by Josie Litton
Tempting Gemma
Part 5
Josie Litton
About this Book
From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Josie Litton
"Shockingly sexy!--Goodreads "Laugh out loud fun!"--Amazon
Gemma and Charles are redecorating! Will venerable Ardsley Manor survive? Find out in Episode Five of the sizzling romance serial that has reviewers cheering.
Set in a version of the modern world very loosely inspired by Jane Austen, this is the story of what happens when a lovely young woman unexpectedly finds herself married to a gorgeous British lord possessed of inexhaustible virility
In between encounters in every room of her husband’s sprawling ancestral manor house, not to mention the surrounding grounds, Gemma must cope with peculiar family members, a local village filled with secrets and her own overwhelming lust for the man she doesn’t dare to love.
Will she succumb to temptation and fall in love with her uninhibited and unexpectedly charming husband? Will Charles come up for air long enough to confess to his enchanting wife that she is the woman of his dreams? Find out this summer in TEMPTING GEMMA.
Don’t miss the free gift offer for you at the end of this book!
Contents
About this Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Appendix
My Gift to You!
Sneak Peeks
Chapter One
Your pardon, my lady,” the footman said.
Gemma looked up from the note she was penning to her dear friend, Tillie Fenster. She had just gotten to the part inviting Tillie to come for a visit and was loathe to be interrupted.
But as an observant member of the human family, Gemma had long since determined that the best way to go through life was to do the opposite of what she saw many people around her doing, her parents in particular. As horrid as they were to those they considered beneath them, they would roll over, wag their tails and pee on their bellies at the first sight of a social superior. Such acrobatics being beyond Gemma, she had long since settled on treating everyone the same.
Besides, when there was at least a chance that the blushing young man standing in the doorway of her sitting room had seen her copulating with her husband on the stairs a few nights before, pretending to be superior was just plain ridiculous.
“Yes, Cedric,” she said cheerily. “What is it?”
“A Signore Antonio Ricci has arrived, ma’am. He is waiting in the east parlor, if you would care to see him.”
With these few words, Cedric managed to convey that the visitor was (a) lip-curlingly foreign (b) therefore, suspect and (c) hopefully to be ejected forthwith with a stern admonishment never to return, a task which Cedric would be delighted to undertake personally. Indeed, he was already flexing his muscles.
“That’s wonderful,” she exclaimed, jumping up. “I’ll go at once.”
The note to Tillie would have to wait but she was certain that her friend would understand when she learned what was about to transpire at Ardsley Manor.
“We’re so fortunate that he could come,” she said over her shoulder. “The timing is perfect. He’s just finished up at Kensington Palace. A redo of the Prince of Wales’ apartments, I believe, and he isn’t starting at Castel Gandalfo, whatever the Pope needs done there, until autumn.”
Cedric concealed his disappointment manfully. On the plus side, perhaps they would not have to count the silver after all.
Antonio Dante Lorenzo Ricci, a son of Anchiano in the Italian commune of Vinci from which the great Leonardo had sprung, was standing looking out over the broad sweep of the lawns.
He turned as Gemma entered the parlor and swept her an elegant bow made all the more impressive by the short cape he wore over an ivory silk-and-linen suit. It would have given the tailors of Savile Row heartburn but she thought he looked very fine.
Young for his exalted stature in the world of interior design, Ricci was in his early thirties, tall with an athletic build and looks most commonly described as “Byronesque”. His dark, curling hair was artfully arranged around a face dominated by soulful eyes and a sensual mouth. He gave the appearance of a man capable of both excess and restraint in equal measure, an impression known to rouse the hearts of both sexes.
Gemma, however, saw only the person she believed might be able to transform Ardsley Manor from an intimidating pile of stone and marble into a genuine home. As that was her third dearest wish--the first having to do with her husband’s feelings for her and the second concerning her sister’s welfare--she could hardly wait to begin.
“Signore Ricci, how very kind of you to come,” she said, offering her hand.
He brushed an entirely proper kiss over her fingers and straightened, smiling. “Not at all, Lady Ardsley. I am delighted to be of service to you.”
Still holding her hand, he added, “My apologies for not arriving sooner. You understand, the Royals…” He left the rest unsaid in acknowledgement that a lady of her eminence would comprehend completely.
“Oh, of course. Besides, the truth is that I’ve barely begun to think about what I’d like to do.”
It should be said that while her plans for Ardsley Manor were as yet far from decided, she had broached the subject with Charles. Admittedly, that conversation had occurred late at night when they were spooning in bed, a muscular arm wrapped around Gemma’s waist and the long, thick length of inexhaustible cock still nestled within her.
It was just then that she’d mentioned her desire to do a spot of redecorating.
“Not too much,” she had stressed. “Just a bit here and there.”
“Hmm,” her husband had replied.
“There’s this marvelous designer, Antonio Ricci. Everyone is trying to get him but I think we’d have a real chance.”
Silence, punctuated by a hint of gentle snoring.
“So you wouldn’t mind?” Gemma prodded, along with a little poke of her elbow.
“Huh, what?”
“Redecorating. That’s what we’re talking about.”
“Redec...?” More gentle snoring.
Gemma had lain there for a few minutes, considering. It wasn’t as though he had objected. If he had the slightest concerns, he would hardly have slipped away into such deep, restful sleep.
Clearly, her husband was completely on board with her plan.
That might change once the workmen arrived and there was plaster dust everywhere. Still, she was more than eager to begin.
“That is not a problem, my lady,” Ricci said in response to her confession of not yet being entirely set on her intentions. “We will chat, you will show me around and we will begin to discover together how you envision this place.”
Relieved that he was perfectly all right with what felt like scattered thinking on her part, Gemma relaxed. She had been a bit nervous about meeting Ricci; his reputation was that exalted. Yet now he seemed very nice, even approachable and he did have those remarkable eyes.
With apparent reluctance, he released her hand and gestured around the room. “Ardsley Manor is truly one of the great houses. Naturalmente, it must be treated with the utmost sensitivity.”
Feeling as though they were in perfect accord, Gemma smiled. Their first meeting was going even better than she could have hoped.
“May I offer you, tea?” she asked. “Or perhaps something more summery?”
He responded with a charming tilt of his handsome head. “Whatever you desire, my lady.”
Mint juleps it was, Gemma having only recently discovered a taste for that delightful American creation. They were half-way through their sec
ond round when their laughter over a recent decorating debacle at 10 Downing Street overseen by a foolish fellow who imagined himself Ricci’s rival was interrupted.
Standing just within the parlor entrance, Charles cast a measured glance at his wife and her guest. The Marquess was dressed more formally than usual in khakis and a polo shirt, having just come from a meeting with the local vicar. The subject had been bats in the belfry--the church’s, not the vicar’s. Pipistrellus pipistrellus was notoriously difficult to evict.
The Ladies Beautification Committee had become involved; sometimes he thought they actually ran the village. Dealing with them left Charles headachy and not in the best of moods.
“Wife,” he said, seizing on the direct approach, “I wasn’t aware that you were entertaining today.”
Gemma flushed. She had no idea why she should feel the least bit guilty; there was nothing remotely improper about her little tête-à-tête with Signore Ricci. On the contrary, their entire conversation had revolved around the pleasures and pitfalls of decorating. What could be more innocent?
It was Charles himself who caused her sudden self-consciousness. He looked a bit sullen, even pouty in a way that made her want to kiss him fiercely, toss him down on the nearest chaise lounge and have her wicked way with him.
Her flush deepened. “Darling,” she said, “you’re just in time to meet Signore Ricci. He’s the brilliant interior designer that I told you about, remember?”
In fact, all Charles recalled was that he had agreed to something or other that Gemma had asked for very sweetly after climbing on top of him and fucking him until his balls were wrung dry and the top of his skull had damn near come off.
Now that he thought about it, perhaps he should have determined what it was she’d been after rather than merely patting her figuratively on the head and going off to sleep.
Still, he liked seeing her happy.
“So, Ricci,” he said, “going to fix up the old pile?”
The decorator rose. He inclined his head respectfully but with an air that proclaimed his confidence in his own worth.
“If I may, your lordship, I would be honored to add to the glory that is Ardsley Manor.”
The fellow did have a pretty way about him. And a bride ought to be allowed to put her stamp on things, within certain limits. Resigned to a future that would include a bit of banging and sawing, Charles shrugged.
“Whatever Lady Ardsley wants. Stop by my study before you leave. We’ll have a word.”
About manly things such as expenses, Gemma assumed. She was thrilled by Charles’ agreement and couldn’t wait to get started. But first she needed a private word of her own with Antonio, as he had asked her to call him. While her ideas for Ardsley Manor were as yet not fully formed, there was one addition that she was quite sure she wanted.
Chapter Two
Signore Ricci’s Lamborghini had barely purred down the drive and out of sight before Gemma went in search of Charles. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his support for her project and to reassure him that she would do nothing she wasn’t certain he would approve of.
Surprised to discover that he had already left his study, she thought of searching for him but a wifely instinct stopped her. At their house party, he hadn’t hesitated to display his territorial instincts around his own chums. Despite the difference in their social standing, the sudden appearance of Antonio was likely to have made him even pricklier.
Deciding upon reflection that it would be best to leave him to his own devices for a bit, she girded herself for a task she had been putting off ever since the idea of redecorating had come to her.
If she was going to make a thorough job of it, she would have include even those parts of Ardsley Manor she would rather have avoided.
In the absence of a “This Way to the Dungeons” sign, she had to try a dozen doors before she finally discovered the entrance. She took a deep breath and began to descend the curving stone staircase. As she did, the air grew chill and dank, making her wish that she had brought along a sweater. Resisting the temptation to go back for one, Gemma continued on.
At length, she stood at the bottom of the steps. Beyond lay a space so large that it faded off into the distance. To her great relief, she spotted a bank of switches within easy reach. When she flipped several, yellowish lights came on.
Uncertain at first what she was looking at, Gemma peered more closely. As expected in a place referred to as ‘the dungeons’, there appeared to be several confined spaces set into the thick stone walls and visible through steel grills that extended from floor to ceiling. With a shudder for the poor souls who had been kept there, she kept going.
In very short order, she came across several odd structures: A large wooden X apparently designed to hold a person manacled spread-eagled at wrists and ankles with an assortment of wicked-looking whips hanging dust-covered beside it.
What gave every evidence of being a working medieval-style rack next to a large wooden wheel set in a deep trough intended to hold water.
A cage barely large enough to hold a crouching person, suspended from the ceiling over a large grate filled with the ashy remnants of coal.
And most puzzling of all until she figured out what she was looking at and took a hasty step back, an array of steel poles extending up various heights and topped by large dildos only waiting to be thrust into unfortunate victims held in place by chains bolted to the stone floor. Beyond there, she did not dare to venture.
Distantly, through the haze of her shock, Gemma recalled that the dungeons had been the playground of the late, unlamented Marquess, Charles’ father. Wherever that ‘gentleman’ was now, she was dead certain that he was not polishing his halo. Rather, she imagined him dodging imps armed with burning hot pitchforks and various other nasty implements of divine justice.
That vision was so real that she all but leaped out of her skin at the sound of a stern voice from on high.
“What are you doing down there?”
Charles stood half-way up the stone steps. He looked quite pale and more displeased than she had ever seen him.
Quickly, she said, “I’m thinking about better ways to use this space.”
She didn’t add that under no circumstances would she go on living above such a hideous place. If she had to do it with her own hands, the dark heart of Ardsley Manor was about to be ripped out.
Not taking his eyes off her, Charles came farther down the steps. Hands in his pockets, shoulders uncharacteristically hunched, he faced her. As though he could scarcely hope that she would have an answer, he asked, “Come up with any?”
The absence of her husband’s normally brash confidence filled Gemma with sudden concern, not for herself but for him. He appeared out of his depth and in dire need of reassurance. Without pausing to think, she blurted out possibilities as they occurred to her.
“To begin with, gut it completely and start over. It’s so large and those brick archways are a marvelous feature. We could divide it up into different areas. A screening room with comfy, oversized chairs next to a gallery exhibiting works of video art. That’s very popular now, as I understand, and guests would enjoy it. And then--”
Slowly, Charles took his hands out of his pockets. Holding her gaze as though he was clinging to a life rope, he asked, “What about bowling?”
For a moment, she thought he was referring to cricket but then another possibility occurred to her. He had mentioned making several trips to America. He’d even gone out West, ridden broncos and done all sorts of other marvelous things that she could only dream of.
Line dancing, for example. Gemma dearly wanted to slide, do the grapevine and make a kickball change, whatever that was. Until she had drunk a longneck and stepped out to “Achy Breaky Heart”, her life would not be complete. But for the moment, her husband’s needs took precedence.
“American bowling?” she asked, just to clarify.
Charles nodded. “Balls rolling down the alleys, neon lights,
juke boxes with all the top tunes, pizza, those great shoes. I always thought this place would be perfect for that. Much better than--” He flicked a hand toward the shadows. “…this.”
Of course, he’d been down there before. In an instant, Gemma made up her mind that she didn’t want to know the details. Ever. Unless of course he needed to talk about them at some point, in which case she would offer wifely sympathy. What mattered was that he had spent his time in the dungeons thinking about one of the most wholesome and cheerful activities imaginable.
“A bowling alley is a splendid idea,” she said. “And anything else you’d like.”
He looked so relieved that she had to blink back tears. A great weight seemed to be coming off him, not entirely yet but it definitely was losing its grip.
