Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

“ W here is Her Grace?” Gemma asked, her heart pounding.

Several rainy days later, Gemma was summoned to one of the sitting rooms by a footman, his message vague but urgent.

She had rushed down the hallway, her mind racing, imagining the worst. Had something happened to Vivian? Had the storm caused some damage to the estate?

When she arrived at the sitting room she found Frederick already there, his face a mask of concern. He was standing by the door, glancing around the room as if looking for someone.

“I was told she fainted,” Frederick replied, his voice tight.

He glanced at the door again as though expecting his grandmother to appear at any moment.

Just as they were about to leave and search for her there came a resounding click .

Frederick’s expression immediately grew dark. He stormed to the door and rattled the handle but the door did not budge.

It was locked.

“She has locked us in,” Frederick growled, and he slammed his fist against the heavy oak. “Grandmother!”

Gemma couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped from her mouth. It was absurd, really, the lengths to which the Dowager Duchess was going to keep them together. She looked around the room, spotting a tray of fine treats and a blanket spread before the roaring fire.

“Well, even though she has locked us in, I must admit that she did it with style,” Gemma remarked dryly, gesturing to the cozy set up.

Frederick shot her a withering look, but she could see the corner of his mouth twitching, as though he was trying not to smile. “This is not funny.”

“No, it is not,” she agreed, while straining to suppress her growing mirth at the situation. “But it is clever.”

Frederick muttered something under his breath and resumed banging on the door, his frustration growing with every unanswered pound.

Gemma began searching for another way out, but it was clear that Vivian had thought of everything. The windows were locked and the key was nowhere to be found.

After a few moments, Frederick gave up on the door and sank into one of the chairs by the fire, his jaw tight with barely contained anger.

Gemma sat across from him, still smiling despite the ridiculousness of their dilemma.

“You have to admit,” she said, leaning forward slightly, “she is quite determined.”

Frederick glared at her darkly. “She does not know when to stop,” he muttered.

Gemma held his gaze, feeling the tension between them rising once again.

As she sat down in the armchair beside him, Frederick turned toward her, his eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Gemma shrugged, trying to keep her voice light, though she felt her own irritation creeping in. “What does it look like I am doing? I am sitting. We are clearly not getting out of this room anytime soon, so we may as well make the best of it.”

Frederick’s brow furrowed. “The best of it?” he said incredulously.

“Yes,” she replied with a small smile, gesturing to the luxurious room. “Look around. We are locked in a room with a roaring fire, a tray of the finest sweets, and velvet armchairs that are probably more comfortable than anything you have in your study. We could be stuck in far worse places.”

Frederick’s jaw tightened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an acknowledgment, perhaps, that she had a point.

He stalked toward the fire, still bristling with anger, but eventually returned and sat down in the chair opposite hers.

For a moment they sat in silence. The only sounds in the room came from the crackling fire and the more distant howling storm.

Gemma sighed softly and looked over at the tray of treats. “You know,” she said, trying to ease the tension, “I think your grandmother might have planned this down to the very last detail. She did not simply lock us in here. She has set the perfect scene. Fine pastries, soft blankets, and just enough warmth from the fire to make us feel cozy.”

Frederick scowled, though his gaze flickered to the tray of sweets. “This is absurd,” he muttered, but the edge in his voice had dulled.

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Absurd, yes. But she is persistent, I will give her that.”

He didn’t bother to respond and merely crossed his arms and stared into the fire, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Gemma briefly wondered if she should stop trying to make conversation, but sitting in silence with Frederick wasn’t any more appealing than talking to him when he was in one of his moods.

She reached for one of the delicate pastries, taking a small bite and savoring the sweetness. “At least the food is good,” she said with a grin, trying again to lighten the mood.

Frederick glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “You are remarkably calm for someone who has just been locked in a room.”

Gemma shrugged. “What good would panicking do? It is not as if banging on the door is going to get us anywhere. Besides, I have had worse things happen to me.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she could tell he was curious but did not want to pry. He instead turned his attention back to the fire, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of the chair.

After a long pause, Gemma finally spoke again. “Does your grandmother do this sort of thing often?”

“I would not know anything about locking people in rooms, but meddling? Oh, absolutely. She has been setting us up since the day you arrived. She is relentless,” he muttered.

Gemma nodded. “In my limited experience, people who interfere tend to care, in their own way…”

She trailed off, her thoughts turning inward. Her mother had never interfered. Not once.

Frederick’s gaze sharpened at her words. “What do you mean?”

Gemma hesitated, feeling like she’d said too much. But there was something about the quiet intimacy of the moment, the crackling fire, the fact that they were locked in this little room together, that made her feel like she could be somewhat forthcoming.

“My father,” she said softly, staring into the flames, “used to interfere all the time. He was always getting involved in things, especially when it came to my education or my future. I remember once, he had this grand idea that I should learn Latin of all things. He insisted on hiring a tutor, even though I had no interest in it. But he cared, you know? He thought he was doing what was best for me.”

Frederick’s eyes softened slightly as he listened, the hard lines of his face relaxing just a bit. “And your mother?” he asked quietly.

Gemma’s smile faded. “She never interfered.”

A thick silence developed as the weight of her words settled between them. She could feel Frederick watching her closely, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she reached for another pastry, trying to shift the conversation away from her past.

“Here,” she said, offering a tart to him. “You should try one. They are really quite good.”

Frederick hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden change in tone. After a brief pause he leaned forward and took the pastry from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers.

He pulled back quickly as if the contact had startled him, and Gemma caught the way his gaze briefly flicked to her lips before he looked away, his expression unreadable once more.

She pretended not to notice, biting into her own pastry and smiling to herself. “See?” she said, her tone light again. “Her Grace might be a meddler, but at least she knows how to spoil us.”

Frederick offered a low grunt of agreement, biting into the pastry with a grudging acceptance. For a while they ate in silence, the discomfort between them easing as they both focused on the food. Gemma could feel the mood beginning to improve, becoming less fraught and more comfortable, if that was possible under the circumstances.

“I have to admit,” Gemma said after a while, her eyes twinkling with mischief, “your grandmother does have impeccable taste when it comes to sweets.”

Frederick’s lips twitched and Gemma thought he might actually smile. “Indeed she does,” he agreed, his voice low.

They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments before Gemma couldn’t resist teasing him again.

“So, tell me, Your Grace,” she said, leaning forward slightly, “what is your favorite sweet?”

Frederick shot her a look, clearly not used to such casual conversation, but there was now a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I do not indulge often,” he said gruffly.

Gemma smirked. “Oh, come now. Everyone has a favorite. Even you.”

Frederick sighed as though indulging her curiosity was a great burden. “Very well. Lemon tarts.”

“Lemon tarts?” Gemma echoed, surprised. “I would not have guessed that.”

“Why not?”

She grinned, biting into another pastry. “Because you always seem so… serious. I would have thought something dark and bitter, something with coffee or dark chocolate.”

Frederick’s gaze flicked to her, his dark blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Do I really seem so severe?”

Gemma raised an eyebrow. “Yes,” she said plainly, though there was a teasing note in her voice. “But lemon tarts? That’s… almost sweet.”

Frederick gave a low chuckle, a sound so rare that it made Gemma’s heart skip a beat. “I have my moments,” he said, his voice softer now.

As Gemma nibbled on another pastry she glanced up at Frederick, who was still lounging in his chair, his eyes steadily fixed upon her. His earlier frustration had melted away, leaving behind an air of quiet intrigue. For the first time since they’d been locked in together, his deportment seemed softer and more approachable.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, “you have questionable taste in sweets.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows in mock offense and laughed softly. “Questionable? You wound me, Your Grace. These pastries are delightful, and I happen to think that I have excellent taste.”

Frederick gave a slow, teasing smirk. “You are choosing the ones with the most sugar and cream. You will be bouncing off the walls by the end of the evening.”

“And you are only selecting the lemon tarts,” Gemma retorted, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “The most serious dessert for the most serious man. How fitting.”

Frederick shook his head, his lips twitching as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “Serious? Perhaps. But at least I do not consume half a tray of sweets like a child.”

Gemma leaned forward, narrowing her eyes playfully. “I will have you know, Your Grace, that I take my sweets very seriously.”

Frederick chuckled, a rich, deep sound that sent a ripple of warmth through the room.

It was the first time she had heard him laugh freely, and it surprised her. She was not used to seeing him relaxed and enjoying himself. His usual brooding and imposing demeanor had faded, revealing a man capable of humor and lightness.

“And here I was thinking you did not know how to smile, let alone laugh,” Gemma teased, her voice lilting as she leaned a little closer. “I did not think it was possible.”

Frederick’s eyes sparkled with amusement, a hint of challenge. “Careful, Miss Bradford. You are dangerously close to mockery.”

She laughed, her heart racing a little faster as their banter became more intimate.

“Oh, I would not dare to mock a duke,” she replied, her tone filled with faux innocence. “That would be terribly improper.”

Frederick tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “You are already terribly improper, Gemma.”

She felt a jolt of surprise at hearing him use her first name so casually. He had never called her that before; not with such ease and familiarity. It felt intimate and personal, and sent a flush of warmth through her body.

She swallowed, her playful demeanor faltering as the mood between them altered.

“Well, I have been accused of worse,” she said lightly, trying to keep the ambience playful, although her voice came out a little more breathless than she had intended.

Frederick’s gaze darkened, his eyes trailing over her face and lingering on her lips for a fraction of a second too long. Their teasing began to develop a sensual, more dangerous edge.

Gemma’s heart thudded in her chest as the space between them seemed to shrink, even though neither one of them had moved.

She smiled, trying to regain some control of the situation, though her pulse was racing. “You should smile more often,” she said softly. “It suits you.”

Frederick’s eyes remained locked on hers, the corner of his mouth curving up ever so slightly.

“And you should be more careful when teasing me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety tone.

He moved with surprising speed as he leaned forward and grabbed her wrist. She let out a soft gasp of surprise as he pulled her from her chair and, in one swift motion, rolled her onto the floor and pinned her body gently but firmly beneath his own on the plush rug.

Gemma’s breath hitched as her body pressed against his, their faces mere inches apart. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the warmth that flowed from him, the weight of his body sending a rush of sensation through her. She could feel the hardness of his chest against her, and could hear the rapid rise and fall of his breath that matched her own.

The earthy, clean scent of him flooded her senses. Her world had shrunk down to this moment, this charged space where every inch of her skin tingled with awareness.

“Frederick…” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

His name on her lips seemed to release something in him. As he hovered above her his gaze moved to her mouth and his breath caressed her cheek. Gemma could feel his fervor seeping into her. His hand slid up her arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He curled his fingers around her wrist and gently pinned her arm above her head.

“Say my name again,” he said, his eyes glistening with desire.

Her heart thundered in her chest and her lips parted slightly as he leaned closer and brushed his lips like a butterfly’s wing across her mouth.

“Frederick…” she whispered, unable to deny him anything, not when he was holding her like that.

The anticipation was unbearable, every nerve in her body alight with the possibility of what would happen next. His dark blue eyes bored into hers, filled with a raw intensity that made her pulse race even faster.

Just as their lips were about to meet, the door suddenly creaked open and a familiar voice echoed through the room.

“Frederick! Gemma! Oh, thank goodness, I found you!”

Both of them froze. Frederick’s body went rigid above her, his head snapping toward the door.

Gemma’s heart plummeted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as reality crashed back into focus.

The Dowager Duchess stood in the doorway, her cane clutched in one hand, looking around the room with a concerned expression on her face.

“Are you two all right?” Vivian called out, oblivious to the fact that they were hidden from view behind the sofa.

Frederick pushed himself off Gemma with a growl, standing up quickly and brushing off his coat. He shot her a quick glance, his expression one of frustration, embarrassment and unfinished business.

Gemma scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her dress while her heart continued to pound from the ardor of the moment they’d just shared.

Vivian’s footsteps echoed across the room as she stepped further inside, clearly not noticing the state of disarray they had been in only moments earlier.

“I have been looking everywhere for you,” she said, her tone exasperated. “I thought you might have gotten lost, or worse.”

Frederick stormed over to her, his face a mask of controlled anger. “Never do that again, Grandmother,” he said in a menacing tone. “This ridiculous meddling has gone far enough.”

Vivian blinked and stared up at him with wide eyes. “Meddling? What are you talking about?”

Frederick’s jaw clenched. “You locked us in here. You have been pushing and scheming for days. This ends now, or I will have no choice but to send you back to London.”

Vivian’s eyes widened, and for a moment she looked genuinely taken aback. But then her expression softened and she gave him a knowing smile.

“Oh, Frederick,” she said softly, “you are not nearly as hard to read as you think you are.”

With that, Frederick stormed out of the room, leaving Gemma standing in stunned silence. Vivian turned to her, her expression sly and conspiratorial.

“Well, dear,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes, “that went much better than I had expected.”

Gemma stared at Vivian, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the moment that had just passed between herself and Frederick. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream with frustration.

Vivian patted her hand gently. “He will come around, my dear. He just needs a little more… persuasion.”

Gemma could only nod, her thoughts still spinning as she tried to make sense of the sudden change between them, and the irrefutable connection that had been simmering between them since the storm had begun.