Almost. Because despite the fine gown and the elaborate hairstyle, and the makeup Ivy had spent an eternity perfecting, Gemma could see the fear and dread in her eyes.
“May I speak openly, Your Grace?” Ivy spoke up as she fastened the last of her buttons.
“Yes, of course.”
The girl peeked out from behind Gemma and offered her a smile in the mirror. “You look exceptionally beautiful tonight. But you would look even more so if you smiled a little.”
Gemma sighed. Ivy was right, of course. What kind of hostess would she be if she sulked her way through the whole event like this? She would look as though she were unhappy to be the Duke of Larsen's wife, that's what.
“I am afraid I do not feel much like smiling, Ivy,” she admitted. “I am far too anxious.”
Ivy gave her sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry to hear it, Your Grace. But I know you will do just fine. After all, it's only one night.”
She is right; it is only one night. No matter what happens, I can get through it.
No matter what the Henfords, or the Duchess, or her father, or the gossipingtonthrew at her, she would survive it, just as she had survived everything else that had been thrown at her so far.
And afterwards, perhaps she could show her husband the new nightgown that had arrived with the dresses…
She looked down, lest Ivy caught the flush that suddenly colored her cheeks. Then she drew in a breath and straightened, forcing herself to meet her own eyes in the mirror.
You can do this.
“All right, ma'am,” said her maid. “You're ready.” She flashed her a smile. “Do try and enjoy yourself.”
Gemma drew in a breath. “Thank you for everything, Ivy. I am going to go and find my husband.”
Finding Wyatt was not difficult. The moment Gemma stepped out of her bedchamber, she caught sight of him making his way toward her wing of the house. At the sight of her, he stopped in his tracks.
“Gemma. You look…” He swallowed visibly. Then he made his way toward her and took her hand. “Breath-taking.”
Gemma felt a smile on the edge of her lips. No one had ever called herbreath-takingbefore. “As do you,” she said. Wyatt was dressed in a simple black suit and crisp white shirt, the cobalt cravat at his throat making his eyes look intensely blue. Sometimes, like right now, Gemma caught a glimpse of him and could not believe he was her husband. How had she managed to secure a man as fine as this?
Through scandal and drunkenness,whispered the voice in the back of her head. Gemma willed it to stay quiet.
“Are you ready to go downstairs?” she asked, forcing a steadiness into her voice she did not really feel. “The guests will be arriving shortly.”
Wyatt squeezed her fingers. “In a moment. I… I just want you to myself for a moment.” He pulled her close and pressed his lips into her neck. “Gemma. How am I going to keep my hands off you all night?”
A sudden swell of desire pulsed between her legs. “Who says you have to do that?” The words fell out without her having any knowledge of it. The moment they were out, she could not believe she had said something so wanton. But when Wyatt looked up at her with a faint smile on his lips, his eyes were filled with such desire and affection that she could not bring herself to regret it.
Desire and affection—or love?Despite her best intentions, Gemma had been unable to push aside the Dowager Duchess's proclamation that Wyatt was in love with her. To even consider such a thing felt foolish… but that look in his eyes… Could she truly have misread it so completely?
“Your lady's maid,” Wyatt said, slightly breathless, “is she still in your rooms?”
“Yes. She is tidying my things.” And before she could make sense of what was happening, he was tugging her down the hallway toward his quarters. Without releasing his grip on her hand, he shouldered open the door to his bedchamber and tugged her inside, locking the door behind them.
In one swift motion, he turned her so her back was pressed against the door. In spite of all Wyatt's nightly visits to her, Gemma had never once set foot into his bedchamber. She had always assumed such a thing to be a point of control for him; if he was the one to visit her, he could leave when he wished, without having to make such a request of her.
Now she was inside, Gemma let her gaze roam freely around the room, with its dark wood four-poster bed, and embroidered chaise longue beneath the window. Beyond the glass stretched the same expansive view of the garden Gemma had from herown quarters. The entire space was filled with her husband's scent and made her desire intensify.
Wyatt sank to his knees, pushing Gemma's dress to her hips, his mouth moving straight to her center. Gemma forced herself to swallow her cry. “Wyatt,” she gasped, “the house is about to fill with people.”
He looked up, grinning devilishly. “You'd best be quiet then.”
With her back pressed hard against the door, and her husband supporting her shaking legs while he pleasured her with his tongue, Gemma was taken back to the first night they had spent together. The night Wyatt had played at Captain Midnight, and she his helpless captive. Since then, he had visited her bed on many occasions, but Gemma knew she would never forget that night in the library.
With one hand, Gemma clung hard to Wyatt's shoulder, knowing it would only be seconds before her legs gave way beneath her. Her other hand she pressed hard to her own mouth, not trusting herself to control her moans of desire.
