The Scandalous Widow (Gothic Brides Book 3)

by Erica Monroe

  Yet, when he entered the room, it wasn’t Jemma he saw in a crumpled-up heap on the ground.

  It was David.

  He holstered his own gun, then rushed forward, gathering her in his arms. Relief poured through him, light and blissful, making him feel as though he was high up amongst the clouds. He held her to him, reassuring himself she was real; she was alive.

  He hadn’t lost her.

  She pulled back from him, but before he could protest, she crushed her lips to his in a fiery kiss. For a moment, he forgot about everything except for her—the taste of her, the floral smell of her, tinged with the foul scent of gunpowder. He couldn’t stop touching her, for every brush of his rough fingertips against her soft skin felt like a damn miracle.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he said, when they finally parted.

  “You almost did.” Her breath came out in irregular pants, and he noticed the scrape across her face, the bruise upon her wrists.

  “He hurt you.” Rage boiled in him, as he looked over at David, expecting to find the bastard still flat upon the ground.

  But he wasn’t—slowly, David inched toward the settee.

  Gabriel followed his line of vision. There, underneath the settee, was another gun. From the look of it, it would have to be reloaded before it could be shot again, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled out his gun, immediately pointing it at David.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he barked.

  David lifted his head, meeting him with bleary, unfocused eyes. The man let out a pitiful groan, dropping his head back down on the carpet.

  At that moment, Nicholas entered the room, his jaw dropping as he surveyed the room. “Well, then,” he said, coming to stand by Jemma. He slid his arm around her, offering his support.

  “Nicholas,” David whined. “This harlot attacked me. You must know that.”

  Nicholas eyed his cousin with the hard glare that had made him famous in the House of Lords and a fixture in the scandal sheets. “I know nothing like that. And as we speak, my wife is on her way to Bow Street. Soon, this place will be invaded by Runners, all willing to support Gabriel. You’ve overplayed your hand, Cousin.”

  “You never were a good gambler,” Jemma added, with a grin. “This time, you picked the wrong opponent.”

  Gabriel pulled her to him, placing a kiss on the top of her head. This woman was his equal partner in every way, and God, he was so bloody glad to have her near him.

  ***

  It was over. Relief flooded through Jemma, as she snuggled up against Gabriel on the settee. She’d done it—she’d proved David had killed Philip. Now, maybe, her husband’s soul could rest in peace.

  Once Gabriel had cuffed David, Felicity had gone to Bow Street to summon another Runner. Patrolmen Wilcox and Green had come quickly, both of them shocked when they realized whom they had to take into custody.

  “But he’s a peer,” Wilcox exclaimed, before Green elbowed him. At Gabriel’s command, each of them took one of David’s arms, and off they went. Nicholas and Felicity rode with them, to give the Runners their statement.

  Gabriel remained to make sure that she was fine. She knew they’d have to go into the station soon, but for now, she was glad to have him here with her. She laid her head on his broad chest, taking comfort in the sturdy strength of him. He held a cold cloth to her forehead, to reduce the swelling of the bump on her head from where she’d hit the floor.

  Other than the bump, she’d escaped with no injuries. She could barely believe it—she’d been so scared when David emerged with the gun in his hand.

  “You’re safe now,” Gabriel murmured, drawing her closer to him.

  He knew exactly what to say. That confirmation, and the warmth of him against her, was everything she’d needed. For the first time in a long time, she felt as though she’d done the right thing.

  “It’s over, right? Really and truly over?” She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes, thinking that she could spend a lifetime staring into their depths.

  “I’ll meet with the magistrate. David will still have to go through trial,” Gabriel said. “But given both the Duke and Duchess of Wycliffe can verify our testimony, and we have the buttons, I think we have a solid chance at him being arrested and sent to Newgate.”

  “He’ll finally pay for what he did to Philip.” Jemma breathed a huge sigh of relief. “It won’t bring back Philip, but at least it’s something.”

  “That it is,” Gabriel agreed, his eyes resting on her fondly. “You did it, Jemma. I told you that you were a brilliant investigator.”

  “We did it,” she corrected. “Partners, remember?”

  “Aye.” Gabriel tweaked her nose, grinning. “And you don’t even have to work to convince me this time.”

  “A shame,” Jemma said teasingly. “I had quite the persuasive argument planned.”

  “Perhaps I spoke too soon.” Gabriel placed the cloth on the table. “That bump is looking better already. Now what’s this about persuasion?”

  For the next few minutes, she showed him with her kisses just how well-suited they were as partners. When they broke apart, both panting and grinning, Jemma thought that if this was what the future looked like, then it would be bright indeed.

  “I didn’t tell you where I found that letter from Philip.” She gestured to the mess of clippings on the floor. “It was in that box—” she pointed to the gold box, facedown on the carpet, “where I kept all the clippings about you from Whispers from Lady X.”

  “You did that?” Gabriel’s eyes widened, his grin growing.

  “Yes. I couldn’t stand not knowing what you were doing,” she said. “And I guess Philip figured it out, after we were married. That’s why he put the letter in that box. He knew I’d check there eventually.”

  Gabriel leaned back against the cushions, shaking his head. “He always was the cleverest person in the room.”

  “Always. I will miss that.” She would miss so much about Philip—but at least now, she had justice for him.

  “Did David say how he found out we were investigating?” Gabriel asked, bringing her back to reality.

  She pointed to the paper David had left on the table. “Whispers from Lady X saw you leave the other morning.”

  Gabriel uttered a foul curse. “And we didn’t even do anything.”

  “It never matters,” she told him. “All it takes is the appearance of a scandal.”

  “Then it is a good thing we already agreed to wait.” Gabriel squeezed her hand, standing up from the settee.

  She pulled him back down next to her. “I find I have made far too many decisions based upon the opinions of the ton. Let Lady X print what she wants. We will move at our own pace.”

  And so they did, with deference to their own desires, and no one else’s.

  EPILOGUE

  Word has it that Gabriel Sinclair, our favorite Rogue Runner, has wed the scandalous widow of the Earl of Wolverston. We’d like to say this is the last time we’ll ever write about Jemma Gregory Forster Sinclair, but we all know that with this family, anything is possible.

  -Whispers from Lady X, July 1817

  Monmorte, Essex

  July, 1817

  One year and ten days, give or take, since the death of the Earl of Wolverston

  It rained again.

  As the Year Without a Summer faded into another cold, wet year, Jemma had come to associate the Church of All Souls with that ever-present downpour from the sky. So much had changed in the last year, but there was still the wet grass at graveside, seeping into the thin muslin of her lilac walking dress as she knelt before Philip’s grave marker.

  “Rosemary for remembrance,” she murmured, setting down a fresh bouquet of rosemary sprigs and lilies. “Not that I ever needed it to remember you.”

  “What’s that, dear?” Gabriel asked. He held the umbrella over her head, saving her from most of the rain.

  “I was thinking of how we handed out rosemary sprigs at Phil
ip’s funeral.” Jemma pushed herself up from the ground, coming to stand next to Gabriel.

  He slid an arm around her waist, and she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Together, they had made this trip to Philip’s grave thrice in the last year. Once, to tell Philip that David had been arrested and awaited sentencing. Finally, they had fulfilled their promise: they’d found Philip’s killer, and made him pay for ending his life so prematurely. It did not lessen the pain of his loss, but it gave them closure.

  The second visit had been a month later, to tell him about their courtship. Jemma was thankful Gabriel hadn’t questioned her desire to seek Philip’s blessing—even if he couldn’t ever give it. But visiting Philip had made her feel like she could move on, while still remembering the life she’d had with him. Given Jemma’s status as a widow, it had been easier to keep their relationship out of the scandal sheets—there were few events she could attend while in mourning, and Gabriel had no desire to rejoin that part of society. While they spent much of their time together at Wolverston Hall, he still kept his own flat, and returned to it in the evenings. They looked at the year of mourning as time to get to know each other even more.

  And lastly, they’d come to update him on David and the Wolverston estate. Given his status as a peer, David would not face the hangman’s noose or spend time in Newgate. The Marquess of Marlburg had argued strongly for David to spend the rest of his life in an asylum for the criminally insane, and the magistrate had granted his request. It was not the exact justice Jemma and Gabriel had wanted, but it was something. The Wolverston estate, meanwhile, was being handled by the Forster family’s solicitor.

  “I miss him, still,” Gabriel said.

  “As do I.” Jemma reached out, tracing the engraving of his name on the headstone. Philip Forster, Earl of Wolverston. Beloved husband and friend. She’d insisted on adding the “friend” part, even though Georgina had said at the time it wasn’t necessary.

  But she’d wanted a memorial to the man she’d loved, not as a soul mate, but as a dear, dear friend.

  The man who had led her to the love of her life.

  Gabriel sighed, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “It makes me determined not to waste a moment of the time we have left.”

  “That sounds wonderful to me.” Jemma looped her hand in his, her bright sapphire ring shining as the sun burst free from the clouds. “Shall we tell him, then?”

  Gabriel smiled back at her. “It’s your turn, I think. I told him about our courtship.”

  “Aye. You thanked him for hiding that letter in my clippings box, which again, I second, Philip.” She took a step forward, Gabriel following her with the umbrella. Dropping down on her knees again, she leaned her head against the cold stone. She placed a quick, chaste kiss to the marker, as she had to Philip’s cheek so many times before they were married.

  Drawing back, she held her hand outstretched, as if he could see the ring. “We were married this morning, Philip. We wanted you to know.”

  “Felicity suggested we have the ceremony in the cemetery to include you, but I thought that might be a tad morose,” Gabriel piped up, with a wide grin. Her friends had adopted him as one of their own, and Nicholas had declared him family.

  Jemma smiled, remembering Philip’s cousin’s words of approval. If you were good enough for Philip, you’re certainly good enough for me. She didn’t think she’d seen Gabriel ever look so delighted to have another man—a duke, nonetheless—clasp his back and declare they ought to go to the club sometime.

  “It would have kept Georgina from attending, though,” Jemma said. David’s arrest and institutionalization had sobered Georgina, but it had not completely removed her vicious tongue. In her own way, Georgina was in mourning too, for the man she’d always thought David was.

  But Jemma would let Nicholas handle his sister’s grief. She had far, far too much to do these days. She and Claire had joined together to start a school for the children of St. Giles. If they were successful, they hoped to extend to the East End and Jacob’s Island. Meanwhile, Nicholas and Teddy were committed to trying to advance poor law reform in the House of Lords, and Gabriel had recently received a commendation for his work with the Runners.

  Together, Jemma and Gabriel worked to build a future. They had neither title nor vast fortune, but they were happy. They would make their home in Wolverston Hall, the place where they had both spent some of their happiest days, and where they had fought a killer and won.

  Their lives were on the edge of scandal, but that was how they liked it.

  Acknowledgments

  There are books that are easy to write, that spring forth from your fingers with such alacrity you feel as though you are flying. I have learned, in my last four years of publishing, that these books are rare—almost divine gifts, to be held up as examples of when you most enjoyed your craft. Then there are books that are akin to having your fingernails removed one by one, where the very act of writing is a gut-wrenching, seasick-inducing affair. You lose track of how many times you’ve rewritten things. The book morphs into some strange organism that is neither what you set out to write, nor anything you would have recognized at the start. You hold your breath and pray to whatever deity you believe in that it all sticks together, because you no longer can summon the energy to care. You just want it to be done.

  This book was the latter.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to my critique partners with every book I write, but in writing The Scandalous Widow I asked so much of the people who have been so utterly, breathtakingly loyal and willing. This book is dedicated to Christy Carlyle, who read this book at least four times in its various incarnations. The only reason I even made this deadline was because Christy kept pushing me forward. She was my touchstone, my hand to hold when I was convinced there was no way under the sun this was all going to work. She is both a wise editor and a devoted friend, and I am, as always, desperately grateful for her.

  There are two women in my life that make me proud to call them my dearest friends—Eileen Richards and Christina McKnight. Eileen has been by my side for this entire crazy independent journey, and every day I am astounded to be the recipient of attention and honor from someone who is so truly strong, insightful and hard-working. (Plus her sense of humor is hysterical. CHURCH LADY FOREVER.) If there’s a piece of research in here about how the aristocracy lived, then it was Eileen who sent it my way. If there’s a description of something that meant reading a map, then it was Eileen. (All mistakes are my own.)

  Christina McKnight and I have known each other a little over a year, and it is very, very hard to imagine my life before her. She is who I call when I can’t make sense of the world (which is often), and she helps me more than she will ever know to function in a world that is very anxiety-inducing and infuriating. We are two opposites, yet we work together so well.

  Thank you to Ava Stone for helping me with research, and to Ali Trotta for her endless support. I am lucky to have you both in my life.

  Thank you to my Daring Dames, who always come through for me! You guys are so amazing. You take time out of your day to review my books and share things for me, and that means the world to me. Thanks for listening to me ramble in my live chats. I love you guys.

  Abby, Meghan, Cynthia, Karin, and Layna, thank you so much for doing a quick read on this book. You are the best!

  Thank you to the great Charles Dickens, to whom I pay homage with Jemma and Gabriel’s visit to Jacob’s Island. I got the idea for Mauly Jives’s physical appearance from looking at pictures of Gillian Anderson (Mulder and Scully together forever, you know it) playing Mrs. Haversham in the BBC production of Great Expectations, so Dickens continues to give back to me in weird ways.

  Thank you to my dear husband for putting up with me during the royal cluster that was this book. Thank you for reading all fifty-six incarnations of this, and for still being willing to talk about it with me for hours on end. I love you with all my heart.

  And
lastly, but never least, thank you, readers, for your enthusiasm when I posted snippets for this book. You kept me from throwing it all in a trash bin and screaming “I WILL GO BACK TO AN OFFICE, SO HELP ME, I WILL.”

  (Just kidding on that last bit. Leggings, no bra, and working from home for life, y’all.)

  Thank You for Reading

  Out of all the books you could choose, thank you for picking up The Scandalous Widow. I hope you’ll take a few minutes out of your day to review this book – your honest opinion is much appreciated. Reviews help introduce readers to new authors they wouldn’t otherwise meet.

  Leave a review for The Scandalous Widow

  Gothic Brides

  The Scandalous Widow is the third title in the Gothic Brides series, edgy, atmospheric Gothic Regency Romance, exploring the dark, twisted corners of England–these books are not for the faint of heart. The Gothic Brides battle tortured pasts and face dangerous, suspenseful circumstances on their road to a hard-won happily ever after. Each book stands on its own.

  The Mad Countess (Teddy and Claire)

  The Determined Duchess (Nicholas and Felicity)

  The Scandalous Widow (Gabriel and Jemma)

  Read on for an excerpt from The Mad Countess

  An Excerpt from

  THE MAD COUNTESS

  Gothic Brides, Book 1

  Purchase here

  October 27, 1811

  Cornwall, en route to Castle Keyvnor

  Madness.

  It was such an innocuous word, when printed so tidily in the pages of Lady Claire Deering’s journal. She had neat, tiny handwriting. When she was locked up in a cell in an asylum like her mother had been, was that what they’d remember about her? Unadorned, clear script, a direct contrast to her dark, deranged mind. The mad were only to be whispered about, a harrowing bedtime story meant to caution children to confine to society morals.