Taming Wilde

by Rachel Van Dyken

  If you must get in a fight, at least have the decency to make it a good one. There are many blokes in the world who are bored to tears with their current companionship, or heaven forbid, their wives. Bloodshed, my friends, bloodshed. Give the fellows some entertainment. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  From behind the closed door of Hawke’s study, Gemma heard Hawke enter the front hall. She sat paralyzed for a moment, holding her breath and praying he would not come in and catch her at the letter. When he had stormed out only an hour before, she’d thought he would be gone for the duration of the day. Though he hadn’t said where he’d been going, she knew without doubt it had been in search of Colin, but he hadn’t stopped long enough to gather his pistol.

  She glanced at the mantel. The brace of pistols still sat in their box there, below the portrait of Gemma’s mother.

  Her brother’s booming voice was clear even through the wall.

  “I don’t care how she begs, Thomas. You are not to let her out of this house. Keep a wary eye on her until my return.”

  “Is the lady receiving callers this afternoon, my lord?”

  “One and none other. The Duke of Bridgewater.”

  “What time shall we expect him?”

  “The appointment is at two o’clock. Have everything prepared for his arrival by half the hour.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Thomas answered. Gemma could hear his heels tapping a retreat toward the kitchen. There was no hope of help from him. He followed instructions as if his life depended on it. Her stomach turned.

  She might convince one of the younger footmen to deliver the message, and if Colin replied in the way she hoped, she might slip out during the pandemonium of preparations for his grace’s arrival. The trick would be to make her own preparations without the interference of Pearl.

  “My lord?” The treacherous girl’s faint voice filtered through the closed door.

  “Ah, Pearl,” Hawke answered, though his voice sounded laced with impatience. “What is it?”

  “Will you be requiring any… assistance this evening?”

  Ugh. Gemma cringed. The girl had no shame.

  “It may well be. Just now I have some haste. I have challenged the fool to a bout. A victory celebration, perhaps.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Her giggle was nauseating. “I’ll just look for the signal, then.”

  “Of course. Now, go about your duties. Keep an eye on the lady until my return.”

  Pearl must have slinked away then, for it was quiet other than the sound of Hawke’s boots pounding up the stairs to his chamber.

  Gemma released her breath. She finished her note with a flourish and blotted the ink. Gathering up her things, she put the desk back to rights, then slipped out the door to the front hall.

  Her plan was to make her way into the morning room, then try to catch a stray footman through the window that looked onto the side street over the servants’ entrance. The hall was empty, so she hurried to the morning room and peeked in. Empty. Without wasting time she rushed to the window, threw back the drapes, then set to opening the window.

  She didn’t get far.

  “My lady?” It was Thomas.

  “Yes?” Gemma turned abruptly before she realized it just made her look guilty.

  “May I be of some assistance?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. It is rather stuffy in here. I thought to get a bit of air, so I might do my needlepoint in comfort.” Even as it exited her mouth, she knew it was the worst possible excuse she could have made.

  “Your needlepoint, my lady?”

  Gemma despised needlepoint. All the servants knew it. Why hadn’t she said she was going to study her new sheet music? Why hadn’t she said the smell of the flowers on the table was making her eyes water?

  She lifted her chin to salvage some dignity. He was the butler, after all. Not her brother.

  “Yes. My needlepoint. This window seems to be stuck, Thomas. Open it, please.”

  “Needlepoint indeed!” Hawke bellowed from the doorway. “She’s looking for an escape route.” He was dressed to kill.

  Gemma swallowed the fear that threatened to overtake her and glared at him.

  “Now, my dear sister, I shall take care of your precious knight once and for all. You shall marry the duke as our parents have mandated, and all shall be right with the world.”

  “Hawke, please.” Her voice was a mere breath as she pleaded with her brother. “Please… don’t kill him.”

  His lip curled into a vicious sneer. “Lock her in her room, Thomas. My business shouldn’t take long.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  In all my years, I have only attended five duels. Shocking, I know. In those times there are a few things I’ve learned, wisdom I would like to pass down. Here it is: don’t be dumb enough to get caught in the first place. A good rake is sneaky, and fades into the shadows. I was at it for quite some time and am a good shot, so I never truly cared if I was challenged. But rakes this day and age? Pathetic. It is why our kind is dying off, because they are literally getting blown to shreds. Men, if you are not willing to die for your sins, then perhaps you should stop sinning? —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  Colin rolled up his sleeves and pulled off his cravat. Nasty business, boxing. Always lots of blood and shouting. Though, to be honest, he’d been the boxing champion of his regiment, and he had beaten every challenger at Jackson’s. Unfortunately, it didn’t sit well with him that he would have to pummel, nay, kill his future wife’s brother. As much as the thought of driving his fist into Van Burge’s temple brought a smile to his lips, Gemma would be upset, and he loved her too much to put her out.

  “His right hook is nasty,” Anthony murmured next to him. “I’ve heard he fights dirty, so do not fall for any of his tricks and—”

  “Anthony, do I tell you how to seduce women?”

  Anthony laughed. “I rather think not.”

  “Then do not tell me how to box. I know my own business. You’ve had several black eyes to prove it,” Colin pointed out.

  Anthony swore. “Yes, well, on both occasions I was feeling under the weather.”

  “Right.” Colin laughed. “Whatever brings sleep to you at night.”

  Anthony grinned. “Believe me, I have many ways to help me sleep at night, and none of them involve fighting… unless you take the time Bridget and I—”

  “And this is where that story ends.” Ambrose slapped his brother on the back. “He’s right, though. Watch out for the hook, and do not put your hands down for even one second. His arms are longer than yours, which gives his reach a good two inches on yours and…”

  “I will be fine.” Colin smiled.

  “Why the devil are you smiling?” Anthony demanded.

  “It is a wonderful day,” Colin answered. “And I am in love.”

  “Sure hope he still smiles once he’s missing all his teeth. I’d like to see that,” Ambrose mumbled. “Now, focus and—”

  Ambrose froze mid-sentence as Van Burge entered the room. “Let us get this match over with. I have a meeting with Gemma’s betrothed, and I do not wish to be late.”

  Ambrose and Anthony gasped behind him.

  Colin still smiled. “Shall we?”

  Van Burge grinned and led the way to the ring.

  “You see? You shall never have her. She is promised to the Duke of Bridgewater!” The marquess let out a laugh and swung at Colin. He didn’t duck. Instead he absorbed the blow to his face and felt the familiar warmth of blood trickle from his nose.

  “What the devil!” Anthony shouted. “Put up your hands, Wilde! Merciful heavens, he means to kill himself over a woman!”

  “Fight!” Ambrose chanted. “Knock him in the—”

  Colin vaguely heard him say something derogatory, but a ringing began in his ears as Van Burge landed another blow to the side of his face. He fell to the ground.

  “You must get up and fight!” Anthony pleaded as he knelt next to him. �
�You’ve the best record at Jackson’s! Why the devil aren’t you fighting back?”

  Colin groaned and pushed to his feet.

  Anthony cursed.

  Ambrose sighed next to him. “It is as if he has finally given up. No longer a rake, no longer in the running to win the woman he loves. He has simply given up!”

  One more blow to the face, and he could feign being knocked out. Colin waited for it. Van Burge smiled smugly, causing Colin to almost grin with glee, but he restrained himself as another jolt of pain hit his eye.

  He fell to the ground dramatically and closed his eyes.

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” Van Burge announced to everyone who would listen. “Now that I’ve dealt with this idiot, I shall be off to meet the Duke of Bridgewater, my brother-in-law. We are, after all, great friends, and I shall be announcing my sister’s engagement this very day!”

  Cheers erupted.

  Anthony slumped to the ground and groaned into his hands. “It is an actual nightmare. I do not understand it at all!”

  Ambrose nudged Colin with his boot. “I think he may have died.”

  Colin grinned and opened the eye that wasn’t swollen. “Is he gone?”

  “Van Burge?” Anthony asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Only just. Without a scratch, I might add.”

  Colin jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose. “Brilliant! How do I look?”

  “Do you truly want an answer to that?” Ambrose asked.

  Anthony answered for him. “You look a mess.”

  “Splendid.”

  Anthony shook his head. “I do not understand you. I do not—”

  “You will forgive me, my friend, that I do not remain to explain it to you. I have an appointment at the Van Burge place, and I do not wish to be late.”

  “Going back for more? He will surely kill you, man!”

  “No.” Colin shrugged as he stepped toward the door. “I am expected. The lady and I are betrothed. I signed the contract a mere hour ago.”

  “Betrothed? How is that possible? Van Burge just told us she is promised to a duke.” Anthony pointed his finger at Colin and scratched his head as though deep in thought. “That would mean…”

  Ambrose, the eldest twin by a few minutes, pieced it together more quickly, perhaps because of his age and wisdom. “The mysterious duke.”

  “What?” Anthony all but yelled.

  Colin bowed low. “The Duke of Bridgewater, at your service.”

  “Splendid. That’s what this is.” Anthony slapped his knee and laughed. “What I wouldn’t do to see the look on Van Burge’s face when you tell him.”

  “I have thought of that.” Colin couldn’t help the smug grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do not wish to be late.”

  “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant,” Ambrose mumbled as Colin turned to go.

  “He may have just become one of my favorite people,” Anthony said.

  “I thought I was your favorite person,” Ambrose joked.

  “You, dear brother, are family. Wilde, however, is going to give our friend Van Burge a blasted apoplexy.”

  “One can only hope,” Ambrose said seriously.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There is only one thing better than being a well-known rake. That, my friends, is revenge. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

  Pearl was none too gentle as she worked with Gemma's hair, sweeping the copper tresses up into a neat bun. Gemma couldn't find the will to protest as Pearl tugged at her hair, pulling her head this way and that.

  Nothing mattered anymore. Hawke would make certain Colin couldn't come for her, whether he be maimed or killed, and the duke would arrive at any moment to claim her. A sense of resigned dread washed through Gemma.

  The knock on the door resounded through her like a final nail being driven into her coffin.

  Pearl scurried to answer it. Thomas's low voice floated through the room to Gemma, who sat transfixed, staring at the haunting image in the looking glass. The light in her eyes had gone out.

  "The lady's presence is requested in the drawing room."

  Her mouth was bone dry. Gemma swallowed hard, stood from the vanity, and strode with resolute purpose to the door.

  "Thank you, Thomas," she said, and brushed past the disloyal lady's maid.

  With each step closer, Gemma felt her soul dying. As it would have to do, Gemma thought. In order to survive life apart from Colin.

  Thomas led her to the drawing room and opened the doors to let her step inside, then closed them quietly behind her. The man stood at the window with his back to her. He turned when the click sounded. Gemma felt her heart leap to her throat, and she gasped.

  "Colin!" she protested, rushing to him. "What are you doing here, you fool? If my brother finds you here, he will shoot you."

  Colin met her halfway across the room and swept her into his arms, kissing her hard as though he thought it would be for the last time. A shower of hard kisses, all across her lips and neck. Gemma couldn't help but return his passion, but she protested between each kiss.

  "Quickly... he'll find you... Colin, please... you must go... you're mad!"

  Finally Colin stepped back; his breath was ragged and fast. "I had to see you, Gemma." There was a fresh cut above his right eye, and his left eye was badly bruised.

  "Oh, Colin! What did he do to you?" Gemma wailed, tracing her fingers gingerly down his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

  Colin only offered her a crooked smile and took her hands in his. "Listen to me, my darling."

  "Oh, Colin! They have promised me to a duke! A horrid old man! Even now he is coming to make arrangements."

  "A horrid old duke, you say?" Colin asked. A hint of mocking amusement tinged his voice.

  "This is no time for jocularity, my love! We might be caught at any moment!" She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the door to emphasize her words. "Colin, please! Take me away right now! We can ride for Gretna Green tonight!"

  He shook his head, holding her hands in his. "Sweet, your brother would only give chase. He would hunt me down and shoot me."

  "We could hide! Let's sail for America!" Why was he refusing her? He seemed hesitant now. Could it be he didn't truly love her as she did him?

  "America? Now, Gemma, be reasonable." He slid his hands up her arms and rested them on her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Listen, my love. I know it is difficult for you, but I believe you should be ruled by your brother."

  His dark eyes bore into hers. Gemma couldn't believe what she was hearing.

  "What!" she demanded, stepping out of his grasp in shock. "Have you gone mad? Do you hear yourself? Be ruled by my brother?"

  Colin reached for her again, but she evaded his hands. "What did he do to you? Are you yet suffering from a hard knock to the head?" The man was unhinged, Gemma was certain.

  "You are not in your right mind, sir. Else you do not fully understand — I am to be married… to another. You must take me away from here! At once!"

  "Forgive me, dear Gemma," Colin said, snatching her hand and pressing a firm kiss to her wrist. "I shall not. Be ruled by your brother. It is best."

  Gemma jerked her hand back as though his lips had scorched her. Indignation boiled to the surface. What was he doing to her? To them? Sealing her fate as an unhappy duchess?

  She would not be ruled. She was done being ruled.

  "No!" she screamed. "No!" She balled her hands into tight fists and slammed them into his chest in desperation. Again and again she pounded at him, but he did not budge. He only stood there smiling like an addlepated lunatic.

  Fury overwhelmed all her senses, and she felt as though she were viewing herself from a distance. She didn't hear the door open. She didn't see the three gentlemen enter. She didn't feel the hands grappling with her flailing fists. She knew only the fog of indignant passion that consumed her.

  ****

  Colin looked into her beautiful eyes and sighed. “I am
so very glad you love me enough to sacrifice yourself, but it is not necessary.”

  “Colin, don’t let them win! I cannot marry that man!”

  “What if he were me?”

  Her eyes widened. “Do not toy with me. I am—”

  Colin cupped her cheek and sighed. “Do you know how much I love you? How much I care for you? Do you think for one second I would be able to let you go for a second time?”

  Gemma shook her head. “But how—”

  “I am Bridgewater.”

  Gemma gasped and raised her hand as if to slap him. Was she truly going to hit him after such an admission?

  And then she laughed. “You horrid man! If you ever do anything to me like that again, I shall strike you!”

  “Bravo, sister. You have come to your senses at last,” came the marquess’s voice from behind them.

  “Apologies, gentlemen,” Colin addressed Rutledge and Van Burge’s solicitor. “I was otherwise occupied.”

  “Are you well?” Rutledge pointed to Colin’s swollen eye.

  “Of course.” Colin laughed. “I was dealing with an unruly animal earlier. I’m afraid he got the better of me and kicked me in the face. All is well now.”

  Van Burge turned crimson. “Is there a reason for your intrusion, Wilde? I thought we had an understanding. You were to stay away from my sister once and for all. Have some dignity.”

  Colin smiled and turned to Rutledge. “Is everything settled?”

  “Now, see here!” Van Burge roared. “I am to be meeting the Duke of Bridgewater, a very important man, a man worthy of my sister, a man worthy of this family!”

  Rutledge opened his mouth to say something, but Colin cut him off. “No, no, let him finish. He’s doing quite well.”

  “You should be so lucky as to be standing in the same room with such a man. In fact, I insist that you stay. I shall enjoy signing over my sister’s life while you watch!”

  Without a word, Rutledge held out the contracts, and the other solicitor handed Van Burge a quill. “There.”

  The contracts were signed. “It is all taken care of.” Rutledge smiled and turned to Colin. “By the by, did you know that upon your marriage, you shall receive a healthy dowry from Miss Reynolds? Are you sure you still mean to allow the marquess to keep it?”