Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

That Night, The Duke of Grovemont’s Town House

L ucian stared at his wife over the rim of his wine glass. She was on the dance floor, laughing and jesting with her brother and sister-in-law. She looked completely carefree. Happy even.

Good. She should enjoy it while it lasted.

Lucian had planned this ball tonight to keep up appearances. As far as the ton knew, Lady Gemma had been his choice of bride—minus the slight hint of scandal involved in their match — and he intended to keep it that way. The only person who would know he was angry with her, unhappy about being forced into the match, was his wife .

After the wedding this morning, Gemma had been bundled off in a coach with her mother. Later this afternoon, both women had arrived at his town house. He hadn’t bothered to greet them. The servants had brought Gemma’s trunks to the bedchamber that adjoined his. Where else would the new duchess sleep, after all? Lucian had called for the housekeeper and promptly informed Mrs. Howard that Gemma’s things were not to be unpacked. Mrs. Howard’s brow shot up, but she’d nodded and done as she was told.

Lucian had a plan. After several days of obligatory revelry to celebrate their nuptials, he intended to send his new duchess and all of her belongings to one of his most remote estates. Cumberland, perhaps. He smiled to himself.

Gemma might have successfully garnered herself the title of duchess, but he would see to it that she enjoyed none of the other advantages that came with the position.

Oh, he would visit her upon occasion, out of obligation, but those visits would be few and infrequent. No more than he regularly visited his distant estates. Once a year. Twice, perhaps. Someday , he would have to get her with child, he supposed. But not tonight. Or anytime soon. Something told him a baby would only please her, and he had no intention of pleasing the woman who’d forced him into marriage.

His new wife may have had the upper hand in ensuring their union, but it would be the last time she had the upper hand. Lucian intended to show her, clearly and unmistakably, that from now on, he was in command of their marriage. She would do as she was told.

He’d been careful these last weeks, calculated. He’d ensured that he hadn’t seen her much. He certainly hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her. That had been intentional. He’d wanted her to wonder how it would be. While she’d no doubt been having visions of marriage to a handsome duke and becoming the toast of Society, he’d been entertaining visions of living his life as if he hadn’t even married. And that’s precisely how he intended life to be with his new wife. Completely unchanged.

Southbury and his duchess came off the dance floor, and Lucian watched from the table where he sat as Lord Pembroke approached Gemma, bowed, and then obviously invited her to dance. The next thing Lucian knew, Gemma whirled away in Pembroke’s arms. Lucian narrowed his eyes on the young earl.

“Shouldn’t you retire soon, Your Grace?” came Southbury’s voice from beside him, shaking him from his thoughts.

Lucian turned and gave his old friend a tight smile. “I suppose so.” He lifted the glass and swirled the wine inside as he watched his wife dancing in the arms of another man. She still looked happy. It was time to wipe that smile off her face. Whispers had begun. He was being watched. It was his wedding night, and he had an obligation to take his new wife upstairs. Upstairs, but not to bed.

Setting his half-full wine glass upon the table, Lucian stood and smoothed a hand over his white satin waistcoat. “Good evening,” he said, inclining his head to the Duke and Duchess of Southbury.

The two nodded back, but Lucian was already stalking toward the dance floor. Pembroke was a good-looking, young upstart who’d recently inherited his father’s earldom. The latest rumors had him as the next most eligible bachelor looking for a wife. The man was wide of the mark dancing with Lucian’s wife. What did he want with a gangly married lady?

Lucian came to a stop a few paces behind Pembroke on the dance floor and waited until the earl had nearly backed into him before he lifted a hand and poked the younger man sharply on the shoulder with one finger.

Pembroke immediately stopped and whirled around to see Lucian glaring at him with a narrow-eyed stare.

Lucian gave the earl a fake, tight smile.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Pembroke said in an overly enthusiastic voice. “I do hope you haven’t come to fetch your wife. I am so enjoying our dance.”

“Then I’m here to dash your hopes because that’s precisely why I’m here. To fetch my wife ,” Lucian replied through a tight jaw. He glanced at Gemma to see her already large eyes go even wider. She was looking at him as if she was frightened of him. Fuck. That’s all Lucian needed. To have the rumor start that he’d scared his new bride half to death by escorting her upstairs on their wedding night. He needed to do something to calm her fears.

“Care to dance?” he asked, directing his question to Gemma and completely ignoring her erstwhile dance partner.

“Y…yes,” Gemma stuttered.

Lucian fought the urge to roll his eyes. She didn’t just look scared of him; she sounded frightened too. Very well. He would have to spend a few unpleasant moments pretending to be the delighted bridegroom. He’d had plenty of practice pretending in life. This would be no different.

“I’ll just leave you—” Pembroke said, but Lucian didn’t wait to hear more. Instead, he stepped forward to take Gemma into his arms.

At first, she was wooden. One gloved hand on his shoulder, the other captured in his, and both felt as if they’d been cast in iron. But soon, after they’d spun around the floor a few times, her hands relaxed and she dared a glance up at him.

“Having fun?” he forced himself to ask with an equally forced smile on his lips.

“Ye…yes,” she gulped. It was clear from the tremor in her voice that she was having no such thing.

“After this dance, we should retire,” he said, ensuring his voice was neither eager nor angry. Indifference was the key. Always indifference. Show no emotion. Ever. His father had taught him well.

“Very well,” she replied, but her voice cracked on the last word, and she swallowed audibly. Dear God. What did the girl think he was going to do to her? Pounce on her on the staircase? Surely, her mother had properly prepared her for the wedding night. Not that he intended to give her a traditional wedding night, but he realized she didn’t know that. All the more vexing that he hadn’t been able to choose his bride himself. If he had, he would have chosen someone beautiful, someone he wanted to make love to tonight. Someone he would have spent the last weeks flirting with and getting to know so that the culmination of this evening would be welcome to her, instead of anxiety-provoking.

Though it served her right to be filled with anxiety. She deserved no less. Still, she was young, and he didn’t relish torturing anyone, least of all a young, innocent female. The moment the music stopped, he took her hand and guided her toward the staircase that led up and out of the ballroom.

Once they were standing in front of the double-doors, Lucian turned to say good night to his guests. He could feel Gemma perched at his side. He could only hope she didn’t look as frightened as she’d sounded a few moments ago.

The ballroom clapped for them as he bowed, and she curtsied. Then they took their leave together. Normally, his mother would be here to handle the guests. Instead, Gemma’s mother, the dowager, had stepped in to handle things this evening. If she were alive, Mama would be a dowager tonight too, now that he’d married. The thought saddened him. Was it better that Mama hadn’t lived to see him marry a woman he hadn’t chosen himself? Oh, what did it matter? It was done now. He was married to this lanky, scheming girl. For better and for worse.

Silently, he escorted her into the corridor and through the house to the foyer, where they ascended the main staircase to the second floor where the bedchambers were. As they walked, her gloved hand hovered at his arm but barely rested there. Her weight was not upon it, as if she were hesitant to touch him.

When they made it to the door to his bedchamber, Lucian stopped. “This is my room,” he explained before pointing to the door several paces down the corridor. “That’s yours.”

“Yes, that’s where I dressed earlier, isn’t it?” she asked, blushing slightly.

“Yes,” he assured her. He led her down to her door before he stopped again. Instinctively, she pulled her arm away from his.

He bowed to her. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Good evening, er, Your Grace .” He had not given her permission to call him by his Christian name. Likewise, she hadn’t given him permission to call her Gemma. It would probably be better that way. At least for now. Just another way to establish that their marriage was to be in name only.

After his bow, Lucian turned on his heel and walked away, smiling to himself at the memory of the tiny frown marks between his new wife’s brow.

Gemma jumped at every sound. She’d been in her bedchamber, dressed in her fancy lace night rail, for at least an hour. Her maid, Anna, had helped her dress. Mama and Meredith had given her an encouraging talk earlier, and now she was…waiting. Waiting and waiting, but the duke didn’t come. She knew he was in the adjoining room. The moment she’d gone into her room and shut the door, she’d immediately turned to peek out. She’d watched him go into his bedchamber not ten paces away. And she’d heard several noises coming from the door between their rooms for the first quarter hour after she’d changed. But now there was only…silence.

Her nerves were winging about in her belly. The anticipation was making her ill. She wasn’t frightened any longer. Now it was the anticipation making her jump. When she’d spied him from the dance floor earlier, butterflies had taken flight in her belly. He might be quiet. He might be difficult to read, but there was no doubt that the man was handsome. The truth was she’d been dreaming about kissing him for weeks now. She’d even practiced on her pillow at home. And now, well, she was ready for her wedding night. Looking forward to it, actually. She’d pictured him sitting on the side of the bed, leaning down to capture her mouth with his. She wanted to get started.

In fact, she’d stolen glances at him all day, biting her lip and shivering with anticipation when she thought about them being alone together tonight. Now it was time. But he was dawdling. This wasn’t normal for a groom on his wedding night, was it? How long did it take a groom to prepare? Surely not longer than the bride. She should have asked Mama and Meredith how long it would take. But, honestly, it hadn’t occurred to her to ask.

Perhaps he was being solicitous, making certain she had adequate time. But as the clock on her mantelpiece ticked closer and closer to the hour, she began to fear he was not coming.

Frowning, she tiptoed over to the adjoining door and placed her ear on it. Silence . Scowling, she dropped to her knees, leaned down, and peeked under the door. Darkness . She lifted her head and blinked. Had he left? Gone back downstairs? Surely not.

She climbed back to her feet and paced for a while, biting at her thumbnail and considering her options. Had she been misinformed? Should she be the one to knock on the door? It seemed unlikely, but perhaps he was waiting for her to indicate that she was ready.

Oh, yes, that must be it. Relief slid through her. She summoned every bit of nerve she had and hurried back to the door. She closed her eyes, straightened her shoulders, and raised her fist to knock. She was just about to strike the first blow when she heard it, distinct and unmistakable. Snoring was coming from the other side of the door.

Gemma’s mouth dropped open. She shook her head. Surely, she was mistaken. She stepped forward and pressed her ear to the door, holding her breath. No. There was no mistaking it. The clear sounds of snoring echoed from the other side of the door.

It was her wedding night, and her groom was asleep .