Dane lunged up from the bed, taking her in his arms. “Jemma,” he breathed. “Dear God, Jemma.” She could feel the force of life leaving him. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him close, and found her own release.
This time, it was even better than before.
She closed her eyes, her arms around him, and let her body savor every blessed, spiraling sensation. Dane too seemed lost in the intensity of their coupling.
For long, long moments, they held each other—and then he began laughing, quietly at first, and then full-throated, the sound joyful. His jaw was whiskery rough against her skin. “That was good, so damn good.”
He took her face in his hands. His sharp eyes studied her, his thumbs lightly rubbing the corners of her mouth. She wondered what he was thinking.
“It’s never been like that before,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. She’d never known how completely involving it could be. But then her woman’s intuition told her it was not this way with every man. Only with Dane.
The words I love you were on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.
They would sound trite now. Later, when their passions had cooled, maybe then she would have the courage to speak them.
And maybe he would believe them.
“Ah, Jemma,” he said, as if he could read her mind. He put his arms around her waist. They sat facing each other, her legs still around his hips.
“Dane—” she started but stopped, words failing her. Instead, she placed her palm on his chest. His pulse had returned to normal. Gently, she kissed him.
He leaned his head against hers. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m frightened, too.”
His admission caught her off guard. She raised her gaze to his, but he shook his head. “Tomorrow, Jemma. Tonight, let’s not ruin what we have.”
His words were like a shot through her heart. She feared they did not bode well—and yet she was afraid to either challenge him or to reveal her own heart.
“Come,” he said quietly. “It’s time to sleep.” He pulled back the bedsheets, and, like a child, she followed his lead and climbed into the bed beside him.
Jemma curled her body to fit his. For an instant, she was tempted to whisper I love you. She didn’t speak the words aloud . . . or at least she thought she didn’t.
Or perhaps it didn’t matter that she confessed her heart. Snuggled against the safe haven of his body, she pushed all worries aside. His hand came down around her waist, cuddling her closer, and she fell into deep, exhausted sleep.
Jemma woke several hours later. The curtains were still drawn tight, and the candles were all burned out. However, she sensed it was morning.
Groggy as she was with the need for sleep, it took a moment for her memory to return, and when it did, she immediately rolled over on the bed to where Dane had been sleeping.
He was gone.
Abruptly, she sat up and looked around the room. “Dane?”
There was no answer. Nor was there a clock where she could look to see what time it was. What was left of the fire smoldered in the grate.
The dress she had worn last night was no longer on the floor by the desk. Her torn undergarments were gone, too.
Outside in the hallway, she heard a woman and a man arguing and knew that was what had woken her.
She raised the sheet up around her to cover her nakedness and pushed back her heavy hair from her face feeling very uncertain—and then she recognized her mother’s voice.
The door came open with a bang.
Dane’s valet spread himself in the doorway to bar her entrance into the room. “Madame, you will not enter!” he said.
“I most certainly will,” came her mother’s tart reply. She looked past the valet. “Jemma, call this man off.”
Jemma burned with embarrassment from head to toe, but she did not cringe. Instead, she said, “Please, it’s all right. Let her come in.”
The valet appeared ready to argue but stepped aside. Her mother was wearing her Sunday best bonnet and dress. She gave the man a superior glare and walked into the room.
“Please, shut the door,” Jemma said, not wishing anyone to be a witness to a difficult interview.
Her mother complied, her expression smug, and why not? Jemma had no doubt that her mother hadn’t anticipated this turn of events. She wrapped herself in her pride.
“So, you did,” her mother said. “I had feared the worst.”
“The worst? Why, Mother? Was this not what you had expected?”
Her mother nodded, and then her expression of superiority changed to one of deep regret. She raised a distracted hand to her head, pushing her bonnet askew. “I had hoped, but it was all in vain.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s duped us both, Jemma. Dane Pendleton met Cris this morning. They are fighting the duel.”
Chapter 10
Jemma had trouble wrapping her mind around her mother’s words. As if from a distance, she heard herself dumbly repeat, “Dane met Cris today?”
“Yes,” her mother bit out.
“But he couldn’t . . .” Jemma couldn’t believe he would. Not Dane. Not after what had transpired between them last night.
Then again, what had happened? Had he actually promised to refuse to meet Cris? Or had she been so involved in her own turbulent emotions that she had failed her brother?
“I suppose now we know you weren’t so special to him.” Her mother’s sharp sarcasm interrupted her thoughts.
Jemma doubled her hands into fists and squeezed tight. It was either that or break down completely and behave like a madwoman. She could have attacked her mother for her callous words. Or herself, for being so gullible. Again!
When would she learn?
Once more she had been a pawn for her family. Worse, she had believed Dane cared for her, that he had some feeling for her.
With blinding clarity, she realized that all she’d ever wanted in her life was to be loved. First, by her parents. She’d done everything they’d asked to please them—she’d even given up Dane and married Mosby.
And last night, she’d wanted to believe she could reclaim her lost opportunity with Dane, that he could love her again as he had once. Now she knew she couldn’t. “He was right to meet Cris. I pray no harm came to my brother.”
Her mother could not have been more surprised if Jemma had struck her. “He could kill Cris.”
“Cris should learn not to issue challenges when he is in his cups.” Jemma looked to her mother. “Could he stand this morning?” Of late, there had been too many mornings when he could not rouse himself until evening.
“His seconds got him up.”
“Good. At least he met the challenge like a man.” Jemma put her feet over the opposite side of the bed.
Behind her, her mother said in round tones, “I must say you are shocking me! Have you so little feeling for your family?”
Jemma closed her eyes against the burn of tears. With a strength she’d not known before, she rose from the bed, tucking the sheet around her, and faced her mother. “So little feeling?” Her voice trembled with the words. “Mother, I have given more than you can imagine.” She choked back any other angry words. She had to get out of this house, to plan what they would all do next. Her first concern must be finding out if Cris survived without harm. She had no doubt Dane was safe. He had a clear head. But her poor brother . . .
“Help me find something to wear,” Jemma ordered.
Her mother raised her eyebrows but wisely kept her mouth shut. Jemma moved toward the water closet. The separate room had been designed for luxury. The brass-and-wood tub was large enough to accommodate two people, and he had only the most modern conveniences.
“Oh, dear, he has done well for himself,” her mother said. She was peering into the room over Jemma’s shoulder.
Jemma faced her. “Find clothing. The armoire.”
“You know, we may be able to salvage something from this,” her mother s
aid without moving. “We could accuse him of a breach of promise, or, if necessary, claim rape.”
It was an unwise thing to say. The blinders were removed from Jemma’s eyes: She now saw her mother as the world did, a grasping woman who wanted everything without offering anything. Her father had been the same way. Of course, with him, Jemma had blamed his drinking . . . but perhaps not. Perhaps they were just greedy people—all of them, herself and Cris included.
But she didn’t have to be this way. She could take control of her own destiny. To not be afraid to be alone, and maybe then she could recover her lost dignity.
“I’m done, Mother. I will make no charges and do nothing that will harm him.”
Her mother took a step closer. “If you don’t, we are ruined. This is an opportunity, Jemma, we can’t let it pass.”
“How? By destroying my reputation?” Jemma shook her head. “I will not lie. I gave myself to him freely. I loved him, Mother. I was young and naïve, but I loved him.” A feeling of overwhelming sadness threatened to engulf her. “Last night, for once, I followed my heart.”
“Then continue to follow it.” Her mother placed her hands on Jemma’s shoulders.
“Are you suggesting I be his mistress?” Jemma asked, shocked.
“If you are discreet, no one will be the wiser,” was the complacent reply.
Jemma couldn’t speak. She was stunned. Worse, she was tempted. “No.” The word rang out in the air.
Her mother’s lips pursed as tight as a prune’s—but at that moment, the door slowly opened. Dane was standing there. He leaned against the door frame, and she realized he may have been there for quite some time. He wore a bottle green jacket, buff leather breeches, and gleaming top boots. He could not have appeared more handsome.
Her joy in seeing him alive and unharmed was coupled with fear for her brother.
She took a step toward him. “Cris?”
“Is unharmed,” he answered.
Jemma could have collapsed with relief.
“He won!” her mother said triumphantly.
“No,” Dane answered, walking into the room. “He’s more than a bit angry, but I believe when he completely sobers, he will agree with me. His seconds were satisfied with the turn of events, and they will talk sense into him. And now, madame, if you will excuse us, your daughter and I have something,” he hesitated slightly before saying, “important to discuss.”
Jemma’s mother jumped right in. “Oh, no, anything you have to say can be said in front of me.”
“Mother, leave.”
Her mother turned to her. “I can’t.”
“You must,” Jemma answered. “You aren’t a part of this,” she added softly. Nor would she let her mother interfere any longer.
For a second, she thought the woman would argue. Then, her mother smiled, a sly, secret smile, as if the two of them were conspirators . . . and Jemma wished she could disappear.
“I’ll be outside the door,” her mother promised, then left the room. Dane closed the door behind him, and they were alone.
Jemma had a hard time meeting his eye. Instead, she focused on the carved stone horse on his desk, and she remembered all too clearly the scene they’d played there. Heat brushed her cheeks. She tucked the edge of the sheet tighter around her chest. It fell down around her bare feet like a skirt with a long train.
Dane walked over to the bed and placed his arm around the footboard canopy post. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, save that he watched her with an intensity that was disconcerting.
She had to break the silence. “I need my clothes.”
“My valet is pressing them.”
“Thank you.” She hated how stiff they sounded with each other, and yet with the dawn of day came common sense. “How did you manage to convince my brother to back off his challenge?”
“I refused to fight him.”
Jemma wasn’t certain she understood. “It was that simple?”
“Well, I had to have good cause.”
“Which was?”
“I would not fight the man who would be my brother-in-law.”
For a second, Jemma closed her eyes and let the words roll through her. They filled her with indescribable joy—and heartbreaking sorrow. Distraught, she raised a hand to her head, raking her fingers through her hair, and looked at him, tears in her eyes. “We can’t.”
Dane appeared to have been holding his breath. He frowned. “Can’t what?”
“Marry.” Dear God, the word was hard to say, and her heart broke even more.
Straightening, he shook his head. “What game do you play now?” he said, his voice tightening with disbelief. “I heard you last night, Jemma. I heard you say you love me. Why would you refuse me? Why again?”
So, she had spoken aloud. For a second she was tempted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and take back her words. But she couldn’t. “I do love you,” she answered. “I love you too much to saddle you with the likes of us.”
His jaw hardened with determination. “It’s you I want.”
“But I come with my family. Dane, we would ruin you, and I can’t leave them behind.” She held up a hand to stave off his protest. “I know. I am protecting Cris . . . but you don’t know how it was. When we were children, my brother and I were always there for each other. We protected each other. When Papa was at his worst . . .” She let her voice trail off. She’d never voiced what her life had been like. It had been an unspoken pact between her mother, her brother, and herself.
She continued, “Cris suffers from the same affliction. He’s not as angry as Papa was, but it is slowly killing him. I must be there for him. And our debts . . . you can’t even imagine.”
“I spoke to Cris,” Dane said. “I’m doing this right,” he explained at her look of surprise. “I asked your brother for your hand. He was, um, worse for wear from last night’s drink but reasonably in control of his senses, and we had a meeting of the minds. He knows he must change his ways or answer to me.”
“I don’t know if he can,” she said honestly.
“He’s given his word. Jemma, he promised to give up the bottle. Do you believe he will?”
Hope rose inside her. “Cris said that?” she demanded. At Dane’s nod, she raised a hand heavenward. This time, she didn’t fight back the tears. “I always prayed he would. I thought he could. It was just the weight of everything on his shoulders and the disappointments.”
“He and I still need to have some discussion about his future, but I was impressed. Years ago, when you and I were together, I liked Cris. He was a good lad and, by all accounts, took his studies seriously in school. Today, I saw remnants of the person he had once been, and I’m willing to put trust in that man. As to the debts,” Dane said, walking half the distance to her and stopping, “I believe I can afford you all now. Your mother will be put on a strict allowance, but I should be able to manage you.”
The contradictory emotions of elation and alarm filled her. “Oh, Dane . . .” She crossed her arms against her chest. “You could do so much better than me.”
He pretended surprise. “You are that extravagant?”
She shook her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He offered her so much, and she deserved none of it. “No, I’ve learned how to squeeze a shilling over the last years,” she admitted before adding with a touch of pride, “and I’ve grown up quite a bit.”
“We both have.” He dropped his hands to his side, his expression serious. “The only question I have, Jemma, is did you mean those words when you whispered you loved me last night?”
Suddenly, she realized how vulnerable he was, how defenseless they both were to being hurt again.
Jemma took her courage in her hands and said, “Yes.” There, she’d done it. She had declared herself. “What of you, Dane?” she dared to ask. “Can you forgive me? Can you love me?”
“Jemma, I never stopped loving you.”
She flew to him then. Ran right to him and threw he
r arms around him, the sheet falling between them. They kissed, but this one was different than all the rest. This kiss was full of the promise of the future.
“Then you’ll have me?” he asked when they finally broke for breath.
“With all my heart,” she answered.
And so she did. Sir Dane Pendleton and Jemma, Lady Mosby married three weeks later on the first of May . . . and no couple ever appeared happier . . . or so much in love.
Announcement
New York Times bestselling author Cathy Maxwell returns with a delicious new series,
The Brides of Wishmore . . .
Read on for more info!
THE BRIDE SAYS NO
and
THE BRIDE SAYS MAYBE
And coming soon . . .
THE GROOM SAYS YES
Available September 30 from Avon Books
The Bride Says No
What happens when a bride says no?
He is the bastard son of a duke, arrogant, handsome, a little bit dangerous, and, of course, one of the most sought-after bachelors in London. He is also about to be publically jilted by some chit of a girl! Blake Stephens’ pride isn’t about to let him be humiliated, so he charges after his bride to the wilds of Scotland, determined to bring her to the altar.
What happens when the heart says yes?
He is promised to one woman, but discovers his soul stirred by . . . the chit’s sister! Lady Aileen Davidson’s reputation was ruined ages ago, which is why she’s buried herself in the country, but her fiery spirit and bold beauty threaten to bring Blake to his knees, making him wonder if he has proposed to the wrong lass. And now he must make a choice: marry for honor . . . or marry for love?
Available now from Avon Books!
Click here to buy The Bride Says No.
The Bride Says Maybe
What happens when a bride says maybe?
She’d once been the toast of London, but now scandal has brought her down. Still, pretty, petted Lady Tara Davidson can’t believe her new fate. She had wanted to marry for love . . . but her profligate father has promised her hand to none other than Breccan Campbell, the “Beast of Aberfeldy” and laird of the valley’s most despised clan! Well, Tara may have to marry him, but Breccan can’t make her love him—can he?
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