The Widow Wager

by Jess Michaels

  Latham’s eyes widened further. “Then you have not heard?”

  “Heard?”

  “Of course your brother is in residence, Mr. Flynn. He is upstairs at present with the duchess and…and the new baby.”

  Crispin took a step back and staggered as he slipped down several steps before he righted himself. His face was suddenly pale and his hands flexed at his sides.

  “The—the baby?” he repeated, his voice as raw as his expression. There was pain and joy in every line of his face and it took everything in Gemma not to step up beside him to offer him some form of comfort.

  Latham’s expression softened slightly. “Yes, sir. The child was born just last night.”

  Crispin was nodding, but it seemed to be a reflexive motion, as was the way he swallowed very hard before he spoke. “I would very much like to see my brother, if…if he will see me.”

  “Come in,” Latham urged, stepping back to allow them entry. But as Gemma passed him, he sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I am so distracted, I admit I didn’t notice you there.”

  Crispin stopped in the foyer, turning toward them but not looking at either her or the butler. “It is I who should be sorry, Latham. I should have said something sooner. This is—this is—er—this is my—my wife?”

  Now it was Latham’s turn to stagger a bit as his stare spun again to Gemma. She could read nothing on his expression, as was the way with the very best servants, but his voice shook slightly as he said, “Why don’t you retire to your usual sitting room, Mr. Flynn? I will fetch the duke immediately.”

  Crispin nodded, motioning her toward a door down the long hall past the foyer. Her hands shook, but she said nothing until he had closed the door behind them. Immediately, he moved toward a line of liquor bottles on the sideboard across the room. She followed him toward them.

  “Isn’t it too early for that?” she asked as his hand touched one.

  He looked toward her and his frown deepened. “Likely so.”

  “And I would think you’d want to have a clear head for this conversation,” she continued.

  He flinched. “Actually, I’d like to be drunk for this conversation so I won’t remember it later.”

  She tilted her head at his candor, then gently slipped the bottle from his hands and put it back in its place. “Why did you tell Latham that I was your wife?”

  He turned away slightly, but she could see his face and pain was written plainly on each and every line. “I don’t know.”

  The broken quality of his voice erased any upset she felt for her own part. Slowly, she reached out, her hand moving toward his arm. She saw him watching it, too, from the corner of her eye, both of them seemingly mesmerized by the touch about to come.

  When it did, she jolted a little, moved as she had been at breakfast by their bodies touching in any way. His arm was very strong, and as her fingers closed over it, the muscle flexed.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, making her tone soothing just as she sometimes did when Mary had nightmares. “It will be all right.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know Serafina had the baby,” he said, his voice almost imperceptibly soft.

  “And now you do.”

  He turned his face so she could no longer see the emotion written there. “Yes. And now I get to tell him—”

  “What?” she asked when he cut himself off.

  He shook his head and pulled away from her. She watched him walk across the room and was filled with a desire to help him. A desire she needed to turn off right away because their situation was far from settled and she had to be ready to fight for herself.

  Crispin could still feel the warmth of Gemma’s fingers around his arm, as if she had branded or burned him with that touch. He stood at the fireplace, his back to her, trying to measure his breathing. He couldn’t be wrapped up in her. Not when he was about to face—

  He hadn’t even finished the thought when the door behind him opened. He turned to watch his brother, Rafe, enter, followed by their friend Marcus Rivers, who had married their sister just a few months before.

  Crispin was hit by so many feelings, seeing these men who he had been avoiding. The first feeling was joy, wild and unfettered. Rafe had always been his best friend, and despite the scandalous circumstances surrounding Marcus’s marriage to Annabelle, Crispin liked him too. He hadn’t been around people he loved and trusted for a very long time.

  But the second and the more powerful reaction was shame. He had once again brought destruction and pain down around him. Just as he had so many times before. And he had to come here, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, and ask the great and glorious duke for help.

  His brother stared at him for a brief second, then crossed the room. His arms were outstretched and to Crispin’s surprise Rafe enveloped him in a hard, long hug.

  “You’re here,” he whispered, close to Crispin’s ear. “You came.”

  As Rafe pulled back, a wide smile on his face, Crispin forced his own. “Congratulations.” He looked past his brother. “Hello, Rivers.”

  Rafe stepped back. “Did Mama tell you about the baby?”

  Crispin blinked. “Latham didn’t tell you?”

  There was confusion on Rafe’s face. “Tell me what? Latham just said you were here and wished to see me.”

  Shifting, Crispin said, “I didn’t know about the child until I arrived this afternoon.”

  Rafe’s smile fell. “No? Then why—” He cut himself off as his gaze shifted toward Gemma, who remained at the sideboard, allowing the scene between the brothers play out. She stiffened as the duke’s exalted gaze swept over her, then back to his brother. “Crispin?”

  “I’m in a bit of trouble, Rafe.”

  His brother’s chin dropped and his eyes shut, but Crispin still saw his annoyance, his pain, his anger on his face. Those emotions stabbed Crispin through the heart and made him feel like the disappointment he was all the keener.

  “Must we do this today, Crispin?” Rafe said, his tone soft. “My son was just born twelve hours ago.”

  “A son.” Crispin shook his head.

  “God help us,” Marcus piped up from the door, tone dry as a brushfire wind.

  Rafe ignored them both. “I must think of him now and Serafina, so I can’t—”

  “Your Grace, allow me to introduce myself.”

  They all turned at the interrupted and Crispin watched as Gemma stepped forward, hand outstretched to his brother. She had a steady, cool look in her eyes as she reached him, and Rafe took her offering with a side glance toward Crispin. They shook, and as she released him, Gemma continued.

  “I’m—” The veneer of her confidence slipped a little as she hesitated. “Up until recently, I was the Countess of Laurelcross. But last night, due to a set of unfortunate situations, I became Mrs. Flynn.”

  The statement had a consequence, though Crispin wasn’t certain it was one Gemma had intended. Marcus and Rafe both straightened up, mouths dropped open and stunned into silence.

  It took his brother a moment of opening and shutting his mouth before Rafe managed to squeak out, “Mrs. Flynn?”

  “Yes.” That fetching blush pinkened her cheeks again. “But as I said, this all happened under very bad circumstances, Your Grace. And we desperately need your help.”

  Rafe blinked. He just kept blinking, staring first at Gemma for a very long time, then slowly to Crispin. “Married?”

  Crispin knew he was asking him, not her. Slowly, he nodded and managed to push one word past his suddenly very dry throat. “Yes.”

  Rafe nodded, then returned his attention to Gemma. He stepped closer and Crispin saw her tense, even though she didn’t step back.

  “Mrs. Flynn, may I present Marcus Rivers. He is our very old friend and recently married to our sister, Annabelle.”

  “Charmed,” Marcus said, the word heavy as he looked Gemma up and down.

  Of cours
e, the humiliation of the moment would not have been complete until the door opened again and Annabelle and their mother came in, their faces tired but filled with joy at the news of Rafe’s baby.

  “His cheeks!” his mother was finishing, but she didn’t say anything more as her eyes fell on him. “Crispin, my love.”

  He found himself enveloped in hugs from both her and Annabelle as Gemma stood by, watching with interest and he could see, a great deal of discomfort. It was rather overwhelming, he knew, all these Flynns in one room.

  “Hello, hello,” he said as the two women backed away.

  “What is going on?” Annabelle asked as she stepped into the waiting arm of her new husband. Crispin flinched at the two of them standing there. Annabelle had fallen into disgrace while trying to help him, but he had to admit, she looked blissfully happy now.

  “Your brother somehow ended up married to this lovely lady last night,” Marcus explained. “Apparently it was under terrible circumstances.”

  “Rivers!” Crispin and Rafe burst out together.

  Marcus shrugged. “I only thought it was better to cut through it to the core of the matter.”

  Gemma was staring at the floor now, her cheeks a vibrant red and her lip trembling with what he recognized were unshed tears of humiliation.

  “Married?” his mother repeated.

  Just as he had with his brother, Crispin nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so, Mama.”

  Her lips parted but to his surprise, her eyes lit up with what he thought was relief and joy. She looked away from him, toward Gemma.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” she said.

  It must have been the gentle tone that spurred Gemma to look at her now (and what he hoped was temporary) mother-in-law. “Good afternoon,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  Rafe’s expression softened and he reached out to grasp her hands. He squeezed them gently and to Crispin’s surprise, Gemma didn’t pull away, but actually smiled up at his brother.

  “Obviously, we all have a great deal to discuss, Miss…Lady…I’m sorry, what is your given name?”

  “Gemma,” she said.

  “Gemma.” He smiled at her. “I promise you, everything will be all right. We’ll work this out. Stay here with my mother and my sister, who I promise will make you nothing but comfortable.”

  Crispin waited for her to show some of the anger, some of the frustration which she had vented on him earlier in the day. But no. She gifted his brother with another wavering smile. That was two Rafe had received, while none for Crispin.

  “Very well.”

  Rafe released her and turned on him. “As for you, come with me.”

  There was no arguing with the order, so Crispin followed his brother and Marcus as they exited the parlor. At the door, he turned and took one last glance at Gemma. She had her chin lifted and she looked beautiful and brave. But she wasn’t his. That was all a mistake.

  Chapter Seven

  Gemma leaned back against the comfortable settee with a sigh and took a long sip of tea. She had just told Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Rivers the whole story of how she had ended up married to Crispin, and she had to admit there was relief in having said it all out loud to them. Relief and terror, since neither woman had reacted as of yet.

  She dared a glance first at Mrs. Flynn. The older woman’s lips were pursed together into a thin line. “That boy,” she muttered.

  “He isn’t a boy, he’s a grown man,” her daughter corrected, eyes flashing fire. “Lost a bet? Damn it, Crispin.”

  Gemma jolted at the curse, but shook her head. “What you must think of me.”

  To her surprise, the women exchanged a brief glance before they dissolved into laughter. Although Gemma wasn’t entirely certain they weren’t making fun of her, she had to admit the sound was lovely. It felt like no one had laughed in her life for months.

  “Are you mocking me?” she asked softly.

  The women stopped laughing. “Absolutely not,” Annabelle reassured her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “It’s only that Mama and I have seen far worse than this in our family. The idea that we would think less of you is absolutely ludicrous.”

  Mrs. Flynn smiled just as warmly. “My daughter is right. Though I would like to get to know you better. Tell us about yourself.”

  Gemma’s brow wrinkled. She had met her husband’s family a few times during their marriage, but no one had ever asked her about herself. It was all cold propriety in the Laurelcross line. Once Theodore was dead, well, she might as well have died too. They had only come to collect what was theirs and politely have her removed because he had not provided for her unless she bore him heirs.

  Oh-so-politely.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” she said.

  Annabelle tilted her head. “Who is your family, Gemma?”

  “My father is Sir Oswald Quinn. My mother was Regina Quinn, though she was born into the Briarwood legacy.”

  “Oh no, you misunderstand, I don’t want to know about your pedigree,” Annabelle said with another of those sweetly gentle squeezes of the hand. “I want to know about your family.”

  “My father is how I got into this mess,” Gemma replied, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from her tone. “My mother passed when I was just seven.”

  Mrs. Flynn made a small sound in her throat. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

  Gemma shrugged, though dismissal of that event was not as easy as perhaps she hoped to make it look. “It was a very long time ago. I do have a younger sister, Mary.”

  She turned her face so she wouldn’t reveal her feelings on her sister. God, Mary was alone again with their father. The first time Gemma had left to marry, her sister had been too young to be manipulated for Sir Oswald’s needs. Now that was not so. At twenty, Mary was ripe for the same kind of bartering that had landed Gemma an earl four years ago.

  “You worry about her,” Annabelle said. A statement, not a question.

  Gemma found herself nodding. “It is humiliating to admit to strangers how low my father will stoop, but you can see it in this situation with Crispin—Mr. Flynn. I am afraid for her.”

  “There are advantages, my dear, to a marriage into this family, especially in its current state,” Mrs. Flynn said.

  Gemma dared to look at them again. “Advantages?”

  Annabelle was the one who continued, “Yes. Although the duchess, Serafina, is of course abed recovering from the birth of her son, she does have some influence in Society, as does my brother. Despite the scandals that have surrounded my brothers or me or my new husband, we could help your sister, I think.”

  Gemma’s heart leapt. Was that possible? It could very well be. After all, her father would never refuse the chaperone of a duke and duchess for Mary. And if the Flynns were as kind as they appeared to be thus far, that could mean Mary would get to choose her own path, her own life, her own husband, in a way Gemma never had.

  She shook her head. Reality returned in an instant.

  “I wish that were true, but it may all be a moot point.”

  The two women exchanged another glance. “I don’t know what you mean, my dear,” Mrs. Flynn said.

  Gemma shifted. She felt like she was telling on Crispin behind his back to a nanny, but these women would find out the truth soon enough.

  “Your offer of assistance to my sister would be greatly appreciated, of course. But it must be predicated on the fact that I am a member of your family.” She cleared her throat. “And it remains to be seen whether or not that will continue to be true.”

  Annabelle’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t understand. You said you and my brother were wed.”

  “We are…but Mr. Flynn does not wish that to continue. He is here to ask his brother’s help in ending our union. And he very well could have the grounds to do exactly that.”

  Annabelle pushed off the settee and paced away, leaving a trail of unexpectedly unladylike curses in her wake. Her
mother watched her with a shake of her head.

  “Darling, manners. You aren’t in Marcus’s club.”

  Annabelle turned back with a frown. “I’m sorry, Mama, Gemma. It is only that I cannot believe how ridiculous my brothers are.”

  “Both of them?” Gemma asked, trying to figure out why Annabelle would include the duke in her curse.

  “Yes. You see, you may recall that my elder brother, Rafe, was in a somewhat similar situation with his own bride. And though they are deliriously, almost shockingly happy now, Rafe initially fought that union with all his might. And here is Crispin trailing behind his brother and imitating him as always.”

  “It may be more complicated than that,” Mrs. Flynn offered, though Gemma felt her very focused stare on her. What did her new mother-in-law see? And did she approve, despite her kindness and welcoming spirit?

  “Ridiculous!” Annabelle insisted. “There is nothing complicated about it. Crispin has been running around with no consequences for months and months, perhaps even longer. This consequence is really quite fine as far as I can see. And I’ll be damned if we will stand by and allow him to avoid it just as he has avoided so much more in his life.”

  Gemma stood and moved toward her. “I don’t think—”

  Annabelle shook her head. “No. I have a good head for people, Gemma Flynn, and I like you. I swear to you in this moment, we will fix this. And once Serafina is recovered from the birth, I know she will help us too.”

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Flynn said, but she stood and slipped a very comforting arm around Gemma. “The Flynn women against the world again?”

  Annabelle laughed. “No, Mama. Just against the Flynn men. As it was always meant to be.”

  Gemma stared at the two women. She had come here, resigned to censure and eventual ruin, but instead she had found welcome and what felt like membership in an exclusive and wonderful club. And though she had no idea still what to think of her husband, she truly wanted in that moment to be a Flynn woman.

  Marcus and Rafe were staring at him, and never before had Crispin wanted the liquor on the sideboard behind the billiard table more than he did in that moment. They were shocked by his confession of how he had acquired his “bride”, but behind that shock was judgment. Frustration. Resignation that this was the kind of man he was. He could feel it oozing from his brother’s pores as he just stared.