Chapter Forty-One

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

That Night, The Earl of Pembroke’s Town House

F or just a moment—a fleeting second—right after she woke, Gemma thought she was in her bed at Lucian’s town house. Snuggled and warm. If she would just reach out, she could touch him, and —

She blinked open her eyes to be confronted with the awful realization that she was not at home. She was in Pembroke’s town house. Locked in a bedchamber. And no one knew she was here.

She pushed herself up sharply and scanned the room. She was alone, thank heavens. Darkness had descended outside. She’d fallen asleep on the bed, and according to the clock on the nearby mantel, it was past nine.

Pembroke had not yet returned. Gemma was thankful for the reprieve from his odious company, but she’d been left to guess at why he’d done this outrageous thing. What could he possibly think he would do? Keep her hidden in his home? It made no sense.

He’d said he would only keep her here temporarily. But what did that mean? Did he plan to hurt her? Kill her? Take her somewhere else? She had no earthly idea, and with each passing moment, her anxiety grew.

A knock sounded on the door, startling her. Should she pretend to still be asleep? If it was Pembroke, that might be the safest measure.

“Me lady,” came a female voice a few moments later. “I brought you some food and drink.”

Gemma hopped off the bed and hurried to the door. “Thank you,” she said through the portal. She tried to open the door, but it was still locked.

“Please go sit on the bed, me lady. Tell me when you’re there, and I’ll open the door.”

Gemma frowned, but after a few moments’ thought, she decided to do as she was told. After all, she had no way of knowing if the housemaid was alone or if Pembroke or another servant was with her. And Gemma would have to convince this maid to trust her if she had any hope of convincing her to help her escape this madhouse.

“Very well,” she called when she was sitting on the bed again. “I’m on the bed.”

The housemaid had clearly heard her voice coming from farther away and must have been satisfied with that because the lock turned and the door opened. The maid entered with a tray of food held in front of her. Gemma thought she saw a glimpse of a footman in the corridor before the door closed. But thankfully, Pembroke wasn’t there.

“Here you are, me lady,” the maid said as she placed the tray on a sideboard to the right of the door. She turned, wiped her hands on her apron, and blinked at Gemma, who remained on the bed.

“Oof. They said ye was a real beauty, but I had no idea,” the maid admitted with a crooked smile. She was petite with blond, curly hair and a shy smile.

“Thank you,” Gemma replied. “What is your name?”

“Louisa, me lady.”

“Who did they tell you I am, Louisa?” Gemma asked, truly curious if Pembroke’s household was aware they had a duchess trapped inside.

Louisa waved her hands in front of her, palms out. “I don’t ask any questions like that, me lady. The only thing I heard was that ye was a lady, and by the looks of ye, that’s certainly true.”

Was this Pembroke’s attempt at being discreet? If so, it was bizarre.

Now that they were alone together, Gemma hopped off the bed and hurried over to Louisa. “I am a lady,” she confirmed. “A very wealthy one. And if you’ll help me leave here, I can promise you a fat purse.”

The maid began backing toward the door, waving her hands in front of her again. “Oh, no, no, no. No, me lady. I couldn’t. Me family has worked for the Pembrokes for generations. I wouldna do nothin’ ta put me job in danger.”

“But Lord Pembroke is keeping me here against my will, Louisa,” Gemma continued, trying to appeal to the woman’s sense of justice. “Please.”

“Oh, I don’t believe Lord Pembroke would do anythin’ so unbecoming of ’im,” the maid said. Her back was pushed up against the door now, and she rapped her knuckles against it twice without turning her back to Gemma.

“Then why am I locked in here?” Gemma cried as the door opened and the maid nearly flew out of it. Gemma leaped toward it, hoping to grab the knob before it closed, but she missed. And the door was quickly locked.

Grr. Next time, she would just have to be less hopeful Louisa would help her willingly. God only knew what Pembroke had told the obviously frightened servants.

Turning in a frustrated huff, Gemma glared about the room once more. There had to be something she could do to escape. She just had to think. She barely spared a glance at the food on the tray. She wasn’t hungry…but…could she use the fork or knife to pry open the door?

She rushed over to the tray, only to find that the food consisted of pastry and tea without any cutlery whatsoever. Not even a spoon. Pembroke must have anticipated her thoughts. Damn him.

She walked over to one of the windows and was pulling hard at it with all of her weight when another sharp, quick rap at the door startled her again.

This time, there was barely time to turn around before the door opened and Pembroke stalked in. Gemma clutched at the window frame behind her back while Pembroke strode determinedly into the room and tossed a copy of the paper on top of the writing desk. “Here you are,” he said, smiling. “All is going precisely to plan.”

Dread slowly filled Gemma’s middle. What did that paper say? She pried her fingers off the windowsill and calmly pressed her hands together, willing them to stop sweating. Sweating never helped anything.

Swallowing, she slowly walked to the desk and looked down at the headline.

Duchess of Grovemont Seeks Divorce!

She gasped and her accusing gaze flew to Pembroke. “Who told the papers?”

“I did.” Looking smug, Pembroke grasped his lapels and rocked back and forth on his heels.

She plunked her fists on her hips. “You had no right.”

“The sooner everyone thinks you’ve left town, the better. Now.” He opened the desk drawer, pulled out a piece of vellum, and set it on top. Then he splayed his hand toward the chair in front of the desk. “Write your brother a note telling him you’re spending time with friends.”

Gemma had no intention of writing Griffin a note. “I demand to know why you’ve done this.”

Pembroke crossed his arms over his chest. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve done this because I’ve been patiently waiting for you all these months, and I’m tired of waiting.”

She stared at him, brow furrowed. “Waiting for what?”

But the moment Gemma asked the question, she regretted it. He stepped closer and slid a hand down the side of her face, letting his gaze dip to her décolletage. “I thought it was obvious, but apparently not. I’ve wanted you for months now. I always knew what a beauty you would become. Your mother is a beauty, after all. My father told me your mother bloomed late. Surprised everyone. Your husband was a fool, leaving you alone. But when you told me you were going to leave Grovemont…” Pembroke nearly spit her husband’s name. “You lied to me. I am just trying to make things right.”

“I am going to leave him,” Gemma insisted. Of course, she hadn’t been planning on leaving Lucian for Pembroke , and she had no idea why the earl believed she would. But now was hardly the time to point that out to him.

“As if I’d believe you now,” Pembroke sneered. He dropped his hand to her cleavage and rubbed a finger along the tops of her breasts.

She fought the urge to pull away from his repugnant touch. “What do you intend to do with me?”

His smile was diabolical. “You shall be my mistress for as long as I desire. And when I tire of you…” His lips curled higher. “I’ll think of something to do with you. Perhaps I’ll sell you to the highest bidder.”

Gemma winced. It was worse than she’d ever imagined. She clutched her hands together. Perhaps pleading with him would be more effective. “You must believe me, Pembroke. Take me home. I’ll return to you after the divorce has been granted. I promise.”

Of course, she had no intention of returning to this madman, but if pretending to be on his side would cause him to trust her again, she would do it.

“It’s too late,” he snapped, pulling his hand away from her breasts. “Besides, I know you’re lying.”

Gemma shook her head. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because Lady Mary told me.”

Gemma’s blood went cold. What did Lady Mary have to do with this? “I assure you whatever Lady Mary said was a lie,” Gemma retorted.

Pembroke arched a brow. “She told me you’d say that.”

Gemma tossed an infuriated hand in the air. “I don’t even speak to Lady Mary. How would she know what I’m planning to do?”

“Lady Mary said she overheard you telling your family how in love you are with Grovemont.” Pembroke’s voice rose. “He left you for over a year. You told me he never wrote. How can you love him?” The earl’s face clouded with anger. His voice was accusatory.

“I am planning to leave,” she reiterated. That much was true. Perhaps if she kept repeating it, Pembroke would believe her.

Pembroke shrugged. “Now that the story is in the papers, you’ll have no choice. Now , write your brother a note.” He pointed at the vellum again.

“No.” The word escaped her lips before she had a chance to think.

Pembroke’s eyes grew dark. He grabbed her arm roughly and swiped the newspaper to the floor. Then he forced her into the seat. He pulled the quill from the inkpot and handed it to her. “Do it,” he demanded.

Gemma lifted her chin. “If I refuse?”

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back so sharply she was looking straight up into his inhuman eyes. “ You won’t like the consequences .”

Tears stung her eyes from the pain. “Fine,” she ground out.

He released her and turned toward the door. “I’ll be back in an hour. The letter had better be finished.”