Color flooded Gemma's cheeks. He was right, of course, and she hated that fact. A horrifying thought seized her. “Did we… I mean, did you… take advantage of me?” The question was difficult to get out. She rarely spoke of such delicate matters, and the words felt strange on her tongue. The situation was dire, but possibly still redeemable if no one had seen the Duke make his way into her bedchamber last night. But if he had… touched her, she would be ruined. Completely and utterly. The thought was too horrible to even entertain.
Surely, Gemma thought, she would have some knowledge of it if she had lain with the Duke the previous night. Surely there would be some remembrance in her body, some primal knowledge that might hint at what they had done.
Unbidden, she recalled the feel of her fingers resting against his length. She recalled its hardness, the way it had twitched beneath her fingertips. A flush of something unidentifiable bloomed in her belly. Gemma forced it away.
The Duke slipped out of bed, reaching down for his discarded shirt. “No,” he said. “Your virtue is intact, Lady Gemma.” His blue eyes glittered, a hint of a smile appearing in the corner of his mouth. “At least, if it is not, it is no doing of mine.”
The blaze in Gemma's cheeks intensified. She could hardly believe he was speaking of such things so lightly. “How dare you! Have you no shame? Poor Miss Henford would be horrified.”
At the mention of his betrothed, something passed across the Duke's eyes, his expression darkening slightly. He tucked his shirt into his breeches and took a step toward her as he slid his jacket on over his broad shoulders. “You act so high and mighty,” he said, voice low and faintly threatening, “but how do I know this was not your doing?”
“My doing?” Gemma could hardly get the words out, so incensed was she at his accusation. “I wake up to find you inmybed, and it'smydoing?”
The faint smile returned to the Duke's face. “As I remember it, I woke up to find you with your hand in a very compromising position.”
Gemma gasped in horror. She had believed—or at least desperately hoped—that the Duke had been asleep during her… exploration.
“For all I know,” he continued, “you were trying to trap me into marriage. Or provoke me to do something…”
Gemma sucked in a breath. As much as she hated to admit it, she could see how such a conclusion might be reached, not only by the Duke but—Heaven forbid—anyone else who had seen the two of them together last night. She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet his intense blue eyes. “Your Grace,” she said, wrestling the tremor from her voice, “I'll have you know I would never do a thing so… immoral. Especially not to a man who is about to be married. Andespeciallynot to a damnable rake like you.” Her jibe brought an infuriating smile to the Duke's lips. “Even if I were utterly desperate, which I am not,” she added, for good measure. His smile did not falter.
“Well,” the Duke said airily, as he knotted a dark blue cravat at his throat, “word is, desperate is exactly what you are. I hear that drunkard of a father of yours has nearly gambled away his entire estate. I would not put it past him to put his daughter up to such a trick as this.”
Gemma pursed her lips. She had brought the insult on herself, she knew well. Her father's drinking and gambling was nosecret. She knew it was spoken of throughout theton. Besides, everyone who had been at the Henfords' dinner table last night could see with their own two eyes how reliant the Earl of Volk was on the drink. By the time the main course had been brought out, he had barely been able to string a sentence together.
Nonetheless, hearing the Duke speak so brashly on the issue brought an ache of shame to Gemma's chest. She tried to look behind his eyes; tried to determine if he truly believed her responsible for the two of them ending up in bed together.
Of course, he does not think me responsible. No doubt he knows this is all his doing, and is too much of a scoundrel to admit to it.
“Leave,” she ground out. “This instant.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “As you wish.”
“And be careful,” Gemma hissed. “You cannot let anyone see you.”
She half expected another jibe about it being her intention for the two of them to be caught, but the Duke merely nodded. He made his way to the door, giving her one last wordless look. And causing one last flutter in her belly.
“Wait.” Impulsively, Gemma's hand shot out, snatching his wrist. Surprise flashed across the Duke's face and she released her grip suddenly. “Are you certain nothing…happenedbetween us last night?”
He chuckled, then took a step toward her, his nose close to hers. “Believe me, my lady,” he said, a look of faint irritation in his eyes, “it does not matter how much I drank last night, it would never be enough for me to do that with you.”
Even though his certainty was what Gemma needed to hear, she could not help the ache his cold and heartless words left inside her.
Chapter Two
Wyatt Felps, the Duke of Larsen, felt a tug of regret as he slipped down the passageway back to his bedchamber.
That last comment may have been a step too far. And more than a little unnecessary. And rude. What has gotten into me?
Because despite all her self-righteousness and uppity words, there was a part of him that found Gemma Caster more than a little desirable. That soft brown hair that had tickled his skin as he slept, those soft pink lips, those delicate curves that he could just imagine his hands tracing the shape of…There was a part of him that very much would like to slide into bed beside her again and feel those curious fingers roaming his body.
Wyatt shook the thought away quickly. He had no intention of putting an end to his rakish ways once he was married to Miss Henford, but Gemma Caster was certainly not someone he would intentionally go near. In spite of where he had found himself this morning, the Earl of Volk's daughter was notoriously cold and unfeeling, and infuriatingly haughty.
How on earth did I end up in her bed?
The night was an utter blur. But the fierce pounding in Wyatt's head supplied some clue as to what might have happened. Once he had cleaned himself up, he would seek out his best friend Jonah, Baron Anderson, and see if he could shed any light on what might have happened. Wyatt knew he had to keep quiet about his night with Lady Gemma—I couldn't share any details even if I wanted—but he knew he could trust Jonah to keep his mouth shut.
That is not quite right, Wyatt thought to himself. There was one detail he could remember vividly. Waking up to the feel of her hand resting against him. He was rather surprised by how much he had enjoyed the feel of her.
