“What a slugabed you’ve been this morning,” Aunt Edith scolded the following day, but with an undercurrent of amusement as Gemma leaned down to buss her cheek.
In the upstairs parlor, Gemma slipped into a chair and arranged her blue muslin skirts. On the small table before her, a selection of scones, sliced meats, and coddled eggs awaited. She was famished and wanted to devour everything in sight. “Forgive me. I know we planned to go exploring today. Yet for some reason, I could not awaken. I slept so soundly that I did not even hear Berta come into my room to lay out this dress for me.”
“Hmm . . . I wonder if, perhaps, we should put the blame on Lord Ellery. Clearly, he overexerted you with all that dancing last night, and I daresay that your face was as pink as Mrs. Selby’s punch.”
“He did nothing of the sort,” Gemma said in Sam’s defense. Trying to tuck the perfect memories from last night away for safekeeping, she calmly laid a serviette over her lap. “My face was pinkened from too much sun. That is all.”
Gemma did her best to ignore her aunt’s pleased grin and her own inner palpitations. Yet the memory of the dance was so fresh that she could still feel the warm press of Sam’s hand, the brush of his limbs against hers, and the lingering gazes that sent a cascade of tingles through her entire body. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as if every moment had been embedded into her skin and she would carry them with her always.
She hadn’t wanted the night to end. By all appearances, neither had he.
He’d danced two full sets with her and might have danced a third, if not for the rule that stated a gentleman could not dance three sets without declaring his intentions. Nevertheless, after the second set, he’d then invited her to join him in the courtyard—within full view of Aunt Edith, of course. And there, seated side by side on a low stone wall, they’d drunk the delicious punch that the innkeeper’s wife made and talked about how lovely the day had been, as if they both wanted to live it over and over again.
Aunt Edith lifted the teapot and poured a cup for Gemma. “I never realized how many teeth you possessed until I saw you twirling around the assembly room on Lord Ellery’s arm.”
“Is that your sly way of saying you caught me smiling at my dance partner? How scandalous.”
“My dear, there are smiles, and then there are . . . smiles,” she said with a wealth of meaning and a lift of her penciled brows.
Gemma carefully stirred honey into her tea. “What I did was allow myself a measure of enjoyment, knowing full well that was my first and last country dance in Banfern Glenn. After all, you remembered quite late to tell me that you’d sent a missive to Lady Donrolin the instant we arrived at the inn yesterday.”
A most distressing truth.
When she’d told Gemma the news, Aunt Edith had been certain that her friend would send for them straightaway. In fact, they’d journeyed to Surrey because of Lady Donrolin’s unflappable eagerness to see Edith.
So many other supposed friends had cast her aside because she had not distanced herself from Albert Desmond’s daughter.
Aunt Edith had been looking forward to this visit for some time. And, of course, Gemma was happy it would come to pass. She was not in the least bit disappointed that they were to leave Banfern Glenn just when it had become the most interesting place in the world. Not at all.
Gemma swallowed, feeling the beginnings of a dull ache in the center of her chest. It sat there, pressing heavily upon her, as if she were beneath the collection of robust atlases in Cousin North’s library. Her appetite suddenly dimmed.
Even though Lady Donrolin’s estate was also in Surrey and would likely be beautiful, Gemma doubted it had a pond surrounded by woodbine and a perfectly situated picnic hill. More important, it did not house a gentleman with clear blue eyes and an easy laugh.
“It doesn’t necessarily have to be our last day in Banfern Glenn,” Aunt Edith said offhandedly as she added a dollop of clotted cream to her scone. Yet her words were edged with the unmistakable weight of disappointment, pulling all the syllables downward.
Gemma had always possessed an unconscious ability to read a person’s gestures or hear the subtle shifts in a voice. And in the past months, she had become all too familiar with that particular tone.
Alert at once, Gemma saw the faint spider web of wrinkles around Aunt Edith’s mouth, her lips pressed into a forced smile that did not reach her eyes.
Something had happened. Looking for the answer, Gemma noticed the folded blue-tinted paper tucked beneath the edge of her aunt’s plate. “Is that a missive from Lady Donrolin?”
Aunt Edith followed Gemma’s gaze. “It is. And happy news for us, I should think. Our schedule is free once again, giving us the opportunity to scamper about the countryside at will.”
“Might I read it?” Gemma asked, sensing there was more than happy news.
Aunt Edith’s pasted smile slipped. She lowered her spoon, the neck settling against the rim of the plate with an ominous clack. “Dearest, the only good this letter serves is to keep my plate from wobbling on an uneven table.”
“Surely it can be no worse than the others I’ve read.”
Seeing her determination, Aunt Edith offered a wary nod.
Gemma withdrew the folded missive, expecting it to be like the others and full of excuses. An illness in the family, perhaps? A spontaneous holiday that would keep them away for an indeterminate amount of time? Or even having all the guest chambers redecorated at the once? Surprisingly, there had been two idiotic ninnies who’d used that excuse.
But none of those reasons was present here. Lady Donrolin was far more direct.
In unapologetic, decisive script, she cited that since her daughters were preparing for next Season in London, and given the fact that “a certain Miss Desmond” was Edith’s traveling companion, she could “no longer afford the association.” She also included a list of nunneries in France, known to accept the “less desirable” debutante.
How helpful.
“I see.” Gemma felt every vertebra of her back stiffen. She folded the missive and replaced it, none too gently, beneath Aunt Edith’s plate.
All Gemma had wanted when she returned to London was a normal, quiet life. She didn’t want to cause a scandal wherever she went. Nor did she want to be the topic of conversation or have all of her actions dissected and examined for traces of evil. She just wanted to be happy and spend time with the family she’d been apart from for too long.
Aunt Edith’s diminished social standing only worsened the remorse Gemma felt. Because of it, she’d vowed to do anything to ensure her aunt’s happiness. Even marry in order to change her name.
“So what’s it to be then?” Aunt Edith dusted her hands together. “Shall we continue our nomadic holiday? Or, if you prefer, we could return to North and Ivy’s country house and await the arrival of the baby. After all, eight weeks can go by in a blink. At least some of the time, I’m sure.”
There was no mistaking the faint red lines in her aunt’s eyes, or the trace of shimmering liquid along the rim of her lower lid. So Gemma weighed their options but with her aunt’s happiness foremost in her mind.
However, before she could answer, a maid opened the outer door and dipped into a curtsy. “Lord Ellery, Your Grace.”
Gemma’s heart stalled in her throat. She didn’t even have time to recover before Sam swept into the room.
His gaze fixed on her instantly. Even from the distance of four or more steps, she could see the penumbra of bright blue around his dark pupils. Being the sole focus of his attention, she felt hot, as if her body were submerged in this cup of tea, her blood flowing like hot honey through her veins. She could still feel him dancing with her, the press of his hand against the curve of her back . . .
He removed his hat and bowed. “Your Grace. Miss Desmond. I pray you will forgive my bold intrusion this morning.”
Since Gemma couldn’t seem to form any words or manage one full breath, she was thankful that Aunt Edith spoke. “You are more than welcome, Lord Ellery. We were just remarking on what a fine time we had last evening, for which we have you to thank.”
“I was more than delighted to be of service,” he said, stepping further into the room, looking from Aunt Edith to Gemma. “In fact, that is the reason for my call yet again. I remembered from our conversation in the courtyard that you had no fixed plans for today.”
Had she revealed that last night? Thinking back, Gemma recalled saying quite a lot of things, and none of them what she should have said. She’d taken Aunt Edith’s advice and kept the truth of her father from their conversation. Instead, she’d given in to an evening of enjoyment, knowing how fleeting it was meant to be.
Now, however, it seemed she was faced with another opportunity to confess the truth. And it would guarantee that she would not see Sam again. The pleasant warmth she felt evaporated like steam, leaving her cold.
“I am all eagerness to learn of your plan, Lord Ellery,” Aunt Edith said, her tone lifting upward in delight.
Sam looked directly at Gemma. “I thought you might find it amenable to take a tour of the countryside.”
“A heaven-sent invitation.” Aunt Edith clasped her hands over her heart and turned her beaming face to Gemma. “What do you think, my dear? Shall we allow ourselves one more day of utter enjoyment?”
One more day. The words were as exhilarating as they were heartbreaking.
Gemma knew she should refuse. Keeping this secret from him made her all the more greedy and selfish. Yet after the letter from Lady Donrolin, and being the cause of another severed relationship for Aunt Edith, how could Gemma add to her disappointment?
One more day, Gemma thought. One more day and then no more.
Decided, and before she lost her nerve, Gemma nodded.
“What a splendid afternoon, Lord Ellery,” the Dowager Duchess of Vale said with a contented exhale, her parasol twirling at her shoulder as she faced their view of the vast rolling hills from their picturesque spot on Leith Hill. “How could you have known that my niece and I required this outing to lift us out of our doldrums?”
Sam paused in the midst of packing up the picnic basket, his gaze on Gemma, who was on the other side of it, doing the same. “Until this moment, I had not known you’d needed rescuing.”
He’d sensed nothing amiss during these past hours. They’d both seemed to greet the outing with the same fervor he felt, sharing lively conversation that lacked any of the awkwardness often present with a new acquaintanceship. It was comfortable and without the fuss of formality. At least, that’s what he’d assumed until now.
“It is nothing,” Gemma said quickly, fitting both hands around the slender jar of punch he’d procured from Mrs. Selby as if her answer were trapped inside. She hesitated, her pupils receding to tiny points, making the green-blue of her irises look stark. Then, she lifted one delicate shoulder in a shrug. “Only that our future plans went . . . awry.”
Standing in the middle of the clearing, the dowager duchess offered a discontented huff but did not elaborate on the matter.
Curious, he looked again to Gemma, only to find her fumbling with the swollen cork stopper and getting the tip of her glove caught. He didn’t like the awkwardness that had suddenly risen up between them.
“I’m sorry about your plans,” he said simply, extending his hand in a silent request for the jar. When she complied, he settled his hand gently over hers and felt the barest tremble rush through her. He wanted to ease the worry he saw in her shielded gaze, and he wanted to know what had gone awry. Yet he had the sense that she did not want to speak about the subject. If possible, Gemma seemed even more hesitant in nature and cautious than he was.
Then, Gemma appeared to recover herself. The somberness he thought he’d witnessed slipped away from the tipped corners of her bow-shaped mouth, and the virescent shade of her eyes deepened once more. It must have been an aberration.
“You are kind to say so,” she said quietly, “but my aunt and I are determined to continue our nomadic holiday and find enjoyment enough that all else is forgotten.”
There, he thought, watching her closely. Did a tinge of sadness just cross her expression? “Is there something you wish to forget?”
Her gaze darted up to his and widened slightly in surprise as if she’d revealed something that she hadn’t intended to do. He did his best to study every nuance of her expression, wanting to know everything about her. Already, he was prepared to slay whatever beast dared to make her feel anything but joy. The world needed the sound of her laugh and the sight of her smiles.
She expelled a weighty sigh that settled in the air between them. “Let us not speak of wishes. Instead, tell us of Surrey and of all the places we must visit.”
The last thing he wanted was to sour her to his company by pressuring her and ignoring her reluctance to speak on this topic. So instead, he thought of this as an opportunity to ease into knowing her better.
“I have a better suggestion,” he said, the ready words spilling from his lips. Closing the lid on the basket, he clapped his hands together and chafed them with eagerness. “There is to be a lengthy party in a house not far from here. If you and your aunt were to attend, it promises to fulfill all of your expectations for enjoyment.”
“Oh, we are quite in need of enjoyment.” The dowager duchess tilted her parasol and turned to him, her smile and brows lifted in expectation. A good sign, indeed.
Gemma, however, eyed him with unquestionable skepticism. “By chance, is this party at Dunnock Park?”
“Do you know the place?” He feigned shock and earned a smirk in return. “I can see that you hold doubts, but in truth, there will be three gentlemen and four young ladies with their chaperones arriving at my home tomorrow.”
He stood and automatically breached the distance between them and settled his hand beneath her elbow, as if he’d been doing so for years. Normally, he was not so forward and should apologize. Yet when her delicate hand briefly squeezed his forearm as she straightened, it pleased him to imagine that she did not mind. The hardest part was letting her go.
Gemma smoothed her skirts and looked askance at him. “And adding yourself to the list makes for a convenient number for a party—a gentleman for each lady.”
At her summation, the dowager duchess made a tsking sound, and he felt as if he might have lost a bit of headway.
He rallied quickly, however, adding a thoughtful nod for good measure. “True, but that is not to say that the addition of another young lady and her aunt would disturb the balance.”
“How could it not?” Gemma shook her head, and when she pursed her lips, the bottom one looked so plump—so enthrallingly soft—that it begged to be kissed . . .
He tore his gaze away and shook his head. Better not give in to distraction. This was too important.
“At parties such as these,” he continued, “it is often that one guest does not wish to participate in certain activities, so it is always beneficial to have another on hand.”
“You require a spare?” Gemma issued an amused scoff and looked over her shoulder to her aunt.
“It is not entirely unheard of,” the dowager duchess said, offering a smile of apparent encouragement to Sam.
Somehow, he managed to hold back his own grin as he nodded. “In fact, I usually keep one in the attic for such occasions. But with the summer being so hot, and the windows left open in the evenings . . . well, the bats have become a problem, chasing off my usual spare guest. So you see, I absolutely must invite your parasol-wielding aunt. Of course, you’re welcome to attend as well.”
Gemma smiled fully at him, her captivating eyes glinting as her laughter lit up the hill, brightening even the shady portions beneath the leafy canopy. Yes, he thought again, the world—his world—needed more of this. More of her.
Gone was the mere desire to have her attend his party. Now, he was quite determined to make it happen.
“I can see that I never should have told you that story.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips and turned to the dowager duchess. “I’m sorry, Aunt Edith, but you will be in high demand as a spare at all house parties.”
The dowager duchess snickered quietly and closed her parasol. “It took the pair of us to capture the last one, so of course I will drag you with me. You have revealed our secret skill, and now we shall have no peace.”
“Oh, but it is peaceful at Dunnock Park,” Sam offered, using any advantage he could. “Most mornings you can hear flower petals open; in the afternoons, the whisper of a breeze through the surrounding trees; and each evening, a cricket serenade.”
“It sounds idyllic,” Gemma said dreamily, as if on the verge of accepting. Then—hang it all—she shook her head. “But we cannot attend.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because”—she swallowed—“because you have invited your friends, of whom we know none.”
A paltry excuse. Why did it seem as if there was more to her reason than what she let on? “I do consider the gentlemen friends of mine. The ladies, however, I do not know as well.”
Gemma included. But he planned to remedy that.
“But why would you invite ladies with whom you share little—” She hesitated, her delicate dark brows lifting with curiosity and then lowering in understanding. “Ah. You mean to further an acquaintance with them. Perhaps even . . . for the purpose of marriage?”
A day ago, he would have agreed with her quick supposition. After all, he wanted to gain a sense of certainty about the women under consideration. Now, however, he couldn’t seem to recall a single one of them or the reason he’d extended the invitations.
“I believe the three of us may have a mutual friend. Juliet, Lady Granworth—or rather, Lady Thayne, now that she is remarried,” he clarified and paused for Gemma’s and the dowager duchess’s nods. “It was her suggestion that a party would aid in my decision.”
“Juliet is full of clever ideas,” the dowager duchess interjected. “Both she and Lord Thayne are touring libraries all across the continent for their honeymoon. I have never heard of such an original idea, but it suits the two of them quite well. It is always nice when young people find their counterparts.”
Gemma snapped a hard gaze to her aunt in clear warning.
Sam laughed at the dowager duchess’s blatant inference. “Ma’am, I do believe that you would get along famously with my parents.” The only difference was that Father would have mentioned marriage and Miss Desmond directly.
When Gemma cast Sam an apologetic look, a fresh blush on her cheeks, they shared a look of commiseration. The sardonic shake of his head must have eased her mind because she smiled in return.
“And I would look forward to renewing the acquaintance . . . if given the chance.” The dowager duchess lifted her shoulders in a shrug and stepped toward them. “However, I shall leave that decision to Gemma. In the meantime, I should like to climb the rest of the way toward Prospect House. The tower is simply stunning in the sunlight. From here, the pale shimmer of color makes it appear as if it is made of velum instead of stone, and so I must see it up close before it can blow away. Yet before I go”—she reached into an unseen pocket in her lavender walking costume and withdrew a green velvet pouch, tied with a braided gold cord—“I want to give my favorite niece a small token to mark this most splendid day forever in her memory, as it will surely be in mine.”
“Aunt Edith, what have you done?” Gemma chided fondly.
Then the dowager duchess glanced at Sam. “Lord Ellery, I hope you will pardon this level of familiarity I am employing, but I admit I feel quite at my leisure to do whatever I please in your presence.”
Gemma cleared her throat and pressed her lips together, as if to keep from smiling, but the phantom of one revealed itself in the lift of her cheeks.
“You do me a great honor, ma’am.” Sam inclined his head. He felt a measure of contented relief to know that Gemma’s aunt enjoyed his company. In his way of thinking, that won half the battle ahead of him.
Gemma took hold of the pouch, her hesitation marked in the sluggish movements to untie the knot. She even glanced at him apologetically. “This is unpardonably rude.”
“Only if you keep us waiting,” the dowager duchess said with impatience.
Gemma issued a breathy sound that was surely half exasperation. Yet when she finally managed the knot and peered inside, she gasped.
“Oh, Aunt Edith,” she whispered, drawing out a slender strand of coral. “It’s beautiful and just like the one in my mother’s portrait.”
A startled laugh escaped the dowager duchess as Gemma suddenly embraced her. Then her expression turned wistful with a touch of melancholy, giving Sam the understanding that Gemma’s mother was gone. He imagined that was the reason she hadn’t mentioned her parents. Thus far, she kept her conversation centered on the here and now and observations on whatever was around them. There was still so much he did not know about her.
“The clasp on this is quite tricky, with a hook and a bronze shell to cover it,” the dowager duchess said. “I daresay, we will require Lord Ellery’s assistance in managing it this first time. That is”—her glistening, pale gaze alighted on Sam—“if he is amenable.”
Gemma straightened and stepped out of her aunt’s embrace. She shook her head. “That isn’t—”
“Yes, of course,” he said in the same instant.
“Good. Then it’s all settled.” The dowager duchess dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief and took hold of her parasol as if it were a walking stick, pressing the tip into the grass at her feet. “And now for my walk. I’m certain you will be along presently?”
Sam nodded and then was left very much alone with Gemma. The Dowager Duchess of Vale was quickly becoming one of his favorite people.
Gemma watched her aunt depart and then shyly slid her gaze to him. “You do not have to, you know. I can manage.”
“And risk your aunt hunting me down with that vicious parasol of hers? Never.” He stepped closer, his pulse thrumming at the mere thought of touching her.
She smiled and held the necklace in her palm, offering it to him. He wasted no time in fitting his hand over hers. The cool hardness of the polished coral beads against his flesh stood out in contrast to the softness of the kid leather. All the same, he would prefer to feel her skin against his. Yet through the thin layer of her glove, there was no mistaking the reflexive hitch of her fingers as they curled into his palm. Was she feeling it too, this inexplicable need to touch him as much as he needed to touch her?
Because of his inability to gauge a woman’s interest with complete certainty, he could only guess the answer. And hope.
When she faced away from him, he worked the clasp free and lifted the two ends of the necklace over her head, resting it against the base of her throat. It was a warm day, even here in the shade, but standing this close caused the temperature to blaze. He drew in a steadying breath, thick with the sweet scent of her skin and the intoxicating musk of her perspiration. With her hair gathered up in a twist at her crown, the nape of her neck was exposed and adorned with wispy dark curls.
Not wanting any to tangle in the clasp, he brushed the silken hairs aside. Her skin responded instantly, pebbling in gooseflesh, and her breath quickened. Witnessing her sensitivity to his touch sent a heavy pulse of arousal through him. He’d been battling it all day. It was more than the simple fact that he found her attractive. There were scores of pretty women in London, and a few of them attending his party. But standing beside them, talking to them, or even dancing with any of them had not felt half as good as it had with Gemma. She possessed a vibrancy that captivated him and seemed to fill him when he was near. How could he resist wanting to spend every possible moment with her?
And that was the crux of his problem. He could only spend time with her if she chose to attend his party.
He exhaled, inadvertently parting her curls with his breath, and she shivered. Oh, how he wanted to press his lips there, to taste her flesh. It took a feat of willpower to focus on his task. Then as one more act of torture, as he fastened the clasp, one curl wound itself around his fingertip in a soft clench that sent a corresponding sensation behind the fall of his breeches.
“There,” he said at last, his voice hoarse as he took a step back. He wondered how he’d survived.
She was slow to turn and face him, and he was thankful for it because the effect from touching her was quite evident. So he bent to take the handles of the picnic basket and held it awkwardly in front of him.
“Thank you,” she said, her face flushed, her fingers skating over the coral strand.
Sam adjusted his hold on the basket as they began their climb up the hill. “My pleasure.”
“I hope the clasp was not difficult.”
He was about to tell her that it was easy but then inspiration struck. “Exceedingly so. In fact, it may take up to a fortnight before the mechanism can be fastened with ease. I would not be a gentleman if I did not offer my assistance, though our close proximity would be required. Coincidentally, I’m hosting a house party . . . ”
“You don’t say.”
“I believe it is in your best interest to accept my invitation.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, one corner of her mouth curling wryly. “And all because of my necklace?”
“Well, that and your enjoyment. I can guarantee it. I’ve planned picnics and outings on horseback, lawn billiards, and so much more.” He was doing all he could to make Dunnock Park irresistible.
“Hmm. But what if you have a guest who simply desires to sit by the pond and sketch or read a book?”
“Then I am happy to say that Dunnock Park hosts many wonders worthy of ink and paper, not to mention a fine library. I confess, however, that most of the books are more about history, horticulture, and agriculture.” Even so, he was quite proud of his collection and found himself spending many an hour happily ensconced in the past, but from the comfort of a chair by the fire. All he wanted was to find someone who would enjoy sitting beside him. “Though I recently acquired several novels for this party as well.”
He stopped to step over a fallen oak that blocked their path. Setting down the basket, he offered his hand to her.
“I hope you are not suggesting that women only read novels.” She tsked, chiding him playfully as she stepped up on the low end of the tree. Then, releasing him, she set her arms wide and proceeded to follow the trunk to the spindly branches that lay ahead. “Some of us are quite enthralled by reading about ancient civilizations as well as various varieties of flora and fauna. I’ll have you know that I routinely engage in debates with my cousin Liam over certain artifacts in his collection and the functions they might have performed. Additionally, I have plucked a variety of leaves from the garden and studied them beneath the lenses of my cousin North’s microscope. I find it all fascinating and have spent many a night poring over books in his library and—why are you smiling at me that way?”
He might have fallen in love with her right then and there. It was difficult to tell because his heart was clamoring too loudly within in chest, twirling noisemakers and setting off fireworks. “Because I . . . I must insist you attend the party. Your merriment is at stake.”
“Sam,” she said with a short laugh, not knowing what calamitous things hearing his name on her lips did to his heart and lungs. “As I said before, I would know none of your friends.”
“What better way to know them?”
Her expression—the wry tilt of her mouth, the glint in her eyes—was caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I fear that whatever answer I give, you will only declare it as a new opportunity to convince me.”
He stroked his chin in a show of appearing thoughtful. “Hmm . . . possibly true. You may as well give in now. I shall send a carriage for you in the morning.”
Her hands fell to her hips once again, the action drawing the muslin taut over the perfection of her breasts. “You speak as if I have already given my consent.”
“Aye, you have.” Sam grinned up at her as he reached up to assist her to the ground. Slipping through her bent arms, his hands settled at her waist. “I can see the future, Miss Desmond.”
“Ah,” she said, breathless, her face bright with excitement as she laid her hands on his shoulders. “That must have been what you were doing at the pond yesterday—divining the future with your friend, Mr. Pike.”
He stayed there, as they were, for a moment longer, knowing that when he lowered her to the ground he would have to release her. “I should like to hear your consent all the same.”
She held his gaze and something—he wasn’t certain what—passed between them. Then, after a moment, she nodded. “Very well.”
Elated, he lifted her from the log and swung her around in a half circle before he set her down on her feet. Then he winked. “Mr. Pike knew it all along.”