Is it enough?
Is what enough? His misery? His life?
His eyes widened. Whoever was behind this had begun the rumor mill about his family again. It was a deliberate provocation to him and to Gemma. It was intentional and personal, a move calculated to make him suffer as much as possible, knowing his predilection for privacy and his reputation of not speaking about any matters of his past.
It was cruel and twisted, and damned effective.
If they were aiming at wounding him, they would do well on this vein.
If their aim was Gemma…
He ran his hands into his hair. Who knew what would finally make Gemma see the truth of who and what he was? It was only a matter of time before she realized what a foolish choice she had made in accepting him. In caring for him.
He couldn’t tell her about Celia. It would break the fragile link that existed between them, and she would be worse off than before.
So long as she was with him, she would suffer.
He could not break out of the marriage, it would kill him to do that, but he could at least protect her from the worst of it. The world hated him. They only pitied her.
He could live with that.
Could she?
A soft knock at the door brought his head up and Gemma stood there, sleep rumpled and innocent, her wrap cinched loosely over her nightgown.
“I thought we dealt with shadows already,” she murmured, folding her arms as she looked at him with concern.
The rough timbre of her voice broke him and he rose, stepping around the desk. “We did,” he assured her.
She tilted her head back as he approached, her blond curls falling tangled and wild down her back. “Then what are these?” she asked, reaching up to stroke the skin beneath his eyes.
He drew her fingers down and kissed them gently. “Remainders,” he whispered, nuzzling his stubble against her soft palm.
Gemma tilted her head sadly. “What can I do?”
He exhaled and pulled her tightly against him, securing his arms about her as though his life depended on it. “Stay,” he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just stay.”
She did not comprehend, he knew, but she said nothing in response as she wrapped her arms around his back and held fast.
He needed nothing else in the world but her.
And if she would forgive him for what he must do, he would spend the rest of their lives ensuring she never had cause to forgive him again.
But he could not know how long her generous heart would hold out, how far her loyalty would extend. Another man and another woman might have found a different path through all of this, but he knew no other course. There was too much at stake, and now the dangers were increasing, perhaps even to a physical level. He would not risk her or her happiness. She could find joy in their life despite him, and he would see to it.
If she stayed, he would find a way.
But that was the question, wasn’t it?
Could she care for him enough to remain?
He held her tighter and buried his face into her hair, terrified to the bone of the answer.
“Blackmoor, I would have a word with you.”
Lucas huffed in irritation and raised his head to look at the woman standing in the doorway of his study. “Marianne, I don’t have time for this.”
She folded her arms and raised a brow, perfectly mirroring the exact arch of the feather curving out of the hat precariously perched on her towering curls. “Your wife is out of the house with her sister at the moment, and I will be making an unannounced call upon her shortly after she returns. You will make time for me now.”
He threw up his hands and sat back in his chair. “Fine. As if you would listen to me anyway.”
Her lips quirked into a pert smile and she entered the room with the procession of a girl being presented at court, and she sat just as regally.
He snorted. “Do you always make an entrance like that?”
“If I can help it, yes.”
“And does your husband know you have come to call on me?”
“Yes. He is currently speaking with your valet. Something about the way you wore your cravat intrigued him.”
Lucas was tempted to grin outright. That was highly unlikely. Kit Gerrard had no interest in fashion whatsoever; this was his way of letting Marianne have her word out while staying well shod of it.
Traitor.
“A gentleman rises when a lady enters a room,” Marianne chided with another swift smile.
Lucas gave her a wry look. “Does he? Pity I have never been accused of being such a thing.”
Marianne gave a light laugh, and then sobered, giving him a calculating look.
He stared back rather frankly.
But Marianne was a stubborn woman with no small amount of will, and she did not give an inch.
Finally, Lucas sighed and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Are you going to stare at me until I confess my sins, or do you have a point?”
“What are you doing to Gemma?” she asked in a voice that was much smaller than anything he had come to expect from her.
He felt his jaw slacken. “What do you mean?”
Her delicate brows lowered. “Don’t play games with me, Blackmoor. She is one of very few friends that I have, and she is worried sick over you. And you are not helping matters by being aloof.”
He glowered and looked away from her too-knowing eyes. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Don’t I?” she snapped. “I may not know you as well as my husband, Blackmoor, but I do know you. You think nothing of yourself, which is why you let the world speak of you as they will. But you are also a little bit of a hero, and no one else is permitted to suffer by your hand or while you can do something about it. So what are you doing and why?”
Lucas had looked back at her at some point, stunned that this woman he’d only known a year, if that, had pegged him so perfectly. He knew that he had underestimated her at first, but he had hardly expected her to be so observant as this.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, get over your shock and tell me. I don’t want to sit here all day.”
“I am not telling you anything.”
She glowered impressively, reminding him of the expression he had often seen on her brother’s face. “Why not?”
“Because believe it or not, Mrs. Gerrard, you do not need to be aware of everything that goes on in the world you seem to rule.”
She gave him a hard look. “Don’t be rude.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be impertinent.”
“Blackmoor, I am concerned for you and for Gemma!” she protested. “You know I think the world of you, no matter how I may insult you. And I love Gemma dearly. I don’t want the two of you to be unhappy!”
He raised a brow in disbelief. “Why should you think we will be unhappy?”
“I saw her face yesterday. And I am seeing yours now. What in the world is going on?”
He watched her for a long moment, chewing the inside of his lip. He’d maintained a distance for three days now, and it was torment. Sheer, bloody torment. But he was not ignoring her, he could not. They had meals together, and polite conversation ensued, and he tried to be attentive without being invested, avoided touching her as much as he could, which was proving harder than expected.
He was being a perfectly cordial husband.
And it was damn near killing him.
“On second thought,” Marianne murmured in a surprisingly hoarse voice, “I don’t want to know. This is beyond me.”
He swallowed hard and nodded once. “Thank you.”
She rose as gracefully as she had sat, and came over to him, covering his hand with hers. “Promise me Gemma won’t be hurt.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, meeting her eyes. “I’ll try, but I can’t promise. You know I would never hurt her if I could help it, it would kill me. But things as they are…”
A slight wrinkle app
eared between her brows. “Promise me you won’t be hurt.”
He snorted softly and pulled his hand out from under hers. “I’ll not promise that either. Don’t set your heart to bleeding for me, Marianne. It’s not worth it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s not.” He shook his head. “But take care of Gemma. I don’t know what is going to happen, but…”
Marianne searched his eyes for a moment, then nodded firmly. “You have my word, of course, but who is going to take care of you?” She raised a questioning brow and swept from the room.
“Ideally, my wife,” he muttered to the empty room as he rubbed at his face, then pressed his hands over his eyes.
“I’m really very sorry about that,” Kit’s voice said from the doorway. “You know Marianne, I couldn’t control her.”
“Go away,” Lucas ordered from behind his hands.
Kit scoffed and his footsteps retreated down the hall.
He was really going to have to speak with Rogers about letting people into the house without his permission.
It was some time before he could get Marianne’s words out of his head, and he was grateful for the silence to dwell on them. He knew full well that he’d revealed too much in his expression, but it couldn’t be helped.
He would need to control that. Vulnerability was not something he could afford.
A soft knock at the door brought him up again, and wildly he looked up to see who had disturbed him this time.
Nothing could have shocked him as much as seeing Caroline Hammond standing there, looking markedly uncertain and timid.
“Mrs. Hammond,” he greeted curiously, rising and coming around the edge of his desk. “I thought you were out with Gemma.”
She nodded once. “I was. We have finished our errands, and she is with Marianne now. I was halfway home when I realized…” She trailed off, frowning.
Lucas had not interacted with his sister-in-law a great deal, but uncertainty was not in her nature. “Realized what?” he prodded as gently as he could.
Caroline raised her dark eyes to his. “I have never spoken with you about my sister, and I feel that I need to.”
“Did something happen?” he asked, his voice rising with an edge of panic, suddenly gripping her arm.
She looked down at his hand, then up at him in surprise. “No, everything is fine. At least, it seems to be. She is a little downcast, but Society will do that to people if given an inch.”
Lucas released a slow breath, steadying himself as best as he could. “They will, I’ll not deny it.”
“May we speak openly, Blackmoor?”
He nodded and gestured to an open seat. “Please.”
Caroline sat and waited for him to do so as well, and he opted for a seat close to her instead of behind his desk once more.
She looked down at her gloved hands, her complexion only marred by the furrow between her brows. She really was a beautiful woman, and he suspected she would always be the envy of many, but she lacked Gemma’s mischief and sparkle, the life that danced in every feature, the magic quality that made her so exquisite.
But he could hardly blame Caroline for what she lacked, given that she was a remarkable woman in her own right.
“Gemma is a special person,” Caroline murmured softly, twisting her fingers. “Far more so than anybody ever thinks or supposes. Everybody has always liked her, they cannot help it. She has a pull about her.”
This was true, and he made no attempt to comment.
“She has always been that way. She is the favorite of our cousins, has always charmed anyone who met her, and has the amazing ability to make people smile or laugh.” A faint smile lit Caroline’s face. “The trouble is that it also makes her easy to take for granted, and people do, myself included.”
Again, she was not saying anything that Lucas was not already fully aware of, so he remained silent.
Caroline looked over at him briefly. “Gemma tries to hide that it bothers her, but… and this is what I wanted so speak to you about… she cannot hide anything.”
Ah, now that was an interesting point to bring up, and he sat back in his chair.
“Try as she might,” Caroline continued with a swallow, “Gemma cannot hide any emotion. You can see it in her eyes, in her expression, in her manner… Her words and her tone may be passably convincing, but anyone paying attention would know the truth. Every emotion, every hurt, every irritation is there in her eyes.”
“I know,” Lucas said quietly, remembering the way his wife’s eyes had dimmed this morning at his dismissive tone. He was being a horrible brute, but it was necessary.
Caroline smiled slightly. “She will never be able to lie to you.”
That drew a snort from him, and her smile grew.
“She cannot be dishonest,” she went on. “Her heart is too tender, and she is not at all convincing as an actress. Gemma has no deception within her. I have never met a more genuine person in my life, and I am her sister, I know her better than anyone.”
Almost, he thought with a mental smirk.
Caroline sighed and turned to him a little more fully. “I just wanted to ensure that you knew the sort of woman you had married, Blackmoor. Not because of any doubts or concerns, but because I care about my sister, and I wanted you to know this much at least.”
“I appreciate your candor,” he said politely, “but may I ask why now?”
“I ought to have said something before the wedding,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “I don’t know you well, hardly at all, but my sister cares a great deal for you, anyone can see that. And as her sister, I only want to be sure that you will take as much care of her as she will try to of you.”
Inexplicably, his throat tightened and he could not speak.
“She is the rarest sort of person,” Caroline murmured as if lost in thought. “No artifice or deception about her in anything. She has far too much heart and the determination to let it lead. She is…”
“Gemma is exactly who she is,” Lucas overrode in his own bemused tone. “Without apology or excuse, she is nothing more or less than herself at all times.”
Caroline was silent for so long that Lucas had to turn to look at her, and found her smiling softly.
“What?” he asked, a bit bluntly.
“I can see that my concerns are unnecessary,” she said, her lips curving further. She rose, still wearing that peculiar smile.
He awkwardly got to his feet, unsure what had just happened.
“Thank you for indulging a sister’s whims, my lord.” She curtseyed politely, and he bowed stiffly, remembering at the last minute to take her hand and kiss it.
“You are always welcome,” he murmured.
Caroline’s smile grew and she put a hand on his arm. “Take care of her, Blackmoor. She will give you everything if you will let her.”
She squeezed gently, and left the room, leaving him staring after her in bewilderment.
He ran a hand through his hair, and returned to his desk, sinking heavily into the seat.
Gemma could give him everything? He shook his head and glowered to himself.
Could no one understand that was his greatest fear?
Chapter Sixteen
Gemma tipped her head back to allow the sun more access to her cheeks, sighing softly in delight at the warmth.
Most women preferred to be pale and almost sickly, but she was not one of them. She enjoyed being a little healthier looking, even if it was unfashionable. A pink nose never cursed anyone.
She ought not to have such leisure time to sit around and indulge in her complexion, but her friends had gone without feeling the need to entertain her today, and there were no more calls to return. There were no more invitations at all. No one wanted to see her, no one wished for her company, and no one minded if she sat here in the sun.
She could have gone home, she supposed. There were many things she could see to there, as she now ran the house, and several tasks she could
complete that really ought to be done.
But here she sat, taking a long moment to bask in the sun.
Because home was a miserable place.
Whatever progress she imagined from that exquisite moment with Lucas in the gallery, and the tender hours afterwards, had vanished so quickly that none of it seemed real. He was distant, aloof, and generally absent, even when he was sitting before her and sharing the same meal.
She would never have accused him of being rude or ungentlemanly, as every word he shared with her was of absolute politeness and decency. He’d never had a cross word with her, never gave her the slightest indication that he was displeased or in any way upset, and yet his expression was usually troubled when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was very good at containing it, wearing a calm and implacable façade whenever they conversed or when he knew he was being observed.
She’d asked him about it only once since the morning after the ball, and he’d blandly written it off as fatigue in the most unconvincing manner possible. She suspected he was being truthful, in his own way, and was simply keeping the reason for his fatigue and distraction to himself.
He’d not hidden from her before, despite his reserve and the secrets he held from the public, but now she was just as lost as anyone else might have been.
Home with him was lonelier than any crowded ballroom or empty cave she had ever experienced.
She’d tried to be patient, she’d given him distance so he might not feel pressed, but the reality was that she desperately wanted to press him. She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to demand that he let her in and be a husband instead of a recluse. She wanted…
Well, she wanted her husband back, but she wasn’t entirely certain she knew who that was.
And there was no one who could know him well enough to explain it to her.
She’d tried with Marianne, but she’d been oddly evasive about it. She did not know Lucas on a particularly intimate level, but she’d said she would have Kit see to it. And Kit had given her nothing to go on.
She’d tried to counsel with her sister, but Caroline knew even less of Lucas than Marianne, and could only assure Gemma that her husband cared about her a great deal.
A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7) Page 18