Taming Wilde (4 page)

“Going to a funeral, Wilde?” Anthony filled his plate with food and went to sit at
the large table.

“Yours. If I’m so lucky.” Colin glared and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee.
The night previous had not been kind to him. After his run-in with Gemma in the hall,
he had thought it a brilliant idea to try his hand at the tables and see how much
whiskey he could consume before the pain in his chest went away.

The answer was more than the host had available.

And his blasted chest still hurt.

Along with his head and his hand. Though he had no idea how he managed to injure his
hand. He had hoped that upon seeing Anthony the mystery would be solved, for the only
man he had wanted to wound, other than himself, had been Anthony, his dearest friend.

“Oh, Wilde, good morning.” Lady Maddox strolled into the room and kissed her husband
on the head.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

“Who died?” This she asked as she eyed Colin up and down, tilting her head this way
and that.

“My question exactly,” Anthony interjected. “Though I daresay it is his mind that
has been buried deep in the ground, never to return. I am sure his heart is down there
somewhere, as well as his valet, considering he has refused to wear any color for
the past four months.”

“Thank you,” Colin said through gritted teeth. “If my head did not feel like it had
been trampled by a carriage, I’d have a witty response to your inane observation.
As it stands, all I can manage at the moment is a curse. However, there is a lady
present.”

Lady Maddox grinned and swatted Anthony, who at that moment did let out a curse as
he threw his newspaper to the ground. “Are you truly this bent on destruction, then?
You want the rakish lifestyle and everything that goes along with it? By the by, you’re
dressing differently, leading women into darkened hallways—”

Lady Maddox cocked an eyebrow and regarded Colin. “Wilde, it sounds suspiciously like
you have been reading my husband’s private journal. Tell me you aren’t following in
Anthony’s ghastly footsteps.”

Anthony turned crimson.

Lady Maddox giggled. “Oh, yes. I’ve read it. Truly a work of art, darling. Ever think
of having it published?”

“Please tell me you did not just admit to reading that piece of—”

“Fine literature,” Lady Maddox finished. “And to be precise, Cordelia and I happened
upon it. Quite interesting. I had no idea it was possible for a woman to—”

“Stop.” Anthony held up his hand and looked helplessly around the room. “We are not
discussing what is past. We are discussing Wilde’s current path of self-destruction!
Look at him!” Anthony pointed. Lady Maddox offered Colin a sympathetic smile and turned
back to her husband.

“He is drinking coffee, my dear. He seems fine.” She patted Anthony on the hand and
sighed. “Besides, before we were married, every article of clothing in your possession
was black or gray. Perhaps he is taking after your impeccable sense of style, hmm?”

Colin laughed at Anthony’s irritated expression. Couldn’t really argue that point,
considering Colin was only mimicking Anthony’s own good taste. He leaned forward and
drummed his fingers against the table.

“Fine.” Anthony exhaled. “But truly, I wrote those journals when I was but a lad of
one-and-twenty. Rules have, er… changed.”

“Have they?” Colin and Lady Maddox asked in unison.

“Of course.” Anthony stared into his coffee.

“And how, my dear, would you know this?” Lady Maddox asked, crossing her arms.

“My dear, up until last year I was…”

“Whoring around,” Colin finished for him. “Yes, we know. Now, will you help me or
not? I mean to make certain my name is on the lips of as many women as possible. After
all, does not your journal discuss the importance of keeping several mistresses at
once?” He left out the part about Gemma’s face last night and how her expression had
finally pushed him to desperation. He’d hurt her just like she’d hurt him. Funnily
enough, those brief few seconds when their eyes had met, he hadn’t felt a thing. Not
a blasted thing. He was finally numb. He’d looked into her eyes and his heart actually
seemed to stop beating. He’d finally gone too far. If turning into a rake kept his
heart in the same condition as it had felt in those brief minutes, then he would do
it and never look back. It hurt too blasted much to continue on in this way. To continue
living a life without Gemma in it.

Anthony choked on his coffee. “Apologies, memory’s quite fuzzy on that one.”

“Indeed,” Lady Maddox added. “Shall I leave you to your plans then, gentlemen?”

Colin nodded. “That would be best. After all, your husband has to polish me into the
worst sort of rake the
ton
has ever seen.”

“God help us all,” Anthony muttered.

“Well, if last night was any indication,” Lady Maddox sighed, “you are halfway there.
Good luck with your debauchery, gentlemen. I shall pray for your success.”

Anthony cursed. “My dear, that is blasphemous!”

“So is keeping a journal of your rakish escapades in the same location as your Bible,
love.”

Colin burst into laughter. “And the point goes to your wife.”

“I—” Anthony grunted. “My dear, if you will excuse us, it seems I have my work cut
out for me.”

“Absolutely.” She grinned and quit the room.

“Quite the wife,” Colin commented. Lady Maddox was Gemma’s dearest friend, which normally
would put Colin in quite the pickle, but it seemed that Gemma hadn’t been conversing
with her friends since her exile to the country. If they were still familiar, Colin
would’ve had to find a different location to meet Anthony or Ambrose. It would not
do to have Gemma suddenly show up and…

The butler entered into the room and cleared his throat. “Lady Gemma to see you, my
lord.”

Colin had just taken another sip of coffee and choked wildly as Anthony nodded his
head. “I can see her in the hall.”

“I am not afraid of seeing the woman, truly. She means nothing to me,” Colin answered,
too quickly.

“Which is why we are turning you into a rake?” Anthony called his bluff.

Colin cursed. “Just be quick about your business.”

Anthony nodded to the butler. “You may send her in.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Within seconds Colin heard the pitter-patter of light footsteps, each one like a hammer
to his chest. Would he never be rid of this unbearable pain?

He took another soothing sip of coffee and waited as the doors opened to the dining
room.

“Lord Maddox.” Lady Gemma offered a quick curtsy but never once looked in Colin’s
direction. To be fair, he was sitting at the far end of the table.

“What can I help you with, Lady Gemma?” Anthony rose and kissed the air above her
hand.

One does not simply jump on a horse without first asking the groom to saddle the beast.
Gentlem
e
n
,
let me put this in terms you m
ight
understand. When caring for your horse, you give it shelter, food, you brush its coat
until it shines, you reward it with carrots, and you ride it when you feel the need
for the wind across your face, or perhaps when you
wish
to show it off. Women are the same
.
Y
ou cannot simply feed one and ex
pect her participation. No, you
must first prepare her. You must compliment her, caress her, carry her on your arm
like the trophy she is, and then, when she is fat and happy
—
much like your horse
—
you take her for a ride.
—
The
P
rivate
J
ournal of Viscount Maddox

“Gemma, what a delightful surprise!” Bridget stood and greeted Gemma with a wide grin.
It had been five months since they had last seen one another, and Gemma had felt the
separation deeply, with no one to confide in but her traitorous lady’s maid.

“Oh, Bridget, I’m so happy to see you at last. It feels as though it has been an eternity!”
Gemma hurried to her friend and embraced her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “You
look so content. I believe marriage agrees with you.”

“Marriage to the viscount agrees with me. We both know I wouldn’t have been able to
endure any other man.” Bridget laughed. She fairly glowed, and Gemma felt the slightest
twinge of jealousy of her dear friend’s happiness.

Not that she begrudged Bridget her happily ever after, by any means. But she had hoped…
Gemma cast a longing glance over her shoulder toward the door, hoping for Wilde to
come barging in, proclaiming his undying love for her. Of course, that would never
happen. Hence the true reason behind her visit so early in the morning.

“I do wish to apologize for my long absence. For missing your wedding. My brother—”
Gemma began.

“Do not think another moment on that, Gemma. Your brother’s temper and rash decisions
are well known to me. Though I have missed you desperately, I know it was not of your
doing. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing to forgive.”

Gemma breathed a sigh of relief. Her friend had always understood her better than
anyone else.

Bridget gestured toward a sofa, and the two of them sat down together. Gemma clasped
her hands in her lap and studied them intently.

“Is something else bothering you, sweet?” Bridget asked, taking one of Gemma’s hands
in her own.

“Yes. I’m afraid the full story of my brother’s tyranny has only just become clear
to me. I knew he removed me from Town in order to separate me from Sir Wilde’s company,
but I had no idea the depths to which he had stooped to keep us apart.”

Bridget patted Gemma’s hand in a comforting gesture and waited for Gemma to continue.

“I heard last night, from his own lips, a confession of what he had done.”

“Oh, dear.”

“He stopped sending my letters to Sir Wilde. Sir Wilde believes I spurned his affections.”
The last part was followed by an involuntary sob, though Gemma tried desperately to
choke it back.

“That man!” Bridget gasped. She stood and began pacing angrily. “I would like nothing
more than to take him down a peg or two for you! The absolute gall!” Moving to the
mantle, she reached for her foil perched there, slipped it from the scabbard, and
took a few practice swings through the air in front of her, before turning again to
her friend.

“Would you like me to run him through with my blade? I haven’t had opportunity to
use it for several weeks.”

Gemma smiled in spite of her tears. Her friend has always been quick to take up her
cause.

“I am certain Hawke is not entirely without his merits, so perhaps we should let him
live a while longer.”

Bridget frowned. Her hope seemed deflated. “Very well. But you will alert me the moment
you change your mind?”

“Of course.” Gemma giggled.

Her friend reluctantly replaced her blade on the wall and returned to her seat beside
Gemma on the sofa.

“I do have another idea, should you be willing to assist me…”

“I am willing. You have but to ask, dear friend.” Bridget patted Gemma’s hand once
more.

“There is nothing that would gall my brother so much than for me to cause a scandal,”
Gemma said, allowing her voice to lower to a whisper.

Bridget’s eyes widened. No doubt she was shocked to hear such vulgarity from Gemma’s
lips. Gemma had always been entirely proper, not even willing to suffer the appearance
of impropriety. In fact, hearing her own voice producing the word
scandal
so casually brought a sudden burning to her cheeks. She wasn’t completely at peace
with the strategy. But she was completely without any other hope.

“A scandal? My sweet Gemma?” Doubt laced Bridget’s tone, and she leveled her stare
at Gemma with one raised eyebrow. “Are you certain that is what you want?”

“No. But it is my only recourse.”

“For revenge?” Bridget asked, cocking her head to the side. “Or for love?”

Gemma met her gaze and they sat in silence for a long moment.

“I must seduce a rake. Will you help me?” she pleaded. If her friend refused, she
would be left to her own devices, and she wasn’t entirely certain it would be enough
to tame Wilde and win his heart once more.