He shook his head to himself, taking a hurried gulp of brandy. He could barely believe he was even thinking such things. Having feelings for his wife was the last thing he had ever expected—or wanted. Caring for someone that way was how you got hurt. And he was not going to put himself through such a thing.
This thing between us is about nothing more than securing an heir. That is all it can ever be.
Nonetheless, he wanted to show Gemma—and the rest of theton—that he was unfazed by these salacious rumors of her affair. Show the world that he trusted her, and that she was far too good a person to have such lies spread about her.
“We're to host a ball,” he blurted, before he knew what he was saying.
Jonah blinked. “A ball?”
“Yes.” Wyatt's thoughts began to catch up with him. “It's time I put an end to all this gossip and lies. Gemma and I will host our first ball as Duke and Duchess, and we will prove that we are a real, respectable couple, not merely a source of entertainment for theton.”
Jonah raised his eyebrows. “Oh yes? And what about Miss Henford? I don't think she's going to be all that thrilled about coming to celebrate you and Gemma being a 'real, respectable couple.' Do you?”
“No, I am sure she won't.” Wyatt knew it would be easiest not to invite the Henfords at all—but he also knew that would do nothing to slow the gossip. “But if Gemma and I—and Henrietta—are going to move on with our lives, I need to speak with the Henfords face to face. Make my apologies and put the whole sorry incident behind us.”
Jonah grinned. “You imagine it will be that easy?”
Wyatt tossed back the rest of his brandy. “I hope so.”
“All right, Larsen.” Jonah shrugged. If that's what you think is best.”
“You will come?” asked Wyatt.
Jonah laughed. “Believe me, old man, I wouldn't miss it for the world.”
Wyatt nodded and made his way to the drinks cabinet for a refill. Now all he had to do was get his wife to agree.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Aball?” Gemma looked unconvinced. “Really?” She lay beneath the bedclothes with her body close to his, her bare breasts pressing against his chest and her fingers intertwined with his.
Over the last few days, Wyatt had noticed, she had been less adamant about putting space between them the moment their pleasure had begun to subside. He could not quite make sense of it. Nor did he really want to try. It was no small part of him that was afraid of where such thoughts might lead.
Gently, he disentangled his legs from Gemma's and eased himself onto the other side of the bed. Immediately, he felt the loss of her; felt the desire to return back to her arms and curl up there for the rest of the night. But that was far too dangerous.
“Yes, really,” he said. “What better way to show thetonwe are not bothered by their gossip and lies?
Gemma sighed. “What about Miss Henford and her family?” she asked hesitantly. “Will they be invited?”
“Yes.” Wyatt knew it was likely not the answer Gemma wished to hear. “It's for the best.”
Gemma sighed again. “I suppose you're right. The only way forward is for us to clear the air with Henrietta and her family.”
“Exactly.” Wyatt had not admit, he was not looking forward to it. At the party to celebrate their upcoming wedding, he had learned exactly how cold and vindictive Henrietta Henford could be. Wyatt knew she was unlikely to forgive him easily. He also knew there was every chance she would go out of her way to make Gemma's evening as hellish as possible.
And I will just have to take it upon myself to make sure she does not succeed.
Suddenly overcome with a fierce protectiveness, he reached for Gemma's hand again, his need to keep distance between them forgotten. “I will make my apologies to Miss Henford and her family. And I will make it clear to them that what happened was through no fault of yours.” He gave Gemma a small smile. “And hopefully that will be the end of it.” He brought her fingers to his lips. “I want to show everyone how proud I am of our marriage. That I am not ashamed of how we came to be married. And that I do not believe a word of these lies that have been spread about you.”
Even in the darkness, he saw Gemma's lips tilt upwards into a smile. “You are proud of me?” she asked.
Wyatt squeezed her fingers. “Of course. Why would I not be? You are strong and honest and clever. And beautiful. I could not think of anyone I would rather have as the mother of my child.”
He felt Gemma stiffen and she pulled her hand out of his. “Very well,” she said, her words suddenly edged with coldness, “if a ball is what you think is best, then who am I to argue?”
Gemma found herself walking across the vast ballroom at the back of Larsen Manor. With the celebration taking place in a day's time, the place was a hub of activity. Workmen were bustling in and out of the room, setting up the long buffet table and the small stage for the orchestra, and dotting large potted plants around the room. Fresh candles were being planted into the chandeliers, and maids were filing in with their arms full of fresh white tablecloths.
Gemma's head was whirring. She had checked and double-checked the menu with the cook, and gone over every detail of the decorations with Mrs. Walsh, the housekeeper. The staff had promised Gemma that everything was in order and encouraged her to try and relax.
