Looking into the small oval mirror in her room at the inn, Gemma cringed. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were bright pink from the sun. At the base of her throat, there was a noticeable grayish smear of what could only be a combination of perspiration and road dust. Her hair was a complete disaster of frizzy, windswept curls. Her chignon was no more than a snarled knot, and there appeared to be—oh, splendid—a leaf sticking out of the top.
Lovely. Just lovely, she thought with a sneer. Seeing her reflection brought a wholly new dimension to her encounter with Sam. He’d been so warm and engaging that she’d actually thought she’d made quite an impression at the pond. Yes, as a deranged lunatic on leave from the asylum. A wine-poached-pear slaughterer on the loose.
Most likely, he’d been unable to look away from the oddity she presented, as if she were under glass in a curiosity shop. Even Berta, her aunt’s maid, had looked horrified by the sight of her and asked if she’d taken ill during the picnic. It was clear, however, that she’d really wanted to know if Gemma had taken leave of her senses.
In a way, she had. All the way to Banfern Glenn, which hadn’t been too far at all, she felt as if a different person resided in her skin. A young woman who could not stop smiling and sighing wistfully, replaying the scene by the pond in her mind as if the images were painted in a spinning paper lantern, whirling hypnotically around a candle flame.
By the time they’d arrived at the inn, she’d even convinced herself that she might see Sam again. But then the mirror cruelly mocked her.
Squeezing cool water from a square of flannel and into the basin, she wiped away the worst of the grime from her skin. Not seeing him again was for the best, she told herself. After all, it would come to nothing once he learned her surname.
So why did knowing that not lessen her disappointment?
Gemma’s morose thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door across the hall, where Aunt Edith would sleep. If there hadn’t been two rooms available, they would have shared, but Aunt Edith was rather particular about having her own bed and even traveled with a bolster pillow, designed for her to recline without mussing her hair. Knowing that little quirk was one of the things that made Gemma even fonder of her aunt.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” one of the inn’s maids said, “but there’s a gentleman here.”
Gemma’s breath hitched. A gentleman here? But they knew no one in Banfern Glenn. In fact, the only person she’d met was . . . Sam.
“He’s inquiring about a young woman and her aunt,” the maid continued, “and I wasn’t certain what to tell him.”
Gemma’s heart stalled, and the air left her lungs as if her lacings were suddenly too tight. No. It was impossible. She refused to let her mind take a wild flight of fancy, imagining that the man she’d met by the pond, little more than an hour ago, was now here in this very inn. The mirror agreed, looking even more shocked and doubtful.
But then the door burst open and her aunt’s grayish blue eyes danced with such bright joy they were hard to look at. Even in the flurry, not a single strand of her elaborate silvery coiffure dared move out of place. Without hesitation, she rushed to envelop Gemma in a powdery, lavender-scented embrace. “It must be him, my dear. You may shake your head all you like, but it is the only likely conclusion. Clearly, your gentleman from the pond has come to pay a call.”
“He is not my gentleman,” she croaked, unable to catch her breath. “We haven’t even been introduced.”
Releasing her, Aunt Edith turned to the mobcapped maid waiting in the corridor. “Send the gentleman up, please. We’ll be in the parlor in a minute.”
“I’m not even dressed! And Berta has gone to the laundress to see if there is anything to be done with my stained muslin.” Gemma had barely had time to don a fresh petticoat. And there was still the matter of her hair.
“Never mind all that.” Aunt Edith closed the door and pointed to the open trunk. “I know how to button up a dress. Here, take this green-and-white striped frock from the top, as it will be less wrinkled than the others.”
Gemma’s limbs moved in a blind rush, matching the new, frantic pace of her heart. She pulled the garment over her head and slid her arms into the sleeves before she even put conscious thought into the action. Could it really be him?
“You made quite an impression,” Aunt Edith said, placing a pair of green slippers on the floor in front of her. Apparently, she didn’t have a single doubt of the identity of their visitor.
Gemma shook her head, not trusting herself to believe it as she wiggled one foot and then the other into the shoes. “Impossible. These terrible curls were clinging to my cheeks, my dress blotched with red wine, not to mention wet from the knee down. And I was barefoot.”
Her aunt spun her around and began to button the back. “Some men prefer women in a more natural state.”
“Aunt Edith!” Gemma gasped, laughed, and blushed all at once.
“I did not mean au naturel. Although,” she mused, a teasing lilt to her voice, “there are plenty of men who prefer that as well. But then society would fall into chaos, no matters of business would ever conclude, and all because the men would be too preoccupied.”
“You are incorrigible.” Gemma lifted her eyes to the slanted ceiling of dark wood beams and yellowed plaster overhead.
“A family trait, I’m afraid, so be warned.” Her aunt tutted, plucking the leaf from her hair. “Besides, you are now two and twenty, and it is high time you know of these things.”
“That women are capable of bringing about the collapse of society? And the only reason it runs at all is because we decide to wear clothes?”
“Precisely.” Aunt Edith opened the door and nudged her out through the narrow archway and into the corridor.
But Gemma stopped short, for standing not ten paces from her was none other than Sam. The maid must have forgotten to close the door between the guests’ common room and the corridor leading to the chambers.
There he was, bathed in the golden light of the window beside him and staring directly at her. Dressed as he’d been before—though his hair was now charmingly mussed—he was even more handsome than she remembered. Her lungs fluttered again as she struggled for breath, the pulse at her throat leaping like a rabbit.
“Bother it all, I forgot to tie your sash,” Aunt Edith said from behind her and busily began tugging at the dark green ribbon. She must not have seen that they had an audience.
Gemma felt her cheeks grow hot. This made the second time she found herself in a state of undress in front of him. Then, as if this realization struck him at the same time, his blue gaze turned warm, roaming down the length of her before he stepped out of view, providing a moment of belated privacy.
Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself, but the excitement bubbling inside her made it difficult. Worse, she had the startling impulse to rush into the room and fling her arms around Sam’s neck. Clearly, this was becoming a problem. In the course of an hour, she’d gone from wanting to embrace a cloud and now a man she hardly knew.
She took a breath, willing her pulse to slow. After all, she would never have lasted a moment in an Egyptian bazaar if she’d approached a tajir with any eagerness over bargaining for a brooch or even a handful of dates.
Not only that, but her brief foray into London society had taught her to be cautious in all circumstances. She’d learned quickly that once people heard her name, their true natures were revealed. She’d earned censorious glowers accompanied by whispers, open insults to her character, and even the cut direct.
With that reminder, she suddenly did not want to see what Sam’s reaction would be. In the best scenario, he would leave and no longer desire an acquaintance. She hated to imagine the worst.
Another nudge from Aunt Edith drew her attention. “Let us not make him wait too long. Clearly, he is eager to see you again.”
Only because he knows nothing about me.
Steeling herself, Gemma walked into the parlor, one footstep on the hardwood floor for every eight beats of her heart. Lifting her gaze slowly, she saw that his tall, brown beaver hat was on the scarred round table in the center of the room. He stood behind it, his shoulders straight and arms behind his back. His camel-colored coat was parted to reveal the green waistcoat that now matched her clothes, but why that made her blush return, she did not know.
Moving around her, Aunt Edith crossed the room without any of the trepidation Gemma felt. “Good day to you, sir. I am pleased to make your—oh, but we are already acquainted. You are Viscount Ellery, are you not? If I recall correctly, you attended a party at my nephew’s country estate last Christmas.”
Ellery? But Gemma knew that title. Her dear friend, Juliet Harwick, the Marchioness of Thayne, had mentioned a desire to introduce her to Lord Ellery on a number of occasions, but they had all come to naught. What a strange coincidence that Gemma should meet him here in Surrey.
He smiled with undisguised pleasure and bowed his head. “Indeed, Your Grace. The Duke of Vale was a gracious host, and I was honored by the invitation. I was also reacquainted with your other nephew, the Earl of Wolford, during that time.”
He knew her cousins too? Then surely he would be familiar with her name. At the thought, a renewed sense of dread filled her.
“Then it only seems proper that I acquaint you with my entire family,” Aunt Edith said. “Please, allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Gemma Desmond.”
Gemma stiffened, waiting for him to recall the number of times her father’s name had been in bold ink on every London paper. In the next instant, his smile would surely fade, and he would make a hasty excuse for retreat.
“Miss Desmond,” he said, his focus solely on her, his gaze still warm and genial.
She curtsied by rote, stunned by his reaction, or lack thereof. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Ellery.”
Could it be that he did not judge her character as being like her father’s? But no, in the past few months she’d learned that such things were impossible. He must have simply forgotten the notorious surname.
Unfortunately, that meant it was left to her or Aunt Edith to inform him. Since her aunt believed that the right man would overlook Albert Desmond’s sins in favor of her niece’s charms, Gemma knew that the task fell upon her.
While she was mulling over how to begin, he moved his arms from behind his back and presented a bouquet of flowers, astounding her further. Spilling over his hand, the creamy white, pink-tinged petals stood out in sharp contrast against his tanned flesh and somehow made the gesture all the sweeter. She could not imagine such a hand picking flowers. Especially not for her.
All other thoughts vanished. “Woodbines are my favorites.”
“Are they?” From the quick lift of his dark golden brows and broader smile, this clearly pleased him. “Then it is fortunate I have so many in bloom at Dunnock Park this time of year. Perhaps you noticed them growing near the willows.”
She nodded sheepishly, still hesitant to step forward. “At the time, I did not know it was your pond and your hill upon which we chose to trespass.”
“In our own defense, it was a perfectly situated spot for a picnic,” Aunt Edith said without any remorse. She often did exactly as she pleased and would have stopped on his hill even if there were warning notices posted on every tree and rock.
Sam shook his head dismissively. “Fear not, for we gave up the practice of shooting offenders ages ago.”
This earned a rare, lilting laugh from Aunt Edith. “It is good you brought some flowers with you as it saves me from stealing my own. Though, since they have been out of water for so long, we dare not even wait for the maid’s return to put them in a vase. Therefore, I shall fetch water from the pitcher in my chamber and return presently.”
Then, without standing on ceremony, she swept from the room and left Lord Ellery and Gemma quite alone.
“Forgive me,” he said, moving closer, casting a brief frown down to the shyly drooping blossoms. “I did not take measures to keep them from wilting or even to tie them together with a ribbon for presentation.”
She tilted up her face to study him, noticing that he was tall but not in a looming, threatening manner. There was nothing about him that warned her to keep her distance. Quite the opposite. He possessed an aura of warmth and confidence that emboldened her to reach out.
“The journey has made them all the more beautiful. In fact, I could not imagine a more perfect bundle.” The instant Gemma clasped the flowers, a jolt rushed through her. She snatched her hand away. The hot, static shock of her fingers bumping against his was like touching the door latch in the middle of winter. Instinctively, she closed her hand, her flesh tingling. “I—I was not . . . that is to say . . . I should be wearing gloves.”
“No, indeed, for then the stems would surely cause a stain. It is better this way,” he said, his voice hoarse as if he were equally affected. His eyes were darker than before, his irises a bright blue halo surrounding his expanded pupil.
Chiding herself for making him wait, she tried again. Yet with the second attempt, the sensation was even stronger because she was more deliberate in her actions. Curling her fingers around his, the rough graze of his knuckles against her palm sent a series of feverish currents through her, zipping along her limbs, her torso, and then settling in a spot below her navel.
A nervous laugh escaped her. The unbound stems refused to transfer easily from his grasp to hers, and she fumbled the exchange, their fingers tangling, twining together, until she was quite out of breath.
“Gemma,” he breathed, the heat of it reaching her lips in a tantalizing sweep. “Tell me you are glad that I have come. If you are not, I will leave at once.”
She had to gather her wits. Locked together as they were, with the sweet, heady musk of the flowers rising between them, made her lightheaded. “By your own insistence just now, I must tell you that I am glad, for you have given me no other option.”
“You’re right. I’m being impossibly rude and making a poor impression of my character. I have no excuse other than”—he looked down at the flowers, and beneath the petals, his thumb lightly stroked her flesh—“the perfume of woodbines must affect me strangely. Truthfully, I am far more hesitant by nature.”
“As am I,” she admitted but tried to remember why. It seemed perfectly natural to have their hands intertwined, to stand close enough to catch the fresh, windblown fragrance of summer sun rising from his clothes and the enticing earthiness beneath it that must surely have been his own intoxicating essence.
He nodded in agreement. “At the pond, your cautious gestures revealed as much, and to your credit. I, however, have been acting like a madman from the first moment.”
“Hardly crazed,” she said, feeling strangely drowsy, her limbs languid, her eyelids heavy. “The gentleman before me is all kindness.”
He shook his head but grinned. “Then I am loath to spoil your good opinion by telling you how close I am to commanding you to attend a village dance this evening.”
The sound of a door closing and footsteps in the corridor reminded Gemma that they were not alone. Disentangling her fingers from his, she took a step back toward the hearth, clutching the flowers to her breast and feeling her cheeks grow hot again. “Why not simply ask?”
“Because a plea leaves too much to chance, when I would rather have certainty before I go.”
She shook her head. “But you only just arrived.”
“Yes, as I keep reminding myself. But that does not seem to slow this inexplicable desire to rush forward from introduction to—” He stopped, his tone possessing an undercurrent of heat that made him sound quite rakish. Then, darting a glance to the doorway, he retreated as well, picked up his hat, and held it before him.
“You are not leaving already, Lord Ellery?” Aunt Edith said, setting a buttery yellow earthenware cup, filled with water, in the center of the table. “I should ring for a tray to give you a proper welcome.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but having already arrived without warning, I would only add to my crimes by overstaying. I know what it is like to travel a distance and find myself in need of a bed—” His words broke, and he cleared his throat. Then, hastily, he bowed, the gesture stilted as if he were suffering a malady of some sort. “Or rest, rather.”
Aunt Edith clucked her tongue. “For a young gentleman who was so eager only moments ago, I find myself curious at this abrupt departure.”
Gemma wondered as well, and felt as if this encounter was slipping out of her grasp too quickly. Had he tired of her company so quickly?
He shrugged, chagrined. “I confess that I was just informing Miss Desmond of a village dance this evening in the hall next door. If you have no other engagements, I would be honored to escort you both.”
When his fervid gaze drifted to her, Gemma could not stop the ebullient feeling strumming through her veins.
Her aunt turned, a cheeky smile on her lips as she took the flowers from her grasp and began arranging them in the cup. “Gemma, dear, in the forty minutes we have been in Banfern Glenn, have we already accepted an invitation from a gentleman bearing your favorite flowers?”
Gemma smiled too. “I seem to recall turning all the others away.”
Expecting Sam to laugh and wanting to hear that rich, effortless sound again, she was surprised by the lack of amusement in his expression. His cordial smile still curved his lips, but his eyes were searching and serious. In that flash of an instant, she sensed that this meeting was no mere lark for him. It could even be that he genuinely liked her, perhaps as much as she already liked him.
As her heart soared at the notion, reality brought it crashing down. He still didn’t know who she was.
It was time to tell him the truth. All of it. Even at the risk of never seeing him again.
“There have been no other gentlemen callers.” She swallowed to soothe away the tremble from her voice. “Not today and likely not ever. The reason is because—”
“Because Gemma was new to London,” Aunt Edith hastily interrupted, “and did not participate in the Season. Therefore, she did not have the opportunity to earn the admiration of other gentlemen who might have called on her.”
Sam visibly relaxed, the stiffness leaving his posture, his grin even warmer than before. “Then it is to my own good fortune. Only a fool would not see this as an advantage. So until later, I bid you both a good day.”
Then, without lingering a moment longer, he inclined his head and summarily departed.
“Good day.” Gemma was left to stare after him as he ducked his head through the doorway.
Once they were alone, Aunt Edith clapped her hands together. “That could not have gone any better. I daresay he will arrive early this evening in order to spend more time in your company.”
Gemma frowned, a wave of guilt washing over her. “I should have told him about my father.”
“No, you should not have,” her aunt replied with a sternness she usually saved for Cousin North and Cousin Liam. “Give him the chance to know you, to like you even more than he already does.”
“Do you think he likes me?” Of course, Gemma had already surmised the answer, but she took a guilty moment to savor the light fluttering feeling it caused inside her.
“There is no mistaking it. In fact, if I’d have stayed out of the room a second longer, he might have tried to kiss you.”
“Surely not.” But Gemma felt her cheeks grow hot beneath her aunt’s mirthful scrutiny. “Besides, I wouldn’t have let him. I have more sense than that.”
Aunt Edith laughed. “If the pair of you were starving and someone laid a seven-course meal on the table, you wouldn’t have noticed. I was young once too and felt the same way when I met my husband.”
The words were enough to jolt Gemma into reality again. She walked to the window and stared down at the narrow cobblestone lane. “Viscount Ellery will not become my husband. Once he learns who my father is, he will feel foolish for even making my acquaintance.”
“You judge him, and yourself, too harshly. I know his parents, and they are just as kind and courteous as he is.”
“Which only makes it worse,” Gemma said, admitting a painful truth. The reason she needed a husband was to change her name into something more palatable to society. That was the only way she could escape the censure that had befallen everyone she cherished. “Though you have tried to shield me from the knowledge, I know how often you have been snubbed because your niece with the bad blood resides beneath your roof. I have also seen it happen with my cousins and their wives. North and Ivy, and Liam and Adeline, may not care about what the gossips say, but I do.”
One would think that with a duke and an earl in the family, their reputations would not exist on tenterhooks. However, there were still members of the ton who objected to North’s succession to the dukedom, calling his mother’s lineage into question. And there were even those who thought Liam was nothing more than a rake and a spendthrift.
“Given enough time, all will be forgotten.”
“Not all. My father nearly murdered Adeline by trying to send her to the bottom of the Thames. And even if society could forget about that, the many people he swindled and made laughingstocks of never will, as long I hold the name of Desmond.” Gemma’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to the flowers, and guilt washed over her. “When it was clear that Lord Ellery did not know who I was, I should have told him everything without delay. By not doing so, I have turned into a common schemer.”
“Hardly,” Aunt Edith scoffed. “I daresay you were taken off guard by discovering the one stranger who didn’t instantly cast your worth into the same pit as your father’s. In that you can be forgiven, surely.”
Hmm . . . Gemma had her doubts. “Regardless, I cannot use Viscount Ellery’s unwitting affability to suit my own purpose.”
“You could always ask him,” Aunt Edith said, as if it were a simple matter.
Her aunt’s pragmatism drew a sardonic laugh from her. Gemma faced the empty doorway and curtsied, pretending to see him there. “Viscount Ellery, if you would be kind enough to allow me to share your name for a few decades, that would be splendid. A nice, abundantly handsome gentleman such as yourself surely has no other options than to marry a young woman out of pity.”
“Or you could marry for love instead.”
Gemma rolled her eyes. “Since I do not believe a new fissure has split apart the earth’s crust, spewing forth a mountain of new possibilities for my life, I’m going to assume you’ve taken too much sun this afternoon. And perhaps I have too. Otherwise, I never would have agreed to attend the dance. What was I thinking?”
“I should hope you were thinking that you might enjoy yourself. That is the purpose of our holiday, after all,” Aunt Edith said, apparently forgetting that she’d spoken of little else than Gemma’s upcoming Season and catching a husband since they’d left London. “Do not fret over the future or place any urgent expectations on a mere dance.”
Gemma eyed her aunt skeptically. “You’re one to talk. No doubt, in the space of this conversation, you’ve decided on the amount of lace you’d like for my wedding gown and planned my honeymoon trip to Bath.”
“Which proves how little you know me, my dear. I was thinking of ruffles and Italy, of course.” Aunt Edith flashed her pearly teeth, her eyes brightening. “Oh, and should you and Lord Ellery have a daughter, the name Edith Charlotte has a nice ring to it. Wouldn’t you agree?”