Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

G emma was near the refreshment table with a host of people around her skirts when she spied Grovemont glaring at her. He stood several paces away talking to Lords Harwell and Kitson.

She tried to ignore her husband’s glare, but she could feel it on her. What did he think he was about? Stalking back into her life and demanding she go home with him? She wouldn’t go home with him if he begged. Got down on both knees, even.

Besides, what did he have to say to her? He hadn’t had a word to impart in fifteen months, and now he wanted to talk? Doubtful. He probably only wanted to take her home to ruin her evening. She was only glad he hadn’t made a scene. If he’d tried to force her to go with him, it would not have ended prettily. That was certain.

Gemma took a sip from her champagne glass and laughed at the jest Lord Harwell had just shared. She wanted her husband to think she was having the best time without him. Grovemont would have to think again if he thought she would snap at his slightest command. She’d been na?ve, full of guilt and apprehension when they’d first married. Now, she realized she’d been a fool. A far-too-compliant fool, and she had absolutely no intention of allowing her husband to have the upper hand. Ever again .

Over an hour later, she’d just finished dancing with Lord Bidwell when Grovemont appeared at her side. “My lady,” he said, bowing perfectly over her hand. “Will you do me the honor?” He glanced toward the dance floor.

Scores of eyes watched her. The entire ballroom seemed to be holding its breath. Very well. She would not make a scene. That would only make it seem as if she gave a toss, and she decidedly did not . Besides, indifferent people did not make scenes.

Reluctantly, she put her hand on his arm. His other arm snaked around her back to pull her close as a waltz began to play. She fought the urge to groan. Why did it have to be a waltz ?

“Seems you’ve become quite popular since I’ve been gone,” he drawled.

“Seems you’re still an ass,” she shot back, blinking at him innocently.

His nostrils flared. “If you cannot smile at me, at least keep your face blank.”

“Oh, yes, must keep up appearances.” She rolled her eyes. “Tell me, Grovemont, why are you here?”

“I returned from India this afternoon.”

“No, I mean why are you here ? At this particular ball tonight?”

“I came here looking for you.”

Her brows shot up. “Did you come simply to ruin my evening or do you have something to say to me?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Ha. I hardly believe that. You haven’t written me since you left. Don’t pretend as if you care if I’m alive or dead.”

“You are my wife ,” he ground out.

“Not for long, I’m not.”

His eyes narrowed sharply. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She gave him the most fake-beautiful smile she could muster and lowered her voice to a hostile whisper. “It means I want a divorce, Your Grace. And I intend to get one at any cost.”