Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

“ S top glaring, Frederick, you are going to burn a hole through the poor girl,” came the amused voice of his grandmother, who sidled up next to him with an ever-present twinkle in her eye. She followed his sight line to the dance floor and gave a knowing chuckle. “You look as though you are about to murder the earl.”

Frederick watched the dance floor with narrowed eyes, his gaze locked on Gemma and Andrew as they twirled across the floor.

The soft music floated through the air, but to Frederick, it sounded like nails on glass.

He was standing near the far end of the ballroom, trying his best to ignore the gnawing band of jealousy that tightened around his chest as he watched Gemma laugh at something Andrew had said.

Her face was illuminated by the chandelier light, her lips parted in a smile that had Frederick’s blood boiling. Not because she was smiling, no, it was because she was smiling at Andrew—a man who had never known a serious day in his life.

And the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him only made it worse.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Grandmother,” Frederick muttered, folding his arms crossly over his chest.

His posture was stiff and his jaw was tightly clenched as his gaze returned to Gemma, who was once again laughing at another one of Andrew’s witticisms.

“Of course you do, Grandson,” Vivian said breezily, as though his mood was of little consequence. “You are jealous.”

Frederick shot her a sharp look, his frown deepening. “Nonsense.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow, her expression one of mocking disbelief. “Oh, please. You have been glaring at them like a hawk all evening, and now you are going to try and convince me that it is ‘nonsense’?”

He gritted his teeth in a silent refusal to entertain his grandmother’s accusation.

He knew that there was no point in denying what was patently obvious, at least where Vivian was concerned.

He glanced back at Gemma and Andrew, seeing the latter lean in closer to whisper something into her ear. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to march over there and pull her away from him.

Vivian’s voice interrupted his thoughts once more. “You could always go and cut in, you know. It is what men do when they are interested.”

Frederick shot her a glare. “I am not interested.”

Vivian’s laugh was soft but teasing. “Of course not. That is why you look like you are going to throttle poor Andrew.”

As the music continued, Frederick found himself unable to stay still. The sight of Andrew’s hand on Gemma’s waist, and the way her laugh carried across the room gnawed at him mercilessly. His stomach knotted as he seethed with jealousy.

When he saw Gemma walk away from the crowded ballroom, her face slightly flushed as she made her way down a quiet corridor, Frederick couldn’t resist following.

He didn’t know what had spurred her departure, but he had seen enough for tonight.

He needed answers.

As Gemma made her way through the throngs of elegantly dressed guests, she felt the sharp glances and heard the faint whispers that followed her.

She was used to curious stares and a few sidelong looks. Accompanying the Dowager Duchess of Blackridge, who rarely took on companions, gave her a certain mystique. But tonight, the whispers seemed to reach her ears with peculiar clarity, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her a little too closely for comfort.

“Oh, it is Miss Bradford, is it not?” A tall, poised lady with a delicate smile caught her arm, her voice as smooth as cream but with an edge that made Gemma’s stomach tighten. “You must tell us all! How did you come to be in Her Grace’s favor?”

Gemma managed a polite smile, though her fingers suddenly felt cold. “I am fortunate to have met Her Grace,” she replied evenly, hoping to end the conversation there.

But the lady’s smile only widened.

Another voice chimed in, that of a young woman with bright eyes and an all-too-keen interest.

“Yes, how curious. We have heard that you are not from these parts. What an unusual choice for Her Grace to make a companion of someone… unknown to society. Are you from London, perhaps?”

The question felt like a probe, and Gemma swallowed. “No, not from London,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light.

“Oh, how fascinating! Then where, pray tell?”

Gemma hesitated, memories of St. Catherine’s prickling at the edge of her mind. She wished the Dowager was with her to intervene or whisk her away, but the she was across the room, deep in conversation with an old friend.

“I grew up in the countryside,” she said softly, trying to steer the conversation away. “It was… a quiet life.”

“And what of your family?” a third woman asked, her head tilted in a way that suggested she was aware of just how unsettling her question was. “I would imagine they must miss you dreadfully, what with you now residing here in the north.”

A pang of loneliness shot through Gemma, the sting of her mother’s rejection and the endless years at the convent pressing against her heart.

She forced a smile. “They… they are dead.”

“Oh, how tragic,” one of them murmured, though her expression held no trace of genuine sympathy. Instead, she leaned in closer. “So no family to speak of, then?”

Gemma’s throat tightened and she could feel her face growing warm.

She didn’t dare let her discomfort show, even as her mind reeled with memories she tried so hard to suppress; the empty convent hallways, the letters that went unanswered, the nuns’ cold voices telling her she was alone.

“No,” she managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt. “No family at all.”

The trio exchanged looks, their curiosity evidently piqued.

“Poor dear,” one of them said with a faint, pitying smile that somehow felt worse than scorn. “You are lucky indeed to have found a benefactor in the Duchess. How… providential.”

“Yes,” Gemma replied quietly, her smile fading as the words seemed to echo in her mind.

She needed air, needed to escape their cold, prying eyes and sharp tongues.

“If you will excuse me…”

She walked away, her steps quickening as she wove through the crowded ballroom, heart pounding as she finally slipped down a quiet corridor and opened the first door she could find.

After she had entered the room and shut the door behind her, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. The walls felt as if they were closing in and her past clawed at her with cruel insistence.

She looked around and realized that she was in a small library, its shelves lined with leather-bound books that slept in the long shadows cast upon them by the candlelight.

Gemma walked to the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she looked out into the darkened garden, her thoughts whirling in a storm of memories and questions.

Then she sensed it. The familiar, magnetic presence behind her.

She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

The moment Frederick entered, she felt her body instinctively tense.

“Your Grace. Why are you here?” Her voice came out softer than she had intended, weary and vulnerable.

She heard the door’s latch click shut and his heavy footsteps drawing closer.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his tone clipped, almost accusing.

Gemma turned to face him and was startled by the force that emanated from his eyes.

“A small group of ladies asked one too many inquisitive questions about my past,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I needed a few moments to myself.”

She could feel his unrelenting gaze searing into her. His eyes glimmered with pain and repressed jealousy.

“Is that all?” he asked, his words carrying a weight she didn’t understand.

He took a step closer, towering over her in the dim light.

“What do you mean?” She frowned, taken aback by the harsh, accusatory tone of his voice.

His jaw tightened. “You have been flirting with Lord Newfield all night.”

Gemma’s eyes widened. “ Flirting with him?” she repeated, incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you truly think I could not see the way you looked at him?” he questioned, his words sharp and scathing. “The way you smiled and laughed at everything he said…?”

She took a step forward, her own frustration boiling over. “What on earth are you talking about, Your Grace? Why do you care if I smile or laugh?”

Her question seemed to stop him in his tracks, leaving him speechless, and his expression became momentarily confused. He opened his mouth as though he had intended to offer a sharp retort, but had instead thought better of it.

Her heart ached as she watched him struggle to communicate.

Then, with his voice in the lowest octave she had ever heard him speak, he whispered, “because you are mine. And no one touches what belongs to me.”

Before she could fully comprehend his words, Frederick’s arm circled her waist and he pulled her against him, his lips crashing down on hers with a hunger that caught her completely off guard.

Gemma gasped, her body stiffening and her senses reeling. As his lips moved over hers, and his fingers gripped her tightly, she felt herself begin to yield to the wild need that rose up inside of her. Without further thought, her hands instinctively reached up and wrapped themselves around his neck.

The world around them faded, her senses narrowing to nothing but the feel of his body against hers, and the rough desperation of his kiss. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath warm and ragged.

“You drive me mad, Gemma,” he whispered, his voice strained with longing. “You awaken something in me; something dark, wild and completely beyond my control.”

She shivered at his words, at the raw intensity in his gaze, but before she could speak, his lips claimed hers again, softer this time, but still commanding.

His hands moved with a steady, unyielding purpose, guiding her towards the desk behind them. She felt its edge press into her back as he lifted her onto it, his hands cradling her face with surprising tenderness.

A tremor ran through her as his fingers slipped down her arms, raised them above her head and pinned them together with one hand. She arched involuntarily, her breath catching as his mouth found her neck and his teeth grazed her skin. Her body responded automatically, her legs tightening around him as a moan escaped her lips.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress against her skin. “Say you are mine.”

Gemma felt her cheeks flush and her pulse pound in her ears. She tried to look away, but his fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I… I am… yours,” she managed, her voice breathless.

A satisfied smile played on his lips and he pressed another searing kiss to her mouth as his hands wandered over her curves. He leaned over and trailed his lips down her neck to the delicate hollow of her throat and the soft swell of her chest.

The sensation made her shudder and her head fell back in bliss as his lips found the sensitive skin between her collarbones.

She hardly recognized herself as she responded so freely and so full of need under his electric touch. His hand slid under her skirt, and when his fingers touched the gap between her thighs, Gemma felt herself freeze, her heart pounding with fear and desire.

“I… I have never…” she whispered, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment and thrill.

“Good,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire. “This means you are mine in every way.”

“Oh…” she breathed.

He kissed her deeply again, his hand roaming higher, exploring and teasing her with a tenderness that left her weak and trembling.

“Tell me you want this too, Gemma,” he urged, his voice a low growl.

“I… I do. I want you, Frederick.”

A deep, satisfied sound escaped him then, and he kissed her with renewed passion, his touch bold and assured as he explored her, pushing her toward sensations that were both thrilling and alarming in their intensity.

She lost herself in his breathtakingly sensual touch, her body alive to every caress, every whispered word.

A loud noise suddenly sounded from outside the library doors, abruptly breaking the spell.

Frederick groaned with frustration, pulled away from her with obvious reluctance and gently helped her down from the desk. She clutched at his coat, still breathless, unsteadied by the magnitude of her desire.

“Come… my Lady Gemma,” he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eye as he guided her toward the door. “We should return to the ballroom.”

“Y-yes… all right…” She could barely catch her breath, but before she could leave he pulled her close to him again, his lips meeting hers in one final, consuming kiss.

“Do not think this is over,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear and sending another shiver through her. “We have only just begun, my lady.”