Taming Wilde (9 page)
Authors: Rachel Van Dyken
And then Everett’s grip on her eased, followed by a curse. Gemma opened her eyes.
Shock washed over her. Colin stood over Everett with a sneer on his face, holding
him by the cravat.
“Leave in peace. If you speak of this to anyone, I will gut you from head to toe.”
Colin pulled Everett to his feet and punched him squarely in the jaw. “On second thought,
I believe I would enjoy that experience entirely too much. So tell whomever you please;
just know I shall be coming for you. I know I will look forward to it.”
Everett stumbled as he ran away.
Colin’s eyes were full of concern as he turned to Gemma. “Are you hurt?”
For a moment Gemma was in shock. She stared at him.
His shoulders rose and fell with rapid breath. He repeated, “My lady, did he hurt
you?”
“No.” It was all she could choke out.
Colin’s eyes traced her from head to toe, as though he were checking for injuries.
When he was satisfied she was unharmed, his gaze returned to her face. After a moment
his countenance suddenly changed, and he took a step back.
“Oh. I see. I interrupted your tryst. I… I do apologize. I thought… that is to say,
it looked as though you were struggling. I should have known… but then Everett isn’t
widely known as a… I do not remember you being so… I am sorry. I have ruined your
seduction.” He turned as though to leave.
Panic rose in Gemma’s chest. He thought she had been participating! And he was going
to leave her there in shame. She had to stop him. She had to let him know the truth.
“Wait! You won’t leave me here in the garden alone!”
Colin stopped in his tracks and spun back to face her. A fire burned in his eyes.
“Why not? You seem set upon ruination. I’m sure if you wait here long enough, another
willing fellow will come along to take that one’s place. You are a pleasant-looking
woman. There are few who could resist your charms.”
“My charms? Was it not just last week you told me I had no hope of seducing even the
basest of rakes?”
He took a step nearer. The thought occurred to Gemma that if she could provoke him,
he would stay. And the longer he stayed, the better chance she had of drawing him
back to herself.
“I was merely trying to save you from this path of destruction on which you have clearly
set your mind.” He took another step toward her. “I do admit, I had hoped to deter
you from your course, but I must recant my words from before. Congratulations. Everett.
A worthy prize, and no doubt to seduce him required all your feminine wiles. You did
far better than I would have imagined. As much as it pains me to confess it, I believe
your accomplishment far exceeds my own.”
It was working. Gemma concealed her hopeful smile and pressed further. She stood and
took two steps toward him.
“Surely not, Sir Wilde, for your exploits are well-rumored about the
ton
.”
He shook his head and looked aside to the shrubs. “I fear the rumors have been much
exaggerated.”
She advanced a few more steps. “How is your head?”
His gaze shot back to her, momentarily holding confusion. “My head?”
“Your conversation with the tree.”
“Ah, yes.” Colin moved toward her a few more steps. “It is as well as can be expected.”
They stared at each other for a moment of thick silence.
“I have a confession,” Colin finally said, lowering his voice.
“What is it?”Gemma asked. Her eyes wandered to his lips. He was close enough then
to see his features clearly.
“I am a miserable rake.” He seemed to scrutinize her reaction. She held her response
in check and waited for him to continue. “I fail miserably at every opportunity.”
“I see,” she whispered and stepped forward, closing the last few feet between them.
“Perhaps… perhaps you should show me what you are doing, and I can tell you what you
are doing wrong.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was
truly saying, but she could hardly take them back now, and truly, she had no desire
to do so.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached a hand up and fingered the lapel
of his coat.
****
Colin hadn’t meant to react so out of character. Rarely was he the man saving damsels
from distress, but in this instance, all he had seen was her face. A look of pure
horror had crossed her features when Everett had made his advances, and then an expression
of disgust. He would kill the man for touching her.
And then, in a moment of clarity, it had occurred to him. Perhaps she’d welcomed Everett’s
advances. The nausea that had washed over him had been so strong, he’d had to pull
away, had to say those awful things, or else he’d been afraid he would crumple at
her feet.
And now, now that her hands were on the lapels of his jacket, urging him forward,
he lost track of all time. Her lips were moving, most likely forming words, but he
heard nothing. All he could do was watch as her breath hitched, and then her lips,
those delicious lips that he’d dreamt of claiming so many times before, lay across
his.
Her kiss was cautious. He hadn’t expected that, not from the woman who was not but
minutes ago being seduced or perhaps seducing another man. Warmth spread through him,
forcing him to throw caution to the wind as he wrapped his arms around her petite
frame and pulled her to himself. His mouth opened to hers, and he very happily allowed
himself to become lost once again in Gemma’s arms.
“What the devil!” a muffled voice said from a distance.
Colin couldn’t have cared less. He tugged on Gemma’s lower lip. Blazes, how she was
sweet.
“Get off my sister!” A strong hand pulled Colin back from Gemma.
But he did not look to see to whom that hand belonged. No, all he wanted to see was
the look of desire on Gemma’s face. Her eyes gave her away, she was just as affected
as he, and suddenly he was transported back to an easier time. A more innocent time,
where they had been able to kiss, to touch, to dream of a time when they could be
together.
“After everything I have done to keep the two of you apart, you still fight me?” The
marquess laughed and stood in front of Colin, blocking his view of Gemma. “Do you
realize what could have happened? Ruined! You could have completely ruined her!”
Colin’s body turned cold. “Is that not what you had planned for this evening? To find
your sister in the arms of a willing man in order to arrange her marriage to a man
of your choosing?”
“Well, I—” Van Burge cleared his throat. “This does not concern you, Sir Wilde. Run
along.”
“In truth, this concerns me a great deal. You caught your virgin sister in my embrace.
That means—” Colin stated, rather boldly, considering the circumstances.
“It
means
if you have any sense left, you will not speak of this to anyone… ever.” He straightened
his jacket and turned to Gemma.
Colin should have warned the man.
But then again, if she hadn’t thrown the first punch, Colin would have had to.
Her hand connected with her brother’s jaw with a sickening crack. Caught by surprise,
he tumbled to the ground.
“How dare you!” she screamed at him.
“How dare I?” Van Burge laughed as he massaged his jaw. “I dare because I am your
brother! I dare because you are my responsibility! And I will not see you engaged
to a mere knight!”
Colin flinched. His eyes searched Gemma’s as her gaze locked with his.
“What would people say? You are the daughter of a duke, Gemma. Be reasonable.”
At that, Colin had to laugh. Clearly Van Burge was the least reasonable of the bunch,
but he didn’t find it a prudent time to point that little fact out.
The marquess strode toward Colin. “If you dare pursue her again, I will end you. Do
you understand?”
Colin looked past him to Gemma. She was shaking. Her entire body was slumped over
in defeat.
“I understand.”
Van Burge grinned smugly and turned back to Gemma, but Colin wasn’t done speaking.
“I understand you are a terrible excuse for a brother, a rotten human being, and an
altogether selfish individual. I understand, Van Burge, but I do not agree to the
terms.” Colin inclined his head to Gemma and then slowly backed away from the scene.
After all, the marquess was her legal guardian; he was also a man and could do anything
he wanted with Gemma. But that didn’t mean Colin had to like it, nor did he have to
stand by and watch her slowly crumble at the hands of her evil brother.
He had all but admitted to trying to keep them apart. The sting of rejection that
was ever present in his chest began to ease as he realized that perhaps Gemma had
been in love with him all along.
Gentlem
e
n, do not get down on yourselves if you are not able to keep up with the rakish lifestyle
.
F
ew succeed
,
and hundreds fail. Remember, there are worst things in this life. After all, you could
be French.
—The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
“A letter, m’lady,” the lady’s maid announced, bounding into the room as though she
owned it. She tore back the drapes, and the sun sloshed into the room, burning through
Gemma’s closed eyelids.
“Pearl…” she groaned. “Can it not wait until a decent hour?”
“No, m’lady. Orders from the marquess himself. The letter’s from yer mum!” she said,
with far too much exuberance. Her admiration for Hawke fairly bubbled out and hung
on the girl like leprosy.
Definitely akin to leprosy,
Gemma thought as she stretched and peeled back her duvet reluctantly. Hawke was a
scourge. Gemma had half a mind to marry the first sod to come along, if only to be
rid of her brother’s particular plague.
And Pearl.
Gemma had to begin thinking about a new lady’s maid. Perhaps Julia, the scullery.
She seemed unfazed by Hawke’s charms. Of course, she was eighty-three if she was a
day, so it was unlikely the marquess had been chasing her around the kitchen.
She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Pearl met her there with a
pair of slippers and her housecoat. Gemma reached for them with another discontented
murmur.
“Why is it, Pearl, that the marquess has nothing better to do so early in the morning
than rouse me from my slumber? His night was as late as my own.”
“Later, I’d wager,” Pearl announced with a girlish giggle, then had the decency to
blush when she apparently realized what she had just confessed.
Gemma could feel her own embarrassment rising to her cheeks, but she turned away from
the girl, slipped her arms into the robe Pearl held for her, and pretended not to
understand.
“Where is his majesty? In Father’s study?”
“Why, he’s still abed, m’lady. He received the letter when he came in last night,
but gave orders you should get it at first light o’ day.”
“How thoughtful.” Gemma could imagine how Pearl had come to be privy to these orders.
Though she wished she could scrub the image from her mind. She closed her eyes in
hopes that would work.
No such good fortune.
“Pearl,” Gemma said, lifting the envelope from her desk.
“Yes, m’lady?”
“Please have Cook make the marquess a
special
breakfast. Let her know he had a long night, and I insist he be treated to Cook’s
delightful morning casserole. She’ll know the one I mean.”
Whatever she already had cooking, seasoned with a generous dose of castor oil.
Though Hawke had all the housemaids wrapped around his aristocratic fingers, he had
long since burned bridges with Cook. A terrible mistake on his part, and one Gemma
was only too happy to capitalize on. Cook and she had a common bond, and they had
often schemed together for ways to make Hawke’s life miserable — or at least ways
to keep him occupied in his closet a large portion of the day.
Gemma couldn’t help but laugh. He would never know what hit him.
“Yes, m’lady. Straight away.” Pearl scurried from the room, as though life itself
depended on her haste.
Turning the letter over in her hands, she noted the seal had already been broken.
There was no doubt Hawke already knew the contents of the missive. It must have pleased
him, or he wouldn’t have bothered her so early. And if it pleased him…
Oh, no.
Gemma lifted the letter. She couldn’t keep her hands from trembling as she opened
it and scanned the message. Her stomach dropped like a millstone to her knees as she
read:
Dearest Daughter Gemma,
We have the most wonderful news for you. Your father has entered negotiations for
your betrothal to the heir to the
Bridgewater
dukedom. A duke! Can you imagine such a prize? I can’t wait to describe to you what
the old fellow has done for the sake of your hand!
Though I can say your father was so pleased with
Bridgewater’s
title
and fortune
,
th
e
man
hardly needed to
go to such extremes.
I will write again soon, my dear, with a detailed account. For now, your father awaits
me for our visit to the Taj Mahal.
Yours, Mother
No. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t even met the man. And there hadn’t been enough time
to win Wilde back. And old? Her mother had said ‘the old fellow.’
And Hawke was pleased.
If only she could change Cook’s order to arsenic… she would eat the concoction herself.
Gemma felt her legs give way, and she crumpled to the ground with a mournful wail.
No.
God, please. No.
Somewhere deep in her soul a dam burst, and the tears flowed in torrents. The most
excruciating despair she had ever known erupted from her innermost being in the form
of unintelligible groans, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor and wept bitterly.
How long she stayed that way, Gemma wasn’t certain, but when she finally rose and
wiped her face, the sunlight from the window had shifted to the middle of the room.
She had spent every ounce of her sorrow, and there was nothing left in her to cry.
Gemma moved to the washbasin and used the cloth to wipe away the tearstains and soothe
her red, puffy eyes.
A glimmer of hope sprung to her heart.
If her mother and father knew how she truly felt about this union, they would never
force her to accept Bridgewater’s offer. Surely not. In spite of their firm doctrine
of marrying within one’s station, they had her best interests at heart. They would
want her to be happy.
She could write to them — explain everything. They would understand. They would relent.
A bargain, perhaps? They could give her a year to find another suitable match, someone
they could approve of? Her parents would agree to that. They weren’t completely without
hearts, after all.
Yes. A letter.
And if that didn’t work… there was always Cook’s special cod dish with mint arsenic
sauce.
Gemma sat at her desk and pulled out several sheets of the stationery her father had
given her on her last birthday. The same stationery upon which she had written numerous
missives to Colin. The missives he had callously disregarded when she had been exiled
to Brookshire those long months.
Never once had he responded.
Never once had he traveled to meet her, even when she’d alerted him to her upcoming
rare visits to the local villages, outlining for him the perfect place he might meet
with her without her brother’s knowledge.
Of course, she knew now. Hawke had intercepted all letters addressed to Gemma. He
would have read them — after all, he’d even read the communication from her own parents.
So Colin might have responded, but such a letter would never have made it into her
hands.
She arranged the sheets of lilac-scented stationery on her desk and reached for her
quill. Brushing the soft feather against her lips for a moment, she closed her eyes
and remembered Colin’s embrace. Her one moment of reckless joy in her otherwise perfectly
proper life.
No. Gemma couldn’t marry Bridgewater. She
wouldn’t
marry Bridgewater. Her heart belonged to Sir Colin Wilde, and her parents must be
made to understand.
She dipped the pen into the inkwell and brought the sharpened tip to her paper to
begin her letter, but no ink followed the trail of her well-formed script. The well
had run dry.
Gemma searched her desk drawer for another bottle of ink, but there was none to be
found. Her father kept a good supply of ink in his study.
Hawke wouldn’t be in there. By now, Cook’s morning casserole had likely found its
mark, and the marquess would be safely tucked away in his closet for several hours.
A smug but pleasant grin played on Gemma’s lips. Oh, to have seen the look on his
face when that dish had begun its work on his innards.
As for the letter, if she sent Pearl for the ink, the girl would only report the tidbit
to Hawke. Gemma would have to retrieve it herself.