A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Gemma’s eyes widened and she faltered a step. “You did?” she whispered, her voice carrying somehow.

  He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on her. Then he shook his head just as slowly and pushed off of the doorjamb, coming over to her. Gently he took her face in his hands, staring down into her eyes.

  “You are breathtaking,” he told her, stroking her cheeks. “I could hardly move when I heard you. When I saw you.” He shook his head again and pressed his lips to her brow, then leaned down for the softest, gentlest kiss.

  Gemma released a sigh she did not know she had been holding, and looked up into Lucas’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered, smiling.

  “For what?” he asked, still staring at her as if she were beyond imagination.

  She turned her head and kissed one of his palms. “For hearing me.”

  That earned her another soft kiss, and then his brow furrowed just a little.

  She could not bear for this moment to turn so suddenly. “What?”

  “I told you once that we weren’t friends,” he said, sounding more like himself. “That we could not be, and you knew why.”

  Relieved, she nodded quickly. “Yes, it made perfect sense, once I considered it.”

  He shook his head once. “I was wrong.”

  She widened her eyes, confused. “Were you?”

  “Completely, horribly wrong.” He cupped her face more tightly, his eyes suddenly intense. “We are friends, Gemma. I think… I think you might be the closest friend I have.” He swallowed and stroked one cheek softly. “Certainly the dearest. And absolutely my favorite.”

  “We’re friends?” she asked with a beaming smile and a little laugh.

  He returned her smile with just a slight one of his own. “The best.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t blink them away this time. “Oh, Lucas.”

  “What?” he asked, concern wrinkling his face and softening his tone.

  She let a watery laugh escape and stepped out of his hold just to lay her instrument down, then came back to him. “Your closest, dearest, favorite friend would very much like to kiss you quite soundly.”

  A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “Would she?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He stepped closer, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her nearly flush with him. “I always try to accommodate my friends.”

  She snorted and slid her hands up around his neck. “Such a gentleman.”

  “Always,” he murmured as his lips descended, and Gemma, for all her desire to kiss her husband soundly, found herself rather swept away by his kiss instead.

  Lucas clutched the note in his hand so tightly he thought the parchment might tear beneath it.

  Not here, not now.

  But the proof was before him.

  One word this time. Penance.

  The handwriting was the same, but there was nothing at all distinctive about it. It could have been anyone’s hand, and it was executed with perfect precision.

  He was tempted to crumple it up, to burn it, to tear it into shreds, but he was wiser than that. He knew better.

  He slid it into the drawer of his desk, where the other lay hidden, and slammed the drawer shut, covering his face with his hands.

  Penance.

  The single word had sent a chill to his heart. Penance for what? Despite his many failings, his past, and his reputation, he had nothing to make penance for. He had not grievously abused any person on earth, had always been honest in his dealings, and took great pride in being a gentleman, regardless of what anyone else said.

  But somehow, he knew none of that would matter.

  Just as he had known the first missive had not been regarding true valuables.

  He slid his hands up to grip his hair, trying to steady his breathing. Gemma had been wondering about his solitude and his surliness, he knew that, but God help him, he could not tell her. He could not bear to let her know what nightmares plagued him both night and day. His life was one of darkness and isolation, and he would not let her succumb to it as he had.

  He’d meant to remain as aloof and reserved as he had ever been, and then the other day she had played her violin with such passion, such emotion, it stirred his very soul, and he had been powerless to resist going to her, to take her into his arms, if only briefly. To confide in her the barest, briefest glimpse of what she meant to him.

  Friends, he had called it.

  She was his friend, and had been.

  But she was so much more than that.

  He sat back in his chair and yanked at his cravat, loosening it further still. Gemma was the breath and life for him, and he loved her with a fierceness that unsettled him.

  He’d loved her from the very beginning. It surprised him how easy it had been to admit it to himself once he’d realized the truth. He suspected it was entirely pointless to have attempted to resist it, but as he had given himself up to the joyous fall of it, he could not say for certain.

  Gemma.

  What was he going to do about her?

  He had heard plenty of the rumors swirling about her, now that she was his wife. They angered and irritated him more than anything that had ever been said about him, including the murder allegations, but he knew better than to do anything about it. He could not refute, defend, or make any sort of action that would in any way be construed as aggressive. It would do more harm than good and bar him from polite society even more.

  And, by extension, Gemma. Which was worse.

  He glanced back at the drawer, brow furrowing. Who would hold a vendetta against him and for what? How far would they go?

  How much would they dare to threaten?

  He shuddered faintly at the implications he dared not consider.

  Gemma had been so warm and sweet, so artless since they had been in London. And he had been occupied with his thoughts, leaving her to her own affairs so as not to taint her in public.

  Somehow, that had continued into life out of the public eye, until the moment with the violin. It pained him to do it, but ultimately, it would be better for Gemma if he maintained a little distance. She could move and behave as she wished if he were less present.

  He could not leave her alone and unprotected, particularly with the mysterious notes and threats that he could not stop. But if he could somehow lessen the consequences of his life for her, he would consider that saving her as much as anything else.

  Gemma was a smart woman, and clever beyond reckoning. And sensitive. She would fight it, would be confused by it, and press him. She was a persistent creature and would not accept any attempt at avoidance.

  It was for precisely that reason that he had avoided being at home. If she could not see him, she could not ask him.

  He should not have said anything when he’d watched her play. He should have left before she had seen him, then his feelings might not have shown and he might not have given her hope.

  But he had been transfixed and there was no chance of moving in any direction but towards her.

  He’d faintly hoped that he could somehow manage while keeping her as close as he wished, but he knew it was folly. Especially with this new threat against him, whatever it meant.

  He’d gone back to his polite distance since then, and it seemed to be working. But nights were the torment. He had been coming back to the house late at night after wasting hours at the club and sleeping in one of the guest rooms so she would not know.

  But he was not foolish enough to think that she did not suspect something.

  As long as she never confronted him, he would never have to lie.

  If lying were even possible where she was concerned.

  A knock sounded at his study door and he frowned. He was generally not disturbed when the door was closed, as all knew he valued his privacy highly. “Come.”

  Gemma entered, looking uncertain, but beautiful. “Lucas?”

  He managed to smooth his expression, but his heart pounded harder. She w
as supposed to have been out with her sister today, and the house to have been empty. He would never have been here if he had known.

  “Weren’t you to be out with Mrs. Hammond?” he asked politely, rising from his desk.

  She smiled tightly and entered the room more fully. “We are delayed, I am to meet her shortly.” She looked down at her hands for a moment, then up at him. “We received an invitation to the Rivertons.”

  Lucas stilled, his chest tightening. “Did we?”

  She nodded, giving him an odd look. “Their first ball is in two weeks. I thought it best that I speak to you before accepting.”

  He lowered himself into his chair and shook his head. “Don’t accept.”

  Her brow wrinkled and she stepped closer to his desk. “You don’t want to go?”

  He shrugged. “I rarely attend events there at all.”

  “But they are your family.”

  “And you are the only one who knows that.”

  She stared him for a long moment and he could see the thoughts whirling behind her eyes. “You… won’t go?”

  “No.”

  She had, no doubt, expected more of an answer than that, but he would not say more. “May I go, then?” she asked impatiently.

  A sick feeling suddenly hit his gut, but he masked it by leaning forward. “I would prefer if you did not. But the choice is yours.”

  He saw her answer the moment he said the words. Her shoulders slumped a little and she tried for a smile. “Then I suppose I will send my regrets,” she said, turning from the room.

  “Don’t bother,” he told her, ignoring the flash of pain. “I never do.”

  She turned before she reached the door, her eyes sad. “Why won’t you let them acknowledge you, Lucas?”

  He closed his eyes briefly, and sighed. “It is easier that way.”

  “For whom?”

  He tilted his head and looked at her exasperated face with what he hoped was sympathy. “For everyone.”

  She chewed her lip for a moment. “Why is it you that refuses to acknowledge it? They are willing, they said so themselves.”

  Darkness unfurled in his chest and he looked away. “There is too much in the past. They are a respectable family of high standing. I will not taint that with my association.”

  “Lucas…”

  The emotion in her voice would have undone him, but he shook his head forcefully. “No. No, Gemma. Please, don’t accept the invitation, don’t send a refusal, and just let things proceed as they have done. Don’t ask why.”

  She said nothing for a long moment, but he could not bring himself to look at her.

  “When you decide you are going to trust me,” Gemma said in a very low voice, “I will be ready to hear. Assuming you decide to trust me at all.”

  Lucas closed his eyes against the pain as he heard the door to his study closed.

  He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the note, reading the line again.

  Penance.

  Nothing could be worse than the penance he was already paying.

  The question that plagued him was if his wife, the woman he loved, would ever forgive him.

  His suspected answer terrified him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Something was bothering Lucas, and it was going to kill her to remain ignorant.

  She tugged at her white elbow gloves irritably as she stood without partner yet again along the walls of the Duke of Eastbourne’s extravagant ballroom. Lucas had danced the first dance with her and then fled the premises, as he had done so many times in the past, but never when they had been together. He’d said no more than ten words to her today, and less than that for the past five days.

  He was not angry with her, which was her only comfort. She suspected she had very little to do with his black mood at all. It was as if the shadows she had been glimpsing in him had become rolling, overbearing thunderclouds that consumed him.

  She wished that he would let her in. Surely nothing could be so bad as to burden him so completely.

  But he had been alone for so long. So misunderstood and practically exiled, she doubted he knew just how to manage whatever darkness that was affecting him.

  Trust was not easy for him and she knew it.

  There would be some difficulty in her gaining, or sustaining, any form of trust of him when he almost continually avoided her.

  He had ceased with his poor pretending at avoiding sharing her bed, and now they parted after dinner. Privacy was something he was used to, so she allowed it without any sort of argument.

  But the loneliness in the night was deafening.

  She shivered in the warm room and gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear. She could not think such things here and now. She was Lady Blackmoor, who must be all grace and poise, who must represent her stoic and reclusive husband well. Everyone was watching her at all times, quite literally everyone, and she would give them nothing at all to comment or speculate on.

  It would have gone a lot further if her husband had remained with her, or looked pleased to be anywhere at all, but there was no changing his personality.

  And she did not wish to change him.

  She loved him, despite the madness of everything and his current distance, and she would wish for nothing more than for him to be the man she knew.

  Loving him so freely and then being expected to be virtual strangers was painful beyond belief.

  She watched the dancing with a bit of ambivalence now, pretending to smile as if she had intended to stand here without partner. She was a married woman now, after all. Partners would not be as available to her as before, as they would be intent on wooing the young ladies. And when she considered who her husband was and what the reputation of the pair of them had become, it was hardly surprising.

  Marianne, she could see, was dancing with her husband, and they were lost in each other, as usual. The sight gave her hope. Kit Gerrard was a very reserved man himself, and he had rarely danced before his marriage. Now he was seen more, smiled more, and danced a great deal more, usually with his wife alone, but there were some exceptions.

  Surely Lucas could be so altered with time. Not to change his nature, but to be seen in such joy.

  Perhaps when his shadows were vanquished, he would feel free enough to do so.

  Or perhaps he would always be as he was.

  She winced a little at the thought. She did not want a distant husband, one that avoided her and had become even more reclusive than normal.

  She wanted…

  Thornacre.

  Her heart gave as she recalled those blissful days, the love and energy that had filled every moment, the deepening feelings and blatant flirtation…

  That was what she had always imagined a marriage ought to be like. She never expected it for herself, but it had been her dream of one all the same. To have anything else, now that she knew what was possible, was nothing short of cruel.

  But how did Lucas feel on the subject? He was no actor, could not pretend at anything. He had felt the same things she had at Thornacre, had been just as eager and willing and light. Despite his reserve and disinclination toward expression, he was a man who felt things very strongly, and he had lost what they’d shared, too.

  Was he suffering for it as she was?

  Why then the distance?

  She shook her head slightly, smiling when Marianne and Kit came towards her.

  A slight furrow appeared between Marianne’s delicate brows. “What’s that for?”

  “Just thinking,” Gemma said lightly, shaking her head again. “Never a good thing in my situation. Why are you dancing, Marianne? In your condition…”

  “It was the last time,” she laughed with a slight roll of her eyes. “I told Kit that at least four times in the dance.”

  “One can hardly blame me for my concern,” he muttered, smiling with warmth that was unfamiliar on his features. He looked at Gemma, and held out a hand. “Would you care for a dance, Lady Blackmoor?”
r />   Gemma grinned and placed her hand in his. “I would be delighted.”

  To her surprise, Kit chatted amicably throughout the dance, and she was instantly at ease and warming to the dance within moments. Not that she had expected the dance to be unpleasant, for he had always treated her with respect and kindness. But he was not the sort of man who would converse endlessly about nothing, and yet here he was doing so. It was rather endearing, and she was very glad that he was a friend to Lucas, and that his wife was a friend to her.

  It was a reminder that she was not alone in this, and there would always be allies.

  “Where is your husband?” Kit asked as he escorted her back when the dance was completed.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “You would know better than I.”

  He frowned a little.

  “Do you know…?” she began hesitantly.

  “No,” he said, cutting her off. “No, I don’t know what this is. But I hope you will not take it as a reflection upon you or your marriage, Gemma. He cares for you very much.”

  She smiled fondly and squeezed his hand. “I know.”

  Uncomfortable with emotion and warmth as ever, Kit looked away quickly, but Gemma saw his mouth quirk. “Refreshment?” he asked in a stiff voice that did not fool her.

  “Please.”

  Though it was hardly the usual thing to do, the Duke and Duchess of Eastbourne used a far corner of their ballroom for lemonade and some light refreshment. They had servants who wandered the place with trays, but the intrepid soul could fend for themselves if they so chose.

  Kit escorted her over and she patiently waited, glancing around the room aimlessly, taking note of the wallflowers and unoccupied gentlemen with amusement.

  Some things did not change.

  “The father was quite the horrid man himself, you know. The late Lord Blackmoor? He was barred from London functions before he married his wife.”

  Gemma’s ears perked up and she glanced over at the collection of ladies seated nearby.

  “Whom did he marry? I don’t recall.”

  “Nobody does. They never appeared together in Society, not even once. No one would have them. Reclusive bunch, that family.”