The Widow Wager

by Jess Michaels

“So you wish to keep the marriage intact and work something out for how we will proceed?”

  “Wish is a strong word,” she said with a shake of her head. “I believe that may be the best course.”

  To her surprise, he smiled. “It is something to consider.”

  “I think Gemma is correct,” Mrs. Flynn said, breaking the moment between them without even trying. “Crispin, you could make an argument about fraud or duress and it would go to the courts and be dragged out for months, while you and especially Gemma are the topics of a kind of gossip that I promise you is nothing like the whispers about the playful antics of you and your brother over the years.”

  Annabelle nodded. “There would be censure for you both. It could very well be irretrievable.”

  Crispin’s full lips were pinched. He continued to look at Gemma, holding her stare with his really very beautiful blue ones.

  “Would censure pass to you, Annabelle? To Rafe and Serafina? To Mama?” he asked.

  Rafe stepped forward now. “Yes. I believe this is the kind of scandal that might affect us all. Serafina would likely know best. But none of us would tell you to make this decision based upon what we would suffer.”

  Now Crispin turned and looked at his family. There was something different in the set of his jaw, as if he had changed in the brief time they’d been apart. Gemma found herself mesmerized by it.

  “But I must consider it,” Crispin said softly. “I must consider the consequences to my family and to Gemma. After all, it is I who did this with my foolish actions. I created this.”

  He looked at her again and reached for her. She let him take her hands, felt the warmth of him in his rough fingers. She couldn’t withdraw and couldn’t look away as he leaned in.

  “I am truly, deeply sorry, Gemma.”

  She blinked at sudden tears that flooded her eyes. He had said those words before, but this was the first time his apology felt whole. It sank into her, washing away some of the anger she felt toward him. She nodded.

  “I know you are,” she whispered.

  He nodded and pulled away. “I think Gemma and I need some time to discuss this matter and others alone. But may we return for supper tomorrow night?”

  “Of course,” Rafe said. “Perhaps you can see Crispin as well and visit Serafina, though I think she will be abed still.”

  Crispin frowned. “See Crispin?”

  “Yes. We named the baby that, you see. Crispin Reginald. After you and father.”

  The way Crispin staggered back, Gemma felt she had no choice but to reach out, steadying him with a hand against his arm. For a moment, tears brightened his eyes and he blinked to clear them.

  “That is an honor to share a name with your son, Rafe. Perhaps I can do a better job moving forward in showing him how to behave.”

  “He’s a Flynn,” Marcus Rivers said with a laugh behind them. “You two have already blazed a spectacular trail for the boy.”

  The others laughed, but Crispin was still struggling with what were clearly extreme emotions. He nodded once more.

  “So, tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” Rafe turned to Gemma, and she couldn’t help but smile at his continually welcoming expression. Whatever they had discussed in this room about her, Crispin’s brother did not seem to fully judge her. Yet. “I look forward to it, Gemma.”

  “As do I, Your Grace,” she said with a slight incline of her head.

  “Great God, woman—Rafe,” he said with a laugh as he hugged first his brother and then gently embraced her. “You are my sister now. You can’t ‘Your Grace’ me or I shall expire.”

  Gemma stood in stunned shock as the rest of the family repeated the embrace that Rafe had begun, each murmuring words of encouragement and support. Even Rivers pulled her closer for a moment.

  “They’re a family worth joining, my lady,” he said. “But we protect our own.”

  When she pulled back, she looked at him, but his face was unreadable. He merely smiled mildly and followed as the entire group escorted them to the carriage outside. But as they waved them off and they drove away, Gemma couldn’t help thinking that whatever had happened in the billiards room was going to have broader reaching repercussions. And she wasn’t certain she wanted to deal with those.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Nine

  Crispin watched as Gemma picked at what was left of her supper, running the fork over the remnants of chicken and vegetables. When they had returned home in the late afternoon, she had retired to his chamber, but she clearly hadn’t gotten any rest there. There were dark smudges beneath her gray eyes and a sad expression on her face that gave him an odd desire to take her hand or let her rest her cheek on his shoulder.

  But there were distances to be kept and unanswered questions which required addressing. Of course, everything in him told him to follow his normal mode of behavior and ignore the unpleasant duty at hand, but he couldn’t. This had to be dealt with.

  He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we retire to the parlor, Gemma, since neither of us seems especially hungry?”

  She jolted, as if she had been daydreaming and forgotten he was there. He had to wonder if she had only been thinking about their situation, or if other thoughts plagued her.

  She glanced down at her plate and frowned. “I hope your cook will not be offended. The food is delicious, I am just…”

  He held up a hand. “I think everyone in my household is aware these are trying circumstances. I’m sure she will not be offended, especially since I will be certain we pass our apologies to her.”

  Gemma’s face relaxed a little. As Crispin motioned to one of the footmen that they were finished, he shook his head slightly. Worrying about hurting the feelings of a cook didn’t seem to match with the idea that this woman was some kind of killer.

  They stood at the same time and he came around the table to offer her an arm, which she took with only a slight hesitation. When her fingers closed gently around his bicep, Crispin felt her touch all the way to his gut. It was odd how visceral a reaction he had when she laid her hands on him. The few times it had happened so far had lit his body on fire.

  But he had no idea of their future, there was no reason to allow desire to confuse the issue. He led her to the parlor and closed the door behind them. She pulled away from his arm and walked to the settee beside the fire. He leaned against the door and watched her settle in, her frown still deep and troubled.

  “Would you like a drink, my lady?”

  She jerked her attention to his face before she slowly looked across the room toward the sideboard. “Do you think that is wise?”

  He flinched. So she was already judging him a drunkard. Of course how could she not? She had seen what damage he could do when inebriated. Who else but a man with no control would go so far?

  “One for you, Gemma and one for me to take the edge off. I promise.”

  She seemed to ponder the wisdom of this suggestion for long enough that Crispin began to salivate for the brandy that all but seemed to glow on the table.

  “Very well,” she finally capitulated, and he almost sagged with relief. He hadn’t had a drink all day and his hands shook as he moved to remedy that. He poured them each a glass and returned to her.

  “It’s strong,” he cautioned, uncertain if any such spirits had ever passed her lips.

  She shrugged one shoulder delicately. “I’ve had brandy before. And perhaps we need strong right now. I certainly feel very weak at present.”

  Crispin knew the feeling. He had reached for spirits with the same desire to be buoyed up. In the end, that never worked.

  He sat on the chair that faced hers and took a sip. “I don’t think we can avoid continuing the conversation that was begun in my brother’s house this afternoon.”

  She took a gulp of her brandy and set it aside as she coughed delicately into the back of her hand. When she had recaptured her breath, she said, “You mean about
what they said? That they believe we should remain married to avoid the scandal and ruin that will follow if we break this union?”

  He nodded once, watching every line of her face to try to determine her character at a much deeper level than he had before. Was she truly capable of hurting another person? It was so hard to believe that when she looked so delicate. So fragile. Like porcelain that was beautiful but too easily broken.

  “You’ve had time to think about it, as have I. It would be foolish to pretend it has not been on both our minds for hours.”

  “I would never pretend it wasn’t. I have thought of nothing else since we left the duke’s home. I would like to say one thing, though, before we begin.”

  He cocked his head. “Please do.”

  “Earlier today you asked my opinion about what I wanted.” She fiddled with a loose thread on her sleeve, refusing to meet his gaze. “I wanted to thank you for that courtesy. I have not been allowed to have an opinion on the subject of my own future for a very long time and you were so earnest in the question that I felt comfortable in speaking the truth. I appreciate that more than you could know.”

  Crispin drew back. That moment in Rafe’s parlor had been meant to make up for what a clod he’d been, and yet she acted as though he had granted her a boon rather than a common courtesy.

  “Whatever happens, Gemma, please know that I would always like you to be able to voice your opinion, especially when it comes to those things which affect you personally.”

  “You say that now, but you’d come to not like it,” she said, her mouth thinning into a line.

  He shrugged. “I might not always like your opinion, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have every right to voice it.”

  “That is a very unpopular notion about a woman’s mind, Mr. Flynn,” she said, her tone hardened into a challenge.

  He met her gave steadily. “You have met my mother and Annabelle,” he said. “Do you think I was raised without a healthy respect for an intelligent woman’s mind?”

  She hesitated, the upset leaving her face to be replaced with surprise. “I-I suppose that must be true.”

  He finished his drink and, ignoring the desire that burned in him for another, folded his arms. He could get a second, a third, a tenth one later, after Gemma had gone to bed.

  “Now, what do you think about what my family said today?”

  “About us remaining married?” Her tone was suddenly breathless.

  He nodded.

  She sighed. “I told you already what was at stake for me and for my sister. If I think in terms of only myself, there is a greater benefit to me in remaining your wife and dealing with the fallout from our hasty, reckless, scandalous union than in facing the consequences of breaking it. Even though I don’t want to do this, that is the best thing for me.”

  He watched her, increasingly fascinated not just by his questions about her past, but with how she held herself. There was both strength in her and also hesitation. Like a tightrope walker at a traveling circus, she balanced between the two.

  “Is it the best thing for me?” he asked softly.

  She blinked a few times, her gaze flitting to his face. “I-I don’t understand. I couldn’t know the answer to that, after all you have lived with scandal in the past and I have no idea how amenable you are to even more of it.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” he said, leaning forward. He held her stare now evenly, reading every flicker of her lashes, every dart of her pupils. “You alluded to a secret earlier, Gemma. A rumor about your marriage that might make me hesitate. And I have now been told what that rumor is.”

  She swallowed hard, and he watched the color drain slowly from her face until she was so pale that he was glad she was seated for fear that she would have fallen if she had been standing. She drew a few ragged breaths, her hands shaking as she reached for her forgotten brandy. She didn’t speak again until she had drained the glass.

  “Were you?” she finally asked, her voice cracked and broken.

  He felt desperately sorry for her in that moment. There was no denying her pain at the subject, her humiliation and even the fear that flickered deep within her stare. But he ignored any instinct he had to back off or comfort her. Those were dangerous urges considering the subject.

  “There is only one thing I need to know right now Gemma,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you kill your husband?”

  Gemma’s head spun and she gripped the armrest of the settee until her nails dug into the fine fabric. This subject always elicited the same reaction, and now her stomach turned, threatening to cast up what she had managed to eat of her supper and her head began to throb.

  She’d known Crispin would eventually hear the whispers that followed her wherever she went. She’d known it would change whatever delicate dynamic they were slowly building between them. She’d somehow hoped for more time. That she would find a way to tell him that thing that she had never been able to discuss fully, even with Mary.

  She didn’t want to discuss it now. But she had no choice. She was trapped in this man’s home, as this man’s wife, held in place by his focused, deep blue stare. He would not allow her to avoid it. He would hold her there by one way or another. As her husband, he had every right to do it, even with violence.

  Though she couldn’t imagine him doing so. But then, she hadn’t imagined a great many things in her life were possible.

  “I need to know, Gemma,” he said, his voice neutral. He offered no comfort, but there was no censure either.

  She swallowed. “I realize I’m taking a long time to answer,” she said softly. “And I know you need to know the truth. But it is very difficult to address this subject.”

  His gaze gentled ever so slightly. “Take your time. We have all night if need be.”

  She nodded. It could take all night if recounting the story was as painful as she feared it would be. If only she could escape the telling. But if she wished to save her sister, and perhaps herself, this was the only way.

  God damn her father.

  She exhaled a long breath and then let the first words croak from her dry lips. “My father wanted sons,” she began. “He was obsessed with having them to further himself financially through their marital and working potential and to continue his name. He and my mother tried for decades to have them, but between the failed attempts that resulted in my sister and I and so many lost children that tiny caskets became commonplace in our home, he was thwarted at every turn. Even when my mother died birthing the last dead child, his first response was to rejoice that he might find a new wife who would better do her duty.”

  “But he is not married, is he?” Crispin asked.

  She shook her head. “You’ve met him. He has little to offer to a lady, and his methods of courtship are as crude as his methods of parenting. Perhaps he will one day find a desperate young bride and his attention will return to siring sons, but for now he has other things on his mind.”

  “Such as?”

  She pursed her lips. “When I came of age, I was finally of use to him. I could marry well, you see, link him to a better family and perhaps convince my rich and titled husband to provide him with an income of some kind. He allowed me two Seasons, and when I could not find a man of my own choosing, he somehow hurtled me into a union with the Earl of Laurelcross.”

  Crispin nodded. “Did you want that marriage?”

  She hesitated. With everything that had happened between the first time she’d met Theodore and now it was sometimes hard to remember her thoughts at the beginning.

  “He was older than I by twenty years,” she explained slowly. “But he seemed kind enough and his courtship was friendly. I recognized I could do far worse with my father at the helm of my future. I suppose the word want might be too strong, but resigned sums it up better.”

  Crispin flinched. “I know such things are commonplace amongst those with title and rank, but I’m sorry.”

>   “At first there was no reason to be,” she said, her mind turning back to those first days and weeks. “Theodore was attentive and gentle. He thought of my needs both in our day to day life and…” She hesitated as heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I must be very blunt, but I assure you it is only because the details I’m about to share are pertinent to the question you asked me about his death.”

  Crispin’s brow knitted in confusion, but he nodded. “You may be direct. After all, I am a Flynn, I assure you it cannot be anything I haven’t seen nor done myself.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “My husband introduced me to the pleasures that could be found in a marital bed. And I-I liked it.”

  She stopped talking because her throat felt like it was going to close. She struggled for a moment, keenly aware that Crispin’s eyes were now wide, and he leaned in closer at that shocking admission. She had no idea what he thought of her, but she knew what the world would say.

  Harlot.

  “You say that this fact pertains to your husband’s death?” Crispin asked when she had been silent for too long.

  “May I have some water?” she asked, handing him her empty brandy glass. He took it, quickly moved to the sideboard where he gave her what she needed and sat back down. He held the glass out to her.

  She took it, dragging in deep gulps of the water. It still tasted of spirits, but at least she felt she could breathe again.

  “We went on that way for a few months and I found myself becoming content.” She shook her head at the foolishness of that sentence now, with hindsight as her guide. “I thought we could have a life together.”

  “But?” Crispin asked.

  “My husband began to change. Then I realized I had married a man with the same desires as my father had. The earl had children from his first marriage. But they were daughters who were grown and close to my own age. He never had a son, and soon he made it clear that my failure to breed was an issue.”

  Crispin frowned. “I see.”

  She shivered. “At first it was just looks in the hall when my courses would come. Glares that could cut like a knife, and icy silences. After months, he began with angry statements about how he had paid for a product he hadn’t received. Then he progressed to screeching at me. He seemed to be morally affronted that he had offered me pleasure in our bed and in return I had not granted him the child he required.”