Chapter Three
“Anderson! Open up or I will break the door down!”
Wyatt pounded on Jonah Anderson’s bedchamber door. He needed answers. And quickly. He knew it was only a matter of time before his mother found him and demanded an explanation for whatever in hell had gone wrong last night. Because while he remembered little beyond hazy images of Gemma Caster's face, he felt quite certain that his behavior had been less than gentlemanly.
Ungentlemanly behavior was not something Wyatt usually cared about. But even he could see that acting in such a way at the house of his betrothed's family—and so close to their wedding, nonetheless—was a step too far.
“Who is it?” Through the closed door, Jonah sounded irritated at having been interrupted.
“It's me,” Wyatt hissed. “Open the damn door.”
There was a scrabble of hurried footsteps and Jonah opened the door a crack, poking his head out into the passage. His fair hairwas tousled, and Wyatt could see he was without his shirt. “What do you want, Larsen?”
Wyatt tried to peek over his friend's shoulder into the room. It was unlike Jonah to be so cagey, and Wyatt wondered distantly if he was hiding something. Or rather, someone. Then he realized that he really could not have cared less if Jonah had Queen Charlotte in his bed. He had far more pressing concerns right now.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice low. “It's urgent.”
Jonah hesitated, raking a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Just give me a minute to dress. I'll meet you in your room in a moment.”
Wyatt nodded and hurried back down the corridor. The clinking of plates and cutlery told him breakfast was nearly over. Soon his mother would be on his tail, seeking an explanation. And probably an apology.
After what seemed an eternity, Jonah let himself into Wyatt's bedchamber.
“What happened last night?” Wyatt demanded, without preamble. “Between me and Lady Gemma?”
“Oh, that?” Jonah chuckled. “You don't remember?”
“No,” Wyatt said through clenched teeth. “Clearly.”
Jonah laughed again. “Well. The two of you spent most of the evening arguing and challenging one another to a few foolish little games.” He grinned. “Seems you had a little more to drink than I thought.”
“It seems I did.” Wyatt lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. “I woke up in Lady Gemma's bed this morning.”
“What?” Jonah's gray eyes widened. “You and Lady Highbrow? Did you?—”
“No,” Wyatt snapped. “Of course not.” He began to pace. “I know I would have rememberedthat.”There is no way I could have forgotten such a thing. The fleeting feel of her hand against me is burned into my memory…“Besides, you know she's the coldest lady in theton. Do you really think she would have let me near her, even if I'd wanted to?”
Jonah laughed heartily. “It would have been the scandal of the century.”
Wyatt glared at him. “I am glad you find it so amusing.”
“Come on now, Larsen. You know you bring these things on yourself.”
Wyatt sank into an armchair in the corner of the room. He knew Jonah was right. Since returning home from Eton, he had developed something of a reputation. Everyone in thetonknew he was fond of the gambling halls. Even fonder of having a lady or two in his bed. But last night, he had had no intention of behaving in such a way.
After turning thirty last month, he had succumbed to pressure from his mother to finally marry. And he had every intention of seeing the wedding through. Though he had no strong feelings toward Henrietta Henford—in truth, he barely knew her—he knew she would be a highly suitable and obedient wife. The kind who would turn a blind eye to his philandering and other misadventures. In Henrietta, he would have the means to secure the necessary heir, without needing to give up the way of lifehe loved so much. Why would he have risked that to go chasing drunkenly after another lady? Especially one as frosty as Lady Highbrow?
But he knew there was little point trying to explain himself to Jonah. His actions spoke for themselves. Instead, he asked, “How furious was everyone?”
Jonah's smile faded a little, and he took on a look of faint sympathy. “Well. Miss Henford took to her rooms when you and Lady Gemmastood up on the tea table to read out your poetry. She has not come out since.”
Wyatt groaned.Sounds as though I made a right fool of myself last night.He felt dreadful for humiliating his future wife this way, especially so close to their wedding.
He rubbed his eyes and stood reluctantly. “I had best go make my apologies.”
Wyatt was halfway down the sprawling passage on the other side of the manor before he realized he had no idea which of these rooms belonged to his wife-to-be. But just as he was about to turn on his heel and find someone to ask for directions, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind one of the closed doors. A familiar voice, yes, but there was nothing familiar about the anger behind it.
“I want all these guestsgone!” Miss Henford demanded. “This instant! The last thing I wish to do right now is celebrate my wedding to that degenerate fool!”
