Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

G emma’s heart pounded as she looked up at the tall man who had entered the library.

His imposing figure, broad shoulders and stern features made her feel small and suffocated. She had been caught—and by someone who clearly didn’t take kindly to trespassers. But she couldn’t let him know she was nothing more than a runaway hiding in his home.

Summoning all the arrogance she could muster, she straightened herself up in the chair and raised her chin.

“How dare you barge in here without knocking!” she snapped. “I am a guest in this house, and I demand that you treat me with respect.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by her tone, but the flicker of amusement in his eyes made Gemma’s pulse quicken. He stepped closer, his footsteps now heavy against the wooden floor, and she realized just how charged the room had suddenly become with his presence.

“A guest?” His voice was deep and smooth with a hint of mockery. He again crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her with an expression that bordered on entertained disbelief. “And what kind of guest sneaks into the master’s private library without his express invitation?”

Gemma’s stomach clenched. Master’s library? This was not going to be as easy as she thought, but she could not falter now, not when she had already committed herself to the lie.

“Well,” she said, feigning haughtiness, “perhaps if the servants had been more attentive, I wouldn’t have had to find my own way.”

His lips twitched as if they were suppressing a smile. “I see,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “And how exactly did you… find your way onto the estate?”

Gemma hesitated for a fraction of a second, but quickly regained her composure. “I arrived with one of the other guests,” she said airily, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. “I expect your staff failed to inform you of my arrival. I shall have a word with the host about that.”

The man took another step toward her, closing the distance between them. His dark eyes never left hers, and though she tried to maintain her bravado, something about his presence made her feel unsettled.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense.

“I would love to know who, exactly, invited you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Because I am certain I would remember if the Duke had extended an invitation to such a… memorable guest.” His hand moved up and down in front of her in silent criticism of her attire and appearance.

Gemma’s breath caught in her throat, but she forced herself to keep up the charade. She couldn’t let him see the panic rising inside her. She had to bluff her way through this.

“Lady Margaret Cartwright,” she lied, the name rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. “Daughter of the Viscount of Kentbridge.”

The man raised an eyebrow again, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Lady Margaret Cartwright?” he repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism. “How interesting. The Viscount of Kentbridge has a daughter?”

Gemma blinked, her mind scrambling for a response. “He does,” she stammered, trying to recover. “I have recently returned from abroad.”

“Is that so?” The man’s eyes gleamed with mirth as he took a step closer, now towering over her. “And tell me, Miss Cartwright, what brings you to this part of the country? It is rare for the daughter of a Viscount to travel alone, especially to an estate such as this.”

Gemma’s pulse quickened. She could feel the trap tightening around her, but she refused to back down.

“I…was invited, of course,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “By… the Duke himself.”

The man chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “The Duke invited you, did he?”

“Yes,” she said, her chin lifting defiantly. “I have a personal connection with him. He and my father are close friends.”

He tilted his head, his gaze studying her with an unsettling intensity. “And yet, I find it curious that you are hiding in here. An eligible young woman, dressed in rags, pretending to read a book… Tell me, Miss Cartwright, why is that?”

Gemma gulped. The lie was unraveling faster than she could weave it back together, and the man’s piercing gaze was making it impossible for her to think straight.

She was about to respond when the door to the library creaked open and a servant stepped inside, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace,” the servant said, his voice trembling slightly, “I apologize for interrupting, but I was sent to inform you that the dinner party continues, and the Dowager Duchess is asking after you.”

Your Grace?

Gemma’s blood ran cold and she thought she would faint.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening in horror as the realization hit her like a blow to the chest.

I have just insulted and lied to the Duke of Blackridge, the very Duke who owns the estate onto which I have trespassed.

The Duke looked down at her blankly though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction at exposing her lies.

“Thank you,” he said to the servant, his voice calm and measured. “Inform the guests that I have been called away on urgent business. The dinner party is over.”

The servant bowed again and left the room, closing the door behind him. The silence that followed was deafening.

Gemma sat frozen in the chair, her heart pounding in her chest. She had just tried to deceive the Duke of Blackridge himself—one of the most powerful men in the country—and now he was standing in front of her, fully aware of her attempts to deceive him.

The Duke’s eyes never left hers as he leaned forward, his face now merely inches away from hers.

“So,” he said softly, “Miss Cartwright. You claim that your father and I are close friends, but I have never heard of you.”

Gemma’s pulse raced and her hands grew sweaty as she tried to think of a way out of the situation, but no words or ideas sprang to her mind.

The Duke was too close, his presence overwhelming, his scent intoxicating. She could feel the heat radiating from his body and her mind betrayed her for a fleeting moment by wondering what it would be like to have him even closer.

“You,” she managed to choke out, “you should have told me who you were!”

The Duke raised an eyebrow and his lips curled into a half-smile. “And you should have told me who you were, Miss Margaret Cartwright,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable.

She bristled, embarrassment and frustration rising within her. “I did not think it was necessary to reveal my true identity to the man who barged in here without so much as an introduction!”

He chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “You are in my home, sitting in my chair, by my fireplace,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “If anyone here has failed to introduce themselves, it is you , my dear intruder.”

Gemma’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her defiance warring with her overwhelming attraction to this man.

She couldn’t let him have the upper hand, not when she had already lost so much.

“You may be the Duke,” she said, her voice shaking with anger, “but that does not grant you the right to interrogate me as though I were nothing more than a common criminal.”

He leaned forward until his lips were less than an inch away from hers, and Gemma’s breath hitched audibly in her throat. The air between them crackled with tension, and for an instant she thought he intended to kiss her. It was an insane, impossible thought, given the circumstances, but one she couldn’t shake.

“You are not a criminal, Miss Cartwright,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down her spine. “But you are, most certainly, no guest of mine.”

Just as the space between them began to disappear, the door to the library flew open and a regal figure swept into the room.

“Frederick!” The Dowager Duchess’ voice was sharp, her eyes narrowing at her grandson. “What on earth do you think you are doing, ending the dinner party so abruptly?”

Gemma jumped in her seat, her heart pounding as she realized how close she and the Duke had been.

Frederick.

So, that was his name.

Frederick gritted his teeth and stepped away from the stranger as the sudden interruption cut through the charged air between them.

He straightened his posture and turned to face the Dowager Duchess, who stood in the doorway, her sharp eyes darting from him to the woman he had cornered.

She raised a perfectly arched brow, her gaze lingering on the young woman in a way that made Frederick’s irritation flare even more.

“And who is this?” his grandmother asked, her voice laced with amusement and a hint of curiosity.

“This—” Frederick began in a tight voice with a vague wave towards Gemma “is an intruder.”

The Dowager’s eyes sparkled, though she remained composed. “An intruder?” she repeated, glancing back at the woman with renewed interest. “How intriguing. It is not often we get uninvited guests here at Blackridge.”

Frederick shot his grandmother a look, annoyed by her amusement in the face of such a serious matter.

“She has somehow found her way onto the estate,” he said, his tone as hard as stone. “And now she is going to be escorted from the premises.”

He turned sharply toward the stranger, his eyes narrowing. “You need to leave. Now .”

The defiant glimmer in the unknown woman’s eyes faltered, and for the first time, Frederick saw the panic setting in. Her posture stiffened and her earlier bravado vanished, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. Then, her voice broke through the silence, trembling and desperate.

“Please,” she said, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “I have nowhere to go.”

Frederick frowned, unmoved by her plea. “That is not my concern. You have trespassed in my home?—”

“I promise that I will not cause you any trouble,” she pleaded, her voice adopting a frantic edge. “I—I will leave in the morning. Just—just let me stay the night. Please.”

His irritation deepened. He was not accustomed to being interrupted, especially by someone who had the audacity to break into his home.

His gaze hardened and he opened his mouth to dismiss her again, but something in her expression stopped him cold.

He could see her genuine fear at the possibility of being turned out into the night, cold, alone and vulnerable. It gnawed at the edge of his resolve and caused him to hesitate.

“I cannot go out there tonight,” the woman continued, her voice breaking slightly as she gestured toward the windows, where the dark night pressed against the glass. “It is so very dark out. I am not asking you for much. Just a few hours…until the dawn breaks.”

Frederick’s jaw worked as his frustration mounted. He didn’t know what game this woman was playing, but her desperation seemed real. Still, he had no intention of letting her manipulate him, no matter how pitiful she looked.

“Frederick,” came his grandmother’s soft voice, breaking into his thoughts.

He turned to see her stepping forward, her eyes now more thoughtful than amused. She studied the intruder carefully, her lips pursed in consideration. There was a calculating glint in her eyes that told Frederick she was far from indifferent to the situation.

“The girl is clearly in distress,” the Dowager said, her tone gentle but firm. “It would be unkind to send her out into the night, especially without knowing the full story.”

Frederick’s gaze darkened. “I do not care a whit about her story. She does not belong here.”

The Dowager’s lips curled slightly and Frederick could see she was gearing up to challenge him in her own way. “I understand your frustration, but you are being rather harsh, do you not think? Look at her—she is clearly frightened. Surely we can offer her a bit of shelter, just until the morning.”

Frederick stared at his grandmother, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“You are interfering as usual,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

His grandmother gave him a pointed look. “Oh, perhaps I have meddled enough tonight, have I not?” Her voice held a playful hint of regret. “I should have told you about the dinner party, but?—”

“That is a gross understatement,” Frederick snapped, glaring at her.

His irritation toward his grandmother’s unsanctioned dinner party, the unwanted guests roaming his estate, and now this intruder standing in his library, simmered within him.

“None of this would have happened if you had told me what was going on in my own house,” he added.

His grandmother sighed, her amusement fading as she softened her tone. “Be that as it may, this girl does not deserve your ire, Frederick. Look at her—she is clearly desperate, and there is more to this than meets the eye. Why not give her the benefit of the doubt, at least for tonight?”

Frederick scowled, turning his attention back to the woman, who stood trembling slightly, her hands gripping the back of the armchair for support.

Her earlier arrogance had crumbled, leaving behind only fear and uncertainty in its wake.

“I promise I will… I will—oh!” she began to say, but she swayed on her feet, her breath quickening.

“Are you all right, dear?” his grandmother asked.

“I—”

Before Frederick could react, she let out a soft gasp and collapsed.

“Good heavens!” the Dowager exclaimed, rushing forward.

Frederick moved quickly, catching the woman before she hit the floor. Her body was limp in his arms and her face was ashen. He knelt, and lowered her gently onto the rug, his pulse quickening with frustration and something else he didn’t care to examine.

“Is she all right?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine concern.

Frederick checked her pulse, finding it steady but weak.

“She has fainted,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Vivian stood beside him, brushing a hand over Gemma’s forehead with surprising tenderness. “Poor thing. She must be exhausted. We cannot possibly throw her out now.”

Frederick bit back a retort, his mind whirling. He had intended to have this woman escorted off his property immediately, but now she lay unconscious in his arms, and his grandmother was looking at him with reproach and expectation.

He carried her towards the chaise longue nearby and lowered her on the sofa cushions gently, making sure to put a pillow behind her head to keep it elevated.

“This is absurd,” Frederick muttered as he was crouched over the unconscious woman.

Then, he rose to his feet and stepped away from her.

He ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the situation as though it was a personal affront.

His grandmother stood as well and gave him a look that was half-amused, half-serious.

“I know you dislike complications, Frederick, but this girl needs help. Send her out now, and who knows what will become of her? Let her stay the night. You will learn more about who she is in the morning. Perhaps she has quite an interesting story to tell.”

Frederick shot his grandmother a withering look. “You think this is some kind of game, do you?”

Her lips twitched. “Life often is.”

Frederick let out an exasperated breath, knowing he had lost the battle. He couldn’t, in good conscience, turn a woman out into the night when she was in such a state, no matter how much she irritated him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice taut with annoyance. “She stays. But only for tonight.”

Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction, though she merely nodded. “Thank you, dear. I will see to it that she causes no trouble.”

Frederick turned sharply to one of the nearby servants who had entered the room at his earlier call.

“Prepare a guest room,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Make sure she is comfortable but remember—this is a temporary arrangement. She will leave in the morning.”

The servant nodded and hurried off to fulfill the command.

Frederick glanced back at Gemma, now lying unconscious at his feet, and shook his head. How had this evening gone so utterly off course? He was used to being in control and matters running smoothly under his command. But this woman—this mysterious, infuriating woman—had turned everything upside down.

As he looked down at her pale face, a strange mix of frustration and curiosity gnawed at him.

Who was she?