Taming Wilde

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Chapter Ten

  Gentlemen, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to ask himself the question, “Am I a rake? Or simply a gentleman who believes himself to be a rake, when truly all I want to do is sit on my backside and read?” If you paused after asking yourself this question, you have your answer. If you asked the question in the first place, then it is safe to say you never were a rake to begin with. For rakes do not question their purpose. They define it. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  Gemma couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder toward Colin as Mr. Everett led her back up the path. They had left him there, lying in the dirt. It ground against every fiber of her being to leave him there without providing assistance, making sure he was well.

  How forlorn he’d looked there in the shadows, cursing the tree that had fallen him. Her heart had gone to him, but her escort would not allow it. What had he said to her? He would not have her ruined. By helping an injured man? Everett had seemed the most congenial of Hawke’s friends, but he was proving to be like every other man in her life: wanting to control her and keep her under his thumb.

  Her mind returned to Colin. Only he had not tried to control her. He had ever been the gentleman.

  “The fireworks are lovely, are they not?” Everett’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. Lovely,” she answered half-heartedly.

  Everett patted her hand on his arm and smiled. “Do not fret about Sir Wilde, my dear. Men like him are never alone for long.”

  No doubt he meant it to comfort her, but his words had the opposite effect. Her throat tightened, and she glanced over her shoulder once more.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that men of his reputation are never lonely long. Someone will come along to—” He cut off the thought, seeming to suddenly remember with whom he was speaking. “Think no more on him, sweet. Let us speak of something more worthy.”

  “More worthy? What might that be, Mr. Everett?”

  He smiled warmly, and a surreptitious twinkle lit his eyes. Lifting his hand, he gestured to a marble bench just off the path. She followed him to it and sat where he indicated.

  “We might speak of the stars,” he said, as he took the seat next to her and pointed to the sky.

  Gemma looked up at the inky black sky, where the stars blinked back at her. They had never held much fascination for her. Hardly a worthy subject, as he had put it.

  “We might speak of the flowers,” he said and slid closer, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture at the bushes around them.

  She glanced at the blooms, tightly closed up for the night all around her. Their fragrance hung faintly in the air, but they seemed shriveled and tired.

  His warmth seemed to increase at her side, and she knew he was drawing closer still. Far too close for appropriate association.

  It was then Gemma realized Pearl was no longer with them. The girl had been so quiet, Gemma wasn’t entirely certain at what point she had left them.

  “We might speak of your lips,” Everett said, leaning ever nearer.

  No. No. No. Gemma cringed inwardly, but held herself together enough to sound confident and in complete control of her own emotions.

  “That hardly sounds like a proper subject, sir.” She was afraid to look at him. Afraid it might give him the impression of an invitation. Instead she looked anywhere but at him, then abruptly stood, wringing her hands. “Whatever happened to Pearl?”

  “Your lady’s maid? Your brother had need of her.” He reached for her arm and pulled her back down to the bench. “Do not worry, Lady Gemma. We are completely alone here.”

  “That is what worries me, sir.”

  He laughed. It sounded like a mixture of amusement and irritation. “You have nothing to fear of me, dear Gemma.”

  His familiar use of her name drove an icy shock through her.

  “My brother would never allow me to be alone with a man, Mr. Everett. Surely he did not intend for my maid to leave me without a chaperone. It was his order that she accompany us in the first place.”

  “It is your brother who chose this moment to call her. It is his dearest wish that you and I come to an understanding, my love.”

  Gemma tried to stand again, to put space between them. Hawke would never put her in this position! Alone in Vauxhill Gardens at night with a man? Everett held her arm tightly, refusing to grant her retreat.

  “Come, sweet. It is my intention to marry you. Your family approves. You yourself have told me I am preferable to Percival and Sumner. And I am certain, given half the chance, I can convince you of the reasons you would prefer me to any other man.” He lifted her chin toward him with his free hand and inclined his head toward her.

  She tried to pull away, but he held her in place. His lips slowly descended. She closed her eyes, not out of passion, but out of complete disgust. So this was how it was going to happen? She would be ruined in Vauxhill Gardens, ruined to marry the man of her brother’s choosing — a man who was completely like her brother in every way. No doubt her brother had the whole thing planned out. Any moment now he would burst through the brush with two or three witnesses to catch them in the act, then force them to be married. The thought was revolting.

  And then Everett’s grip on her eased, followed by a curse. Gemma opened her eyes. Shock washed over her. Colin stood over Everett with a sneer on his face, holding him by the cravat.

  “Leave in peace. If you speak of this to anyone, I will gut you from head to toe.” Colin pulled Everett to his feet and punched him squarely in the jaw. “On second thought, I believe I would enjoy that experience entirely too much. So tell whomever you please; just know I shall be coming for you. I know I will look forward to it.”

  Everett stumbled as he ran away.

  Colin’s eyes were full of concern as he turned to Gemma. “Are you hurt?”

  For a moment Gemma was in shock. She stared at him.

  His shoulders rose and fell with rapid breath. He repeated, “My lady, did he hurt you?”

  “No.” It was all she could choke out.

  Colin’s eyes traced her from head to toe, as though he were checking for injuries. When he was satisfied she was unharmed, his gaze returned to her face. After a moment his countenance suddenly changed, and he took a step back.

  “Oh. I see. I interrupted your tryst. I… I do apologize. I thought… that is to say, it looked as though you were struggling. I should have known… but then Everett isn’t widely known as a… I do not remember you being so… I am sorry. I have ruined your seduction.” He turned as though to leave.

  Panic rose in Gemma’s chest. He thought she had been participating! And he was going to leave her there in shame. She had to stop him. She had to let him know the truth.

  “Wait! You won’t leave me here in the garden alone!”

  Colin stopped in his tracks and spun back to face her. A fire burned in his eyes.

  “Why not? You seem set upon ruination. I’m sure if you wait here long enough, another willing fellow will come along to take that one’s place. You are a pleasant-looking woman. There are few who could resist your charms.”

  “My charms? Was it not just last week you told me I had no hope of seducing even the basest of rakes?”

  He took a step nearer. The thought occurred to Gemma that if she could provoke him, he would stay. And the longer he stayed, the better chance she had of drawing him back to herself.

  “I was merely trying to save you from this path of destruction on which you have clearly set your mind.” He took another step toward her. “I do admit, I had hoped to deter you from your course, but I must recant my words from before. Congratulations. Everett. A worthy prize, and no doubt to seduce him required all your feminine wiles. You did far better than I would have imagined. As much as it pains me to confess it, I believe your accomplishment far exceeds my own.”

  It was working. Gemma concealed her hopeful smile and pressed further. She stood and took
two steps toward him.

  “Surely not, Sir Wilde, for your exploits are well-rumored about the ton.”

  He shook his head and looked aside to the shrubs. “I fear the rumors have been much exaggerated.”

  She advanced a few more steps. “How is your head?”

  His gaze shot back to her, momentarily holding confusion. “My head?”

  “Your conversation with the tree.”

  “Ah, yes.” Colin moved toward her a few more steps. “It is as well as can be expected.”

  They stared at each other for a moment of thick silence.

  “I have a confession,” Colin finally said, lowering his voice.

  “What is it?”Gemma asked. Her eyes wandered to his lips. He was close enough then to see his features clearly.

  “I am a miserable rake.” He seemed to scrutinize her reaction. She held her response in check and waited for him to continue. “I fail miserably at every opportunity.”

  “I see,” she whispered and stepped forward, closing the last few feet between them. “Perhaps… perhaps you should show me what you are doing, and I can tell you what you are doing wrong.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was truly saying, but she could hardly take them back now, and truly, she had no desire to do so.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached a hand up and fingered the lapel of his coat.

  ****

  Colin hadn’t meant to react so out of character. Rarely was he the man saving damsels from distress, but in this instance, all he had seen was her face. A look of pure horror had crossed her features when Everett had made his advances, and then an expression of disgust. He would kill the man for touching her.

  And then, in a moment of clarity, it had occurred to him. Perhaps she’d welcomed Everett’s advances. The nausea that had washed over him had been so strong, he’d had to pull away, had to say those awful things, or else he’d been afraid he would crumple at her feet.

  And now, now that her hands were on the lapels of his jacket, urging him forward, he lost track of all time. Her lips were moving, most likely forming words, but he heard nothing. All he could do was watch as her breath hitched, and then her lips, those delicious lips that he’d dreamt of claiming so many times before, lay across his.

  Her kiss was cautious. He hadn’t expected that, not from the woman who was not but minutes ago being seduced or perhaps seducing another man. Warmth spread through him, forcing him to throw caution to the wind as he wrapped his arms around her petite frame and pulled her to himself. His mouth opened to hers, and he very happily allowed himself to become lost once again in Gemma’s arms.

  “What the devil!” a muffled voice said from a distance.

  Colin couldn’t have cared less. He tugged on Gemma’s lower lip. Blazes, how she was sweet.

  “Get off my sister!” A strong hand pulled Colin back from Gemma.

  But he did not look to see to whom that hand belonged. No, all he wanted to see was the look of desire on Gemma’s face. Her eyes gave her away, she was just as affected as he, and suddenly he was transported back to an easier time. A more innocent time, where they had been able to kiss, to touch, to dream of a time when they could be together.

  “After everything I have done to keep the two of you apart, you still fight me?” The marquess laughed and stood in front of Colin, blocking his view of Gemma. “Do you realize what could have happened? Ruined! You could have completely ruined her!”

  Colin’s body turned cold. “Is that not what you had planned for this evening? To find your sister in the arms of a willing man in order to arrange her marriage to a man of your choosing?”

  “Well, I—” Van Burge cleared his throat. “This does not concern you, Sir Wilde. Run along.”

  “In truth, this concerns me a great deal. You caught your virgin sister in my embrace. That means—” Colin stated, rather boldly, considering the circumstances.

  “It means if you have any sense left, you will not speak of this to anyone… ever.” He straightened his jacket and turned to Gemma.

  Colin should have warned the man.

  But then again, if she hadn’t thrown the first punch, Colin would have had to.

  Her hand connected with her brother’s jaw with a sickening crack. Caught by surprise, he tumbled to the ground.

  “How dare you!” she screamed at him.

  “How dare I?” Van Burge laughed as he massaged his jaw. “I dare because I am your brother! I dare because you are my responsibility! And I will not see you engaged to a mere knight!”

  Colin flinched. His eyes searched Gemma’s as her gaze locked with his.

  “What would people say? You are the daughter of a duke, Gemma. Be reasonable.”

  At that, Colin had to laugh. Clearly Van Burge was the least reasonable of the bunch, but he didn’t find it a prudent time to point that little fact out.

  The marquess strode toward Colin. “If you dare pursue her again, I will end you. Do you understand?”

  Colin looked past him to Gemma. She was shaking. Her entire body was slumped over in defeat.

  “I understand.”

  Van Burge grinned smugly and turned back to Gemma, but Colin wasn’t done speaking.

  “I understand you are a terrible excuse for a brother, a rotten human being, and an altogether selfish individual. I understand, Van Burge, but I do not agree to the terms.” Colin inclined his head to Gemma and then slowly backed away from the scene. After all, the marquess was her legal guardian; he was also a man and could do anything he wanted with Gemma. But that didn’t mean Colin had to like it, nor did he have to stand by and watch her slowly crumble at the hands of her evil brother.

  He had all but admitted to trying to keep them apart. The sting of rejection that was ever present in his chest began to ease as he realized that perhaps Gemma had been in love with him all along.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gentlemen, do not get down on yourselves if you are not able to keep up with the rakish lifestyle. Few succeed, and hundreds fail. Remember, there are worst things in this life. After all, you could be French. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  “A letter, m’lady,” the lady’s maid announced, bounding into the room as though she owned it. She tore back the drapes, and the sun sloshed into the room, burning through Gemma’s closed eyelids.

  “Pearl…” she groaned. “Can it not wait until a decent hour?”

  “No, m’lady. Orders from the marquess himself. The letter’s from yer mum!” she said, with far too much exuberance. Her admiration for Hawke fairly bubbled out and hung on the girl like leprosy.

  Definitely akin to leprosy, Gemma thought as she stretched and peeled back her duvet reluctantly. Hawke was a scourge. Gemma had half a mind to marry the first sod to come along, if only to be rid of her brother’s particular plague.

  And Pearl.

  Gemma had to begin thinking about a new lady’s maid. Perhaps Julia, the scullery. She seemed unfazed by Hawke’s charms. Of course, she was eighty-three if she was a day, so it was unlikely the marquess had been chasing her around the kitchen.

  She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Pearl met her there with a pair of slippers and her housecoat. Gemma reached for them with another discontented murmur.

  “Why is it, Pearl, that the marquess has nothing better to do so early in the morning than rouse me from my slumber? His night was as late as my own.”

  “Later, I’d wager,” Pearl announced with a girlish giggle, then had the decency to blush when she apparently realized what she had just confessed.

  Gemma could feel her own embarrassment rising to her cheeks, but she turned away from the girl, slipped her arms into the robe Pearl held for her, and pretended not to understand.

  “Where is his majesty? In Father’s study?”

  “Why, he’s still abed, m’lady. He received the letter when he came in last night, but gave orders you should get it at first light o’ day.”

&
nbsp; “How thoughtful.” Gemma could imagine how Pearl had come to be privy to these orders. Though she wished she could scrub the image from her mind. She closed her eyes in hopes that would work.

  No such good fortune.

  “Pearl,” Gemma said, lifting the envelope from her desk.

  “Yes, m’lady?”

  “Please have Cook make the marquess a special breakfast. Let her know he had a long night, and I insist he be treated to Cook’s delightful morning casserole. She’ll know the one I mean.”

  Whatever she already had cooking, seasoned with a generous dose of castor oil.

  Though Hawke had all the housemaids wrapped around his aristocratic fingers, he had long since burned bridges with Cook. A terrible mistake on his part, and one Gemma was only too happy to capitalize on. Cook and she had a common bond, and they had often schemed together for ways to make Hawke’s life miserable — or at least ways to keep him occupied in his closet a large portion of the day.

  Gemma couldn’t help but laugh. He would never know what hit him.

  “Yes, m’lady. Straight away.” Pearl scurried from the room, as though life itself depended on her haste.

  Turning the letter over in her hands, she noted the seal had already been broken. There was no doubt Hawke already knew the contents of the missive. It must have pleased him, or he wouldn’t have bothered her so early. And if it pleased him…

  Oh, no.

  Gemma lifted the letter. She couldn’t keep her hands from trembling as she opened it and scanned the message. Her stomach dropped like a millstone to her knees as she read:

  Dearest Daughter Gemma,

  We have the most wonderful news for you. Your father has entered negotiations for your betrothal to the heir to the Bridgewater dukedom. A duke! Can you imagine such a prize? I can’t wait to describe to you what the old fellow has done for the sake of your hand!

  Though I can say your father was so pleased with Bridgewater’s title and fortune, the man hardly needed to go to such extremes.

  I will write again soon, my dear, with a detailed account. For now, your father awaits me for our visit to the Taj Mahal.