Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

That Night, The Kents’ Ballroom

G emma was prepared to make the most of it. The Kents’ ball, that was. Her terrible husband had already taken off toward Lord Kent’s study the moment they’d arrived. But that would not keep her from having a wonderful time. Her friends and family were here. She intended to enjoy herself in their company. The devil take Grovemont.

She breezed through the crowd, lifting the skirts of her sky-blue gown. She was wearing her favorite diamond necklace tonight. One that made her feel like a regal duchess. One that Mama had given her. She was still without earbobs. And now that she was married, Mama would no longer have a reason to try to coax her into wearing the hateful things. Her husband might be awful, but there were some perks of being a duchess.

Gemma craned her neck, searching for Griffin and Meredith. But she kept getting distracted. Every time she thought about the haughty way Grovemont had insisted she’d tricked him into marriage, she wanted to scream with frustration. She’d no more wanted to marry him than he’d wanted to marry her. She’d assumed she would have time to explain it to him, to ask his forgiveness for the way they’d started in life. But now she realized he wasn’t interested in listening to her explanation. He’d already made up his mind. She was guilty.

“Gemma, there you are,” came Meredith’s pretty voice behind her. “Where is Grovemont?”

Gemma turned to greet her sister-in-law and brother with a big, false smile. “Oh, he must be around here somewhere. I just saw him.”

Gemma spent the next hour chatting and laughing with Griffin and Meredith. Of course, she didn’t mention a thing about her unhappy marriage. It would only make Griffin feel guilty if he knew how bad it was. And it was her fault, not his. He deserved no guilt.

“Is Grovemont planning to take you to his country estate in Devon?” Griffin asked.

Gemma still had the fake smile pinned to her face, but her brother’s question made her frown. One of the many hideous things her husband had said to her last night came winging back through her brain. “I will be making all the decisions from now on. Including where you live .”

She hadn’t given that part of his diatribe much thought, but now she couldn’t forget it. “ I have kept you here in town to keep up appearances ,” he’d also said. Did he intend to send her away? If so, where? And when?

It would be an outlandish thing for him to do. Surely, he wouldn’t — Oh, dear. Another memory came to her then. A memory from the day after her wedding, when she’d asked Mrs. Howard if the maids would be moving her things from the trunks to the wardrobe and the dressing room. Mrs. Howard had lowered her gaze and replied, “Not at this time, my lady.”

Gemma had assumed she meant that day . She’d guessed the maids were busy helping with the wedding ball, which stood to reason. But as the days progressed and her items were still in the trunks, she’d questioned Mrs. Howard again and had received yet another vague answer.

Now, Gemma had a sinking feeling she knew why the housekeeper had been so vague. Grovemont intended to send Gemma away. Where? Who knew? For how long? It was anyone’s guess. But she was certain about it, and she intended to confront the man at the earliest opportunity.

“Excuse me,” she said to Griffin and Meredith. “I think I see Cecily.”

Gemma couldn’t leave fast enough. She didn’t want Griffin and Meredith to see the panic that was undoubtedly in her eyes. And she had seen her good friend Cecily Grundy standing near the entrance. She made her way over to her friend, intent upon rescuing poor Cecily from her awful mother.

“He’s going to send me away,” Gemma whispered as soon as she and Cecily were alone near the wall a few minutes later.

“Who?” Cecily asked, blinking her bright cornflower-blue eyes at Gemma.

“Grovemont, of course,” Gemma replied.

Cecily’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Where is he sending you?”

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. I?—”

“Oh, don’t look now, Gemma. But Lord Pembroke is coming this way. You know that Lady Mary has set her sights on him now that Grovemont is lost to her. She’s warned us all away from him, of course.”

Gemma fought the urge to roll her eyes. Apparently, Lady Mary was back to her old foibles. “I was hoping Mary would stop with that nonsense.”

“Oh, no. Not Mary,” Cecily replied, shaking her head. “Seems Pembroke is her new prey. Which means, I, for one, intend to stay far away from him. I’ll see you later.” And with that, Cecily disappeared into the crowd just before Pembroke arrived at Gemma’s side.

“Your Grace,” Pembroke said, bowing over her hand. “It’s good to see you this evening.”

“Good evening, Lord Pembroke,” Gemma replied, smiling at the earl.

“You look beautiful tonight as always. Will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Gemma gave him a beatific smile. Cecily might want to stay far away from Lord Pembroke, but Gemma was a duchess now. She had absolutely nothing to fear from Mary Costner. Of course, she would dance with Lord Pembroke. Besides, better to dance with a gentleman who seemed to want to dance with her than with her ill-tempered husband, who did it out of obligation.

“I’d be delighted,” she easily replied, placing her arm on Lord Pembroke’s proffered one. Pembroke led her to the dance floor.

Lucian glared at the dancers. Was that Pembroke with his wife again ? That made three nights in a row. It was unseemly for a married woman to dance so often with a man who was not her husband. Did Pembroke want his nose broken? Lucian stalked toward the dance floor.

“Get lost, lad,” he said to Pembroke in a tone that brooked no further argument. “I want to dance with my wife .”

Pembroke, who was at least a head shorter than Lucian, gulped, quickly bowed to Gemma, and scurried off into the crowd.

Gemma allowed Lucian to take her into his arms, but she remained stiff as a fencepost. Her lips narrowed to a thin line, and she refused to look anywhere other than directly at his shoulder clad in black evening attire. “That was ill-mannered of you,” she informed him.

“Duly noted,” was his unaffected reply.

Ah, so she was angry again, was she? Or perhaps she’d never stopped being angry from before. No matter. She would learn soon enough that her moods would not affect his behavior in the least.

“Smile, won’t you?” he demanded. “It’s unseemly to allow everyone to think we’re unhappy.”

“We are unhappy,” she shot back. “And I have no problem being unseemly.”

Lucian kept the false smile pinned to his face. Good God. Had her mother not taught her any better manners than that? Fine. He would discuss it with her later when they were alone. For now, he would simply finish their dance for the sake of appearances.

When the music came to an end, he formally bowed to her. “I’ll be back to fetch you in an hour to escort you home.”

Her smile was tight and fake. “I shall remain on tenterhooks.”

True to his word, Lucian was back to fetch her in one hour. This time, he was forced to gather her from the center of a group of wallflowers, where she appeared to be delivering some sort of speech.

“And that is precisely why each of you should do as you wish, without regard to Lady Mary?—”

She stopped the moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye.

“My lady,” he drawled, bowing to her.

A slight sigh sounded through the gathered wallflowers before they all scattered, but not before he noted many of them staring at him with dreamy eyes.

Meanwhile, his wife nearly rolled her eyes at the sight of him but dutifully excused herself to the remaining ladies and said good night.

Within a quarter hour, they were in the coach headed home. As usual, Lucian spent the ride staring out the window into the darkened streets of London. Tonight, he had one annoying thought on his mind.

Why had it bothered him to see Pembroke fawning over his wife? Lucian had never been the jealous sort, and he did not intend to become one now, especially when his wife was a plotting schemer who had only married him for his title. But something about seeing her enjoying herself in Pembroke’s arms earlier had made Lucian want to snap the younger man’s neck. And for the hint of a moment, he’d wanted that dazzling smile of Gemma’s directed at him.

It made no sense. She’d only be faking her affection, but somehow when she laughed and danced with others, she seemed…believable. As if she was truly enjoying herself. And that laughter, that happiness. It was…attractive, captivating. It made her face light up. Made the whole room light up.

“Are you planning to send me away?” came Gemma’s simmering voice from the other side of the coach.

“Pardon?” He frowned. Where the hell had that question come from? He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about it to her, or anyone else, for that matter.

“Tell the truth. Are you planning to send me away or not? I deserve to know when and where.”

He forced his voice to remain measured, calm. It was the only way to deal with Gemma. “If and when I decide to?—”

“No.” She stopped him. “That is an unacceptable answer to me. If you plan to send me away, I want to know the specifics. Now.”

Lucian folded his arms over his chest and glared at his demanding wife. First, he didn’t have the bloody specifics. He hadn’t worked them out yet. Second, he was under no obligation to share his thought process with her. Why did she insist upon constantly questioning him? It was almost as if she enjoyed arguing. He’d hoped for a biddable wife. Clearly, he had got the opposite. She was recalcitrant even. And he’d put up with far less egregious behavior from far more beautiful ladies.

“You are in no position to demand anything from me,” he replied simply.

“Oh, far be it from me to question His Grace , the Duke of Grovemont .” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

His eyes narrowed on her. “You are currently being treated with a level of respect due your station, but I have no intention of allowing you to demand anything from me, including my decisions.”

Her eyes flew wide, and a hand fluttered to her chest. “I should be grateful ? Is that what you’re telling me? Perhaps thankful that you have not tossed me in a dungeon with only moldy scraps of bread for meals and no abuse of my person?”

“You’re dramatic,” he ground out.

“You’re made of stone.”

Lucian didn’t have long to contemplate that loaded statement before she added, “I’m getting out of the coach. I’ll walk home.”

“The devil you will.”

But Gemma lunged for the door.

In her haste, she flew across his lap, and her gown stuck on his boot, stopping her flight. She sprang backward and landed atop his lap, where she immediately began wriggling and fighting like a cat trapped in a burlap sack.

“Damn it, stop squirming,” he said, unintentionally becoming aroused by the feel of her on his lap.

“Let go of me then,” she replied, still struggling.

“I’m not holding you. Your gown is caught?—”

And just like that, the fabric tugged free. There was a horrible ripping noise, and Gemma ended up on the seat beside him with the back of her gown ripped and a sleeve hanging haphazardly off her shoulder.

She stared down at the mess, aghast. “Why…why…look what you’ve done? My gown is ruined.”

“Nothing the maids can’t fix, I’m certain.” He tugged at his cuff, desperately willing his cockstand to subside. What in the hell had caused it? It was unwanted. And unwelcome.

She continued pulling at her ruined sleeve. “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Order a servant to fix it. Some things can’t be fixed, Your Grace .”

She narrowed her eyes on him. She clearly wasn’t talking about the gown any longer.

“Like what?” he ventured.

She hoisted her ripped sleeve and moved back to the opposite seat, where she stared out the window, ignoring him.

He should have left well enough alone. He should have kept his damn mouth shut and enjoyed the quiet on the ride back to the town house after she’d thankfully abandoned her idiotic plan to exit the conveyance. But instead, he found himself saying, “I find it ironic that you’re angry with me .”

Her nostrils flared. He could see that she wanted to say something. She wanted to, but she was warring with herself.

“When I am the one who should be angry,” he continued. It wasn’t like him to goad anyone into a fight, but there was something about the way she was trying not to say anything that made him want to push until she said whatever she was clearly thinking. And something about the way he’d become attracted to her so easily made him want to punish her.

“Oh, yes, because you have the moral high ground, don’t you?” She was kicking her foot beneath her skirts, the light-green satin fabric rising and falling with each kick.

His brows shot up. “I do, actually.”

“You are a pompous, arrogant blowhard who is under the mistaken impression that the world revolves around him. You think you have the right to punish me, but you haven’t even heard the whole story, and I’m certain you don’t even care because that might make you wrong. And how could a know-it-all ass like you ever be wrong? If you want to order your wife around like a piece of chattel, you’re welcome to try, but I’m here to tell you that I have no intention of taking orders from you now or ever. And if you don’t like it, you should send me away sooner rather than later because it’s not about to change.”

During her speech, Lucian had tried to interrupt her several times. But each time he opened his mouth to speak, he couldn’t get in a word. She wouldn’t stop. She’d clearly been pushed to the edge and had let the tide rip.

She was somewhat magnificent, he grudgingly admitted to himself, when she was on such a tangent. Her eyes were bright and fierce and compelling. Color had risen in her cheeks, giving her a warm glow. She was pointing her finger in the air, and she looked like an angry goddess who had descended from the heavens to wreak damage on the mortals who’d displeased her. In that moment, he did the only thing he could think of to get her to stop ranting. He reached across the space, pulled her sharply into his arms, and kissed her.

The moment his lips touched hers, Gemma shut up. She shut up and made a small gasping sound in the back of her throat. He’d intended to stop the moment she shut up, but the feel of her soft lips on his did something to him. Something to his groin, specifically. His lips moved on hers forcefully, pushing open her mouth and invading the wet warmth inside. Another tiny gasp and she opened for him. That’s it . His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue possessive. And without thinking, he pulled her onto his lap, this time to grab her hips and hold her steady against him. To press her softness against his hardness. He heard himself groan.

The kiss turned wild. His mouth slanted across hers, and her fingers went up to thread through his hair. His hand moved down to push up her skirts and rest on her warm thigh through her shift. She seemed ravenous for him. How could that be? And he? He was equally ravenous for her. What the hell was happening to him? He didn’t even like her, but in that moment, he wanted to bury himself deep inside of her and thrust until she was moaning his name and they were both spent.

Thankfully, the coach pulled to a stop, shaking Lucian from the lust-induced haze that surrounded him. The last thing he wanted was for the footman to open the door and see him fondling his wife. He quickly pulled his mouth from Gemma’s, removed his hand from beneath her skirts, and set her on the seat beside him. She made an oof noise and was staring straight ahead with a completely dazed look on her face, her lips swollen and her eyes as big as wagon wheels.

“Your Grace,” came the footman’s voice moments later as he opened the door and folded down the stairs. Clenching his jaw, closing his eyes, and willing his erection into nonexistence, Lucian counted to ten, cleared his throat, and then descended the steps before he turned back to help his wife out of the coach. Gemma came along, still looking as if she didn’t know where she was. And she didn’t say a word. He’d rendered her speechless. Interesting.

The moment her feet touched the ground, Lucian quickly whipped off his coat and covered Gemma’s shoulders to hide the ripped gown. Then he took her hand and led her across the graveled path to the steps up to the town house, where he helped her climb the stairs. She was silent the entire way.

Somehow, they made it up the stairs, into the house, and all the way up to the corridor beside their bedchambers where Lucian was able to hand Gemma off to her maid, who was waiting for her mistress.

Moments later, when the door to his own bedchamber closed behind him, Lucian leaned back against it, closed his eyes, and groaned. Damn it. What had that been about? That kiss had been explosive. Unlike any he could remember in recent memory. Hell, in former memory either.

He was pulling his cravat from his neck when his valet came hurrying in. Franklin helped him undress, and Lucian pulled on the soft linen trousers he preferred to wear to bed before dismissing the servant.

But Lucian didn’t go to bed. And after pacing for the better part of half an hour, he knew why. He was sexually aroused, damn it. And, amazingly, he wanted…his wife.

That was a mad thought. But that kiss had done something to him. Specifically? It had given him a raging cockstand. One that he was still trying to tamp down. And that was confusing too because his wife was not his sort of woman. She was thin and tall and without curves. Her eyes were too large and her hair was too short and she, well, just wasn’t his sort. But there was something about her eyes, something intriguing, something compelling. And the way she’d been so forceful and determined. The way she’d delivered that diatribe… And then that kiss. It had been beyond passionate. And he wanted…more.

He’d already decided he would bed her before sending her off, hadn’t he? This would be in keeping with his plan. It didn’t mean anything. Being sexually aroused by her would only make it easier.

His decision made, Lucian stalked over to the adjoining door and knocked.