Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

“ W hat is wrong with me?” Gemma whispered to herself, feeling both angry at Frederick and confused by her own feelings.

She’d stormed out of Frederick’s study, her heart pounding and her mind racing, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside her.

The kiss had been intense, unexpected, and electric. But what followed had been like a cold slap to her face. Frederick’s sudden detachment and his swift order for her to leave as if nothing had happened had left her raw and humiliated.

As she walked down the corridor her steps quickened with each stride, frustration building in her chest. She clenched her fists, fighting the painful sting of tears that threatened to spill.

Why had he kissed her if he was going to shut her out immediately thereafter? The way he had looked at her—those moments of vulnerability in his eyes—it had felt real. But then, just as quickly, he had retreated behind his cold, impenetrable wall.

She reached the end of the hall and paused, pressing her hands against her temples.

She barely knew him, and yet he had an uncanny ability to get under her skin, and make her feel things she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Gemma took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, her mind full of conflicting thoughts.

No, I will not let him get to me like this.

She had her own future and survival to consider, and she wasn’t about to let some brooding, infuriating Duke distract her from that.

As the storm outside raged on, she resolved to push aside what had happened between them.

It was a mistake; a brief moment of weakness.

But even as she completed the thought, the memory of his lips on hers and how his hands had pulled her close refused to fade from her mind.

By the time dinnertime arrived, Gemma had managed to calm herself, though her unresolved questions from earlier still lingered in her mind.

The dining hall was warm and lit by flickering candlelight, a contrast to the cold, tempestuous weather outside. Dark grey clouds loomed heavily over the estate, and the sound of rain hammering against the windows echoed throughout the room.

Vivian was already seated at the head of the table, looking as elegant and sharp as ever. When Gemma walked in she offered her a polite nod, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity, as if she sensed something was amiss.

Gemma took her seat beside her, silently grateful for the presence of someone who wasn’t Frederick. She hadn’t seen him since their charged encounter in his study and she wasn’t sure she wanted to face him yet. Her emotions were still too raw and too tangled, but her hope of avoiding him was short-lived.

Only moments later Frederick entered the dining hall, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. His expression was, as always, cool and composed, though there was something in the way his eyes flicked toward her—brief but unmistakable—that made her stomach flip.

“Good evening,” he greeted both women curtly.

He sat down at the opposite end of the table, his silence as weighty as the storm outside. The air between them was thick with unspoken words.

Vivian, as perceptive as ever, immediately detected the uncomfortable silence between them. She glanced from Gemma to Frederick, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she scrutinized their body language and expressions.

“Well,” she said, breaking the silence with her usual cutting tone. “It seems this storm has no intention of relenting tonight.”

Frederick merely nodded, his gaze fixed firmly on his plate, though Gemma could feel his imposing presence from across the table.

Vivian continued, her voice measured as she placed her fork down and regarded her grandson with a raised brow. “Given the weather, it would be foolish for Gemma to attempt to leave tonight.”

Frederick’s jaw tightened slightly, though he didn’t lift his gaze. “I have already made that clear to her,” he said in that same detached, almost dismissive tone he had used earlier.

Gemma looked up at him and their gazes locked across the table like lovers’ hands.

The air hummed with static. She thought she detected something raw and conflicted beneath his stoic facade, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

She nodded in response, her voice quiet but firm. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ll stay.”

Gemma held his gaze, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to decipher the thoughts behind his dark blue eyes. But just as quickly, they both looked away, as if the moment was too much to bear.

Vivian, ever the keen observer, raised a brow at their synchronized reaction.

“Has something happened?” she asked, her voice dripping with innocent curiosity, though the glint in her eyes suggested she already knew the answer.

“No,” Frederick and Gemma said in unison, their voices overlapping.

The immediate and identical response caused Vivian’s smile to widen in amusement.

Frederick shot his grandmother a warning glare. He was clearly not in the mood for her games. But Vivian merely smirked, the cogs in her brain turning as she pieced together what had transpired.

“Hmm,” she murmured, feigning innocence as she turned back to her plate. “Interesting.”

Gemma shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She glanced down at her plate and pushed her food around without much interest..

She tried to focus on the food in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to Frederick, to the kiss, to the way he had pulled away as if he had regretted it. She could still feel his lips lingering on hers. The unexpected and sudden coldness that followed had taken her by surprise and unnerved her.

She stole another glance at him from across the table. He was quietly composed and distant as though nothing had happened.

How does he do that? How does he simply shut everything off like that?

She wanted to push him, to demand answers, but she knew now wasn’t the time. Not with Vivian watching them so closely.

The violent storm continued to rage outside; a perfect metaphor for the storm that was tearing up her heart.

When dessert was finally served, Frederick noticed that the mood in the room had altered slightly.

The servants brought out a platter of delicate pastries and a rich, decadent, dark chocolate cake. Gemma produced a blinding smile as she gasped with delight at the treats that lay before her.

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice ripe with childlike glee. Frederick was startled by how much he liked the sound of her voice. “Chocolate cake was always my favorite .”

Her excitement was innocent, pure, and infectious, for it dispelled the negative energy in the room.

Gemma picked up her fork and took a small bite, closing her eyes as she savored the thick, sweet chocolate that melted sublimely on her tongue.

Frederick swallowed hard.

He had pointedly avoided looking at her during the meal, but finally glanced up at the sound of her rapture. His gaze lingered on her face. He was drawn to the way her eyes sparkled with happiness and the way her lips curved into a bright, genuine smile as she delicately consumed the generous slice of cake.

As she licked a trickle of chocolate from the corner of her mouth, something primal stirred within him. His eyes darkened as they traced the movement of her tongue, watching it as it flicked over her lower lip, catching the last traces of the dessert.

A slow heat began to build in his chest and spread through his veins like wildfire. He was mesmerized by her mouth and how her lips parted as she savored each bite. His thoughts betrayed him, flooding his mind with images of her lips against his and how it had felt to kiss her and taste her.

The memory of their passionate kiss earlier that day returned to him in vivid detail. He had tried to block it out, to bury the desire that had sprung up inside him. Watching her now, his desire suddenly returned tenfold and became impossible to ignore.

He shifted in his seat and forced himself to look away, but it was too late. The thoughts were already in motion, consuming him. He wanted her. He wanted her in a way that was entirely inappropriate; in ways he knew he shouldn’t allow himself to indulge.

But, God help him, the way she looked, the way she smiled, the way she had felt in his arms was driving him mad.

He clenched his fists under the table in a vain effort to maintain control and keep his stoic facade intact. But his mind was already filled with lustful thoughts of Gemma, of her body pressed against him, of her lips on his skin.

His pulse quickened, the taste of her lips on his vivid in his mind, the hunger that simmered beneath his controlled exterior now threatening to break through. He shook his head in disbelief. She was so genuinely happy over something as simple as a piece of cake. Other women would have sneered and dismissed such a joyous reaction as pure folly. As he watched her, Frederick sunk into a delighted daze filled with the warmth of her laughter and eyes that sparkled with unchecked pleasure.

But then, with one simple phrase, Gemma shattered the spell.

“Heavens, I have not had this in sixteen years,” she said in a soft, wistful voice, as though the dessert in front of her was not just a sweet treat but a memory of something long lost.

Frederick’s heart skipped a beat.

Sixteen years?

The number rang in his ears, and the fog of lust and desire that had enveloped him lifted in an instant, replaced by a cold clarity. He looked at her sharply. Vivian observed the sudden change in Frederick’s demeanor and frowned worriedly.

Vivian had always been acutely perceptive. She rarely let such details slip by unnoticed.

“Sixteen years?” she echoed, her voice calm but laced with intrigue. She tilted her head, studying Gemma with refreshed intensity. “You must be younger than five and twenty. If you have not eaten something like that in sixteen years, that would mean… the last time you tasted it was when you were a small child.”

The dessert itself had been nothing extravagant; it was one that any household would serve. The impact of Gemma’s statement gnawed at both Frederick and his grandmother.

Frederick noticed the immediate shift in Gemma’s posture. Her back, which had been straight and confident moments earlier, slumped ever so slightly. The light that had brightened her face just seconds ago drained away when she realized that she had said too much.

She lowered her gaze, focusing intently on the table, her fingers gripping the edge of her plate.

“My mother… she sent me away,” Gemma finally murmured, her voice quiet, almost hollow. “After my father died.”

Vivian’s expression softened, her brows furrowing in sympathy. “How old were you when this happened?”

Gemma swallowed, her throat bobbing as if she was trying to push down a lump of ice. Her fingers twitched nervously at the table’s edge.

“Seven,” she whispered. “I was seven.”

Frederick felt a sharp, cold anger rising in his chest. He had seen that look before; the haunted, hollow gaze of someone who had been abandoned.

His jaw clenched, the image of Helen flashing in his mind, her wide eyes filled with sorrow, her fragile body taken away to that wretched place. It was all too strikingly similar and painful.

His eyes turned to Vivian, who was now fully invested in Gemma’s story, her tone softening even further.

“And your mother?” she pressed, though not unkindly. “She sent you to live in the convent after your father’s death?”

Gemma nodded, her face still downcast, clearly reluctant to share more. She was holding back and Frederick knew why. She didn’t trust them enough yet to reveal everything.

And so she should. Too many must did have disappointed her and caused her pain by abusing her trust before she met us.

The people in their neck of society could be ruthless. Gemma knew better than to reveal all of her vulnerabilities to two strangers she had only just met.

Taking notice of the direction in which their conversation was heading, Vivian was about to ask Gemma more questions, but before she could speak again the thin thread holding Frederick’s self-control frayed and snapped.

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor, the sound loud and jarring in the deep silence of the dining hall. The abruptness of his movement caught both women off guard.

Vivian’s eyes widened in surprise and Gemma’s head shot up, her expression both confused and startled.

“I am tired,” Frederick said coldly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil that churned inside him. “I shall now take my leave and retire for the evening.”

Without waiting for a response he turned sharply on his heel and marched out of the dining hall, his long strides echoing in the quiet corridor. He could feel Gemma’s bewildered eyes on him but he didn’t turn back. He couldn’t.

The moment he was out of sight, Frederick’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts, his emotions swirling together in a cloud of anger, desire and frustration.

How could someone like Gemma, so strong and vibrant, have endured such pain and hardship? And why did he care so much?

He reached his study and slammed the door behind him, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage.

He didn’t want to feel this way.

He didn’t want to care about her past, about her suffering, or about her. He especially didn’t want to care about her .

Frederick leaned heavily against his desk, his hands gripping its edge so tightly that his knuckles turned white with effort. Images of Gemma flooded his mind. Her glossy brown hair and sparkling smile, her laughter, and how small and vulnerable she had looked a few moments earlier when she confessed to being sent away and cast aside at such a tender age.

A glow of protectiveness bloomed in his heart. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in many years.

And then, just as quickly, another image replaced it—of her mouth, and the way her lips had tasted earlier that day when they had kissed. The memory of her soft skin under his fingers and the way her body had pressed against his consumed him.

His breath quickened and he cursed under his breath, hating how much control she had over him without even trying. His realization of her power only made her more dangerously appealing, because the more he learned about her, the more he found himself drawn to her.

Frederick took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his emotions. He couldn’t afford to care for Gemma in this way. He had seen what caring for someone—what love—could do. It destroyed lives. It had destroyed his sister and it had ruined her beloved Peter.

No . He wouldn’t let himself fall into that trap again.

Despite his resolution, Gemma’s lips against his continued to haunt him. Frederick knew that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was already losing control.