaniels to fetch the birds.”
“And did you like the dogs?” She was fully prepared to hear him say they’d been a loud, dirty mess that he left to the servants.
Which was why her brows shot up when he replied, “Indeed, I liked them so well I went chasing after them the first time I saw them go after a bird,” he said, laughing again.
Gemma couldn’t help her own laugh. The idea of a young Lucian chasing after a pack of dogs was humorous indeed. “How old were you?”
“Let’s see.” He drew up his knees and hung his arms over them. Another completely unexpected pose. “I couldn’t have been more than six or seven.”
Now she was truly curious. She couldn’t help it. “What happened when you caught up to them?”
Lucian sighed. “My father had failed to inform me that the dogs knew precisely what they were about, so when I saw them in the stream, I jumped in after them, thinking they needed help. I was worried about them, you see.”
Gemma’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. She wasn’t sure which was more surprising: that Lucian had been worried about dogs or that he’d jumped in a stream. Surely, he’d never been young or impetuous enough to do such a thing. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, yes, I did,” he assured her, nodding.
“What happened next?” Gemma searched his face, suddenly quite interested in hearing the rest of the tale.
“My father finally came looking for me and found me treading water in the freezing stream, wondering where all the dogs had gone. Meanwhile, they fetched the bird and returned to father’s side. I was the only one foolish enough to remain in the stream.”
Self-effacing? Was this truly Lucian Banks? He didn’t have a twin brother, did he? “How did you get out?” she prodded.
Another long sigh. “Father whistled and sent one of the dogs in to fetch me. It’s quite sobering to be rescued by a dog, I can assure you.”
Gemma laughed again and shook her head. “My father had hunting dogs too,” she told him, taking another sip of wine. “But he would never allow me a special pet.”
“That seems wrong,” Lucian said, frowning again. “But I understand perfectly. My father never allowed me anything that would reflect poorly on him. His hunting dogs were prized, of course.”
Gemma nodded. Their fathers sounded quite alike, actually. And it explained quite a bit that Lucian’s father had been obsessed with his reputation. No wonder his son was too. “My father never did anything for anyone other than himself…or Richard.” The moment she’d said the words, Gemma regretted them. Why was she sharing this much with Lucian? They may have had arrogant, entitled fathers in common, but Lucian would only use that knowledge against her and her family.
Lucian’s smile vanished. “Richard was your eldest brother who died?”
Gemma nodded. “Yes, several years ago. Honestly, I barely knew him. He was much older than me.” There. That was vague enough. And true. What she did remember about Richard was that he had been treated like a prince in their household, while Griffin was ignored. She shook her head at the unwanted memory. If only Father had known that Richard would be killed and Griffin would be the duke. He would have treated Griff much better. Father had never done anything that didn’t benefit himself. It sounded as if Lucian’s father had been the same.
“I’m sorry your brother died,” came Lucian’s deep, solemn voice. “I met him a time or two at school.”
“Then you know he was—” She really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.
“Difficult?” Lucian offered.
“Yes.” She nodded. Difficult was the perfect word. She shook her head. She hadn’t been particularly close to Richard, but the memory of his death made her throat tight just the same. Now, she wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What was India like?”
Two hours later, Gemma realized that she’d been completely mesmerized by Lucian’s ability to tell stories. He’d related tale after tale about his time in India. The sights, the sounds, the colors, the scents. It was nearly as if she’d been there herself, tasting the food, feeling the sticky heat, and hearing the buzz of insects at night. And Lucian had spared no detail. He answered question after question about his journey to India while Gemma paid rapt attention the entire time. They’d finished the entire bottle of wine.
When there was finally a lull in the conversation, their eyes met, and sparks leaped between them. Gemma caught her breath and glanced away.
“I suppose we should go in,” she said nearly wistfully, glancing toward the back of the house. “We’ve been out here quite a long time.” Only it hadn’t felt like it. She was just realizing how long it had probably been. No longer directly above them, the sun had dipped toward the west.
“You must be tired,” Lucian said as he gathered up the remnants of their picnic and placed everything back in the basket. He stood and helped her to stand. The touch of his hand sent a thrill through her body. Scenes from their night together flashed unbidden through her mind.
Shaking her head, she moved off the quilt and into the grass so he could pick up the blanket.
Gemma was back upstairs in her bedchamber before she realized that the feeling lingering in her chest after any entire afternoon spent in her husband’s company was…excitement. She bit her lip. He was witty today. He’d seemed caring. He’d even made fun of himself a bit. That had been surprising. Even more surprising? She’d actually enjoyed herself at the picnic and hearing all his stories about India.
Was it possible that she had misjudged him?