Gemma did not bother to deny it. “She wanted you to marry Miss Henford.”
“Yes. She did. But I know in time she will come to accept you. Welcome you.” He hesitated. “If that is what you want.”
Gemma sighed. “I doubt it. As far as she is concerned, I am nothing more than the wayward daughter of the drunken Earl of Volk.”
Wyatt was glad she did not feel the need to temper her words.Can I really be surprised? Gemma has always been one to speak her mind.“Well,” he said, “you will just have to show her you are more than that.”
At this, Gemma nodded, and it felt like something of a victory. “Has it been just you and your mother and grandmother for many years?” she asked.
Wyatt felt a faint flicker in his chest. It was the first time Gemma had ever asked him about his life. The first time she had ever sought some information about who he was behind the rumors and the reputation.
“Yes,” he said. “My father died when I was six. I barely remember him.”
Gemma turned to face him. “I am sorry. Truly.”
Wyatt nodded his thanks. “I know he and my mother never really got along. Although most of what I recall of that time comes from my grandmother's stories. She regretted letting her son marry my mother. She has never said it, but I know she blames my mother for my father's premature death.”
Gemma let out a faint murmur of surprise. A frown creased her brow, but she said nothing. Just nodded to him to continue.
“Grandmother has always been adamant that I do not make the same mistake my father did.”
Gemma let out a short, humorless laugh. “And engineering an impulsive, last-minute marriage to a lady you hardly know is the way to go about that.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Indeed. As much as I love my grandmother, I have to say, she is getting more and more daft by the minute. I regret that you were caught up in her scheming.”
As if on cue, the Dowager Duchess let out a loud whoop as she plucked the missing stick from the undergrowth and held itabove her head like a trophy. The dogs hurtled in wide circles around her legs, yapping furiously.
Wyatt pressed gently against Gemma's wrist again, half surprised to find his hand still there. “I know you have been shamed by all that has happened. And I am truly sorry. But I want you to know that I will do my best never to embarrass you, or shame you further.”
Gemma shook her head and pulled her hand out from his grasp, as though suddenly becoming aware of it. “Am I truly to believe that? I feel as though you have gone out of your way on more than one occasion to shame me. Need I remind you that you have a reputation of your own?”
Wyatt nodded acceptingly. “What happened between us at the Henfords' party…” he began carefully, “I… It truly was not my intention to shame you. Believe me. That is the last thing I wished to do.” He saw Gemma glancing at him sideways, as though trying to determine if he was telling the truth. “You're right,” he continued. “I do have a reputation. But that ends now.” Wyatt turned to look her in the eyes. “I swear it. No more gambling halls. No more long nights in the taverns. No more women.” It felt wrong to be speaking of such sordid things in front of his wife. But it needed to be said. Yes, Wyatt was well aware of his reputation—hell, for years he had been proud of it. But now he could not quite seem to remember why.
Gemma looked at him for a long second, and Wyatt felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed. Her lips parted, but whatever words she was about to say seemed to die on them. She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands. “I do not believe you,” she said finally. “I am sorry. But I have heard the same thing from my father time and time again. A thousand and one promises that things will be different. That he will stay away from the gambling halls. Thathe will never go near the drink again. But they are nothing but empty words. Within a week, he is back to his old ways again. Habits are hard to break.”
“I am sorry about your father, Gemma,” said Wyatt. “I truly am. You deserved better.” He lowered his eyes, trying to catch her glance beneath her bonnet. “But I am not your father. I am a man of my word.”
Gemma smiled wryly. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said. “But I will not believe it until I see it.”
“So Larsen,” said Jonah, striding into the sitting room and sinking into an armchair, “how goes married life with Lady Highbrow? Have you managed to ravish her senseless yet?”
Wyatt bristled. In truth, he was surprised it had taken Jonah so long to appear at Larsen Manor in search of gossip. He appreciated the space his friend had given him. But not his jaunty, over-confident tone of voice. “Anderson. That's my wife you're speaking of.”
Jonah's face lit up. “Ah! So there has been some ravishing!”
Wyatt lit a lamp on the mantel. The sun was sinking fast beneath the horizon and the room was filling with shadows. He sank into the armchair opposite the Baron and stared into the rusty glow of the lamp. “I wouldn't exactly say that.” That morning's civilized conversation with her in the garden had felt like no small victory. And while lunch had not seemed quite as frosty as every other meal they had crawled through since their marriage, his wife was still doing her best to keep her distance fromhim. Not a single moment had passed between them since their conversation that suggested he might one day be welcome in her bed. Any suggestion ofravishingfelt like some long-forgotten dream.
“Oh?” Jonah raised his pale eyebrows. “And what exactly would you say?”
Wyatt gritted his teeth, surprised at the irritation that was welling up inside him at his old friend's questioning. The two of them had always spoken openly about their conquests and had always goaded one another into sharing as much information as possible. But this felt different. Hell, thiswasdifferent. Gemma was not some harlot he had rolled around under the sheets with in search of a good time. She was his wife. And she deserved better than to be the topic of some sordid gossip. No doubt she was already being subjected to enough of that as it was, given the circumstances of their marriage. Wyatt had no intention of adding to it.
He shook his head, signaling to Jonah that the topic was closed. “It's none of your business.”
The sly smile did not disappear from the Baron's face, and Wyatt knew well he had not heard the end of the matter. But in spite of Jonah's prying, he could not deny he was glad to see his friend at last. His week of marriage had been a trial to end all trials, what with Gemma's coldness and his mother's anger—not to mention the immense frustration that came from not being able to lay a finger on his wife. Perhaps a drink—or several—with Jonah was exactly what he needed.
Wyatt stood and made his way toward the liquor cabinet. “Brandy?” he offered.
Jonah also got to his feet and began to rock back and forth on his heels. “Actually, I rather thought we might make a night of it.”
