Wyatt sighed, opting not to finish the sentence. “Your father has made his own mistakes,” he said heavily. “I cannot clean them up for him. I am sorry.”
“You can,” Gemma hissed. “You just do not wish to.” Unable to look at him any longer, she turned away and went to look out the window into the dark garden. In the wordlessness, she could hear the rain pattering against the glass. The lamplight in the garden behind the house looked distorted and golden through the droplets sliding down the window. For a moment, Gemma thought she saw a figure sidling through the dark garden. She blinked and looked again.Just my imagination.“I thought we trusted each other,” she said bitterly, not looking at her husband.
“Of course, I trust you, Gemma. I?—”
“And yet you refuse to believe me when I tell you my father is innocent.”
Wyatt smacked his palm against the door in frustration, making Gemma whirl around to face him again. “You have nothing to base that on,” he said. “Not a thing except your desperate hope that that is the case. I am sorry, but that is not enough for me.”
“So what?” she demanded, striding up to him. “You are just to sit by and let these thugs come to the door of Volk House tomorrow? Let them do as they wish to my invalid of a father? And to my sisters and grandmother.” Wyatt rubbed a hand across his smooth-shaven jaw. Before he could speak, Gemma said, “I suppose none of that matters to you, does it. As long as the precious Larsen name does not get tarnished any further.”
He let out a sigh, and that was all the response she needed. She shoved her way past him and charged out the door before he had a chance to respond.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gemma hurried through the house and slipped out the back door into the garden, running across the wet grass into the shelter of the arbor. Despite the rain, the air was warm, and the escape from the house gave her a little space to breathe. Out here, the lamps at the front of the manor did little to light the darkness, and the music and laughter from the ball was a distant hum.
She sank onto the bench in the arbor. A few droplets of water drizzled in from between the ivy overhead, but Gemma did not care.Let this cursed dress get ruined.She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, trying to settle her anger. Not that she had any desire to quell the rage she felt toward her husband, that arrogant, self-righteous…rake.But she knew that if she was to manage this situation, and somehow get her father out of trouble, she would need a clear head.
A clear head.It was something Gemma had always prided herself on having. Sharp-minded and rational, with everything under her control. That was her.
But it felt like she had not had a clear head in weeks.
What has happened to me?
In the back of her mind, she knew exactly what had happened. The cursed Duke of Larsen. He had begun to scramble her thoughts the moment she had found herself in bed with him at the Henfords' party. Before Wyatt Felps, she had been content with a life of spinsterhood. Content with never knowing the touch of a man. But Wyatt had clouded her mind with desire. With need. With a dizzying infatuation she had madly called love.
But all that foolishness ended now. Wyatt Felps had shown her who he really was: cold and unfeeling and far more obsessed with appearances than he had initially led on. She had been blinded by her feelings for him for too long. But now she saw with clarity: The Duke of Larsen was just like his mother.
The realization was utterly infuriating for so many reasons, not least the fact that Wyatt had spent years gallivanting around London drinking and whoring with anything he stumbled across. With not a thought to how his behavior might reflect on his family name. But when she had dared to suggest he might put himself on the line to help her father out of deep—and potentially life-threatening—trouble, suddenly protecting the Larsens' reputation was at the forefront of his mind.
Too late for that. Marrying one of the Volks has no doubt already done unspeakable damage to the Larsen name.The thought brought far more satisfaction than Gemma knew was proper.How could I have thought for a second that I was in love with him?
She felt tears prick her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they spilled before she could control them. For a moment,she had been foolish enough to believe she had found love. To believe she had married a man who truly cared for her.
But now she saw the truth. Her marriage was just like every other lady in Ton's: a business transaction, conducted with the sole purpose of securing an heir.
Well. Wyatt's visits to her bed would end now. If she was already with child, then so be it. She knew it was far from unlikely. Wyatt had visited her almost every night since their encounter in the library. Even in broad daylight on more than one occasion. If she was carrying his heir, it was too late to do anything about it. But whatever happened, she would demand he send her to Devon so she would be free of him.
And he will be free of me and my shameful family.
She shook the painful thought away, aware she was doing a rather terrible job of straightening her thoughts.
From inside the house, she heard the orchestra strike up into a spirited gavotte. What a farce this was. This ball was thrown to show thetonhow full of love and respect their marriage was.
I may as well just demand everyone leave right now. Surely they would have to do as I say. After all, there have to be some benefits to being the damn Duchess of Larsen…
Gemma swiped at a fresh rush of tears, more of Ivy's charcoal smearing across her hand. She was not sure she had ever felt so wretched. A deep ache had taken root in her chest, and it felt as if her heart were literally breaking. This, she told herself, was why she had never meant to fall in love. It was as though a part of her had known all along that it would end in such breath-taking pain.
Stop it! You did not come out here to think abouthim! You came here to think about Father.
The thought steadied her somewhat. Yes, her father needed her. And so did her sisters. Now more than ever. And loafing about in the garden crying over a man would not help any of them.
Gemma drew in a breath and lifted her chin. She stood up from the bench and smoothed her silky skirts. She would go inside and ring for Ivy. Have her lady's maid help her change and pack her things, and then she would have the coachman take her, Veronica, and their grandmother back to Volk House. What she would do after that, she had not quite determined yet. All she knew was that she had to see her father. And she had to be there when his creditors appeared at the door the next morning.
As she turned to go back into the house, a figure emerged from the darkness of the garden and Gemma let out a tiny scream.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not mean to startle you.” The woman held up a hand in a gesture of peace.
