The Widow Wager

by Jess Michaels

His eyes went wide as he watched her caress him, her fingers light and teasing. “Gemma,” he breathed, a word that begged as well as warned.

  She unfastened the flap on his trouser front with a slowness that could only be deliberate and lowered the bib to reveal him, naked and proud, thrusting to greet her.

  “Mmmm,” she murmured. “Do you know how much I like it when you put your mouth on me?”

  He jolted as she took him in her fist and stroked him with confidence. Once, twice, until a droplet of moisture pooled on the tip of him.

  “I can do that,” he said, though at that moment he would have told her he could procure the crown jewels if it meant she would continue to touch him.

  “Perhaps later,” she purred, watching his face as she stroked him. “I am actually wondering if you would like the same.”

  He jerked in her hand. He had not asked her for that pleasure. Not because he didn’t want it, not because her full lips, her hot mouth wasn’t made for it. But because not all ladies liked it and pushing her didn’t seem fair.

  But now she offered him heaven without so much as a hesitation.

  “I would very much like it,” he growled. “I have dreamt of it since the first time I felt your mouth on mine.”

  “Denying you this dream would be very uncaring of your wife,” she teased as she shifted on the carriage seat so that she could bend over him. “For your pleasure, Mr. Flynn, and mine.”

  Her lips brushed him and he grunted out a sound of surrender. She glided them over the head, chaste, closed mouth caresses of exploration. Down his shaft, she kissed, over his tight, full balls. He wanted to bark at her to open her mouth, to lick him, suck him, but he didn’t. He let her take her time, find her way.

  And she did. As she made her way back up his shaft, those closed-mouth caresses became wanton licks, her hot tongue stroking his every inch, swirling around his girth until she returned to the head.

  She lifted her face, looked up at him with a smile of possessive, female power and then took him into her mouth. Slowly she lowered over him, taking inch by inch, lower and lower until he just touched her throat. The sight of her red head descending over his swollen one was enough to make him spend, but he held back, leaning against the carriage seat with a guttural groan of pure pleasure.

  She began to thrust over him in earnest, mimicking the way she would ride him if she was astride, sucking him on the descent and swirling her tongue around his girth as she withdrew. It was a wild, animal rhythm she set, and he placed his hand on her back to feel her hips undulate in time, as if this act gave her pleasure.

  He felt his seed galloping to be freed, the pressure in his balls mounting until he could no longer control it.

  “Gemma, I’m going to spend,” he managed to croak out, gripping the seat edge with enough force that he feared he would tear the leather in pieces. “You must stop—”

  She ignored him, lifting just her eyes to watch him, wicked pleasure in their gray depths as she took him to the edge and then sucked him over.

  He roared out his pleasure and felt his seed pump free into her mouth. She took every drop, continuing the onslaught of her tongue until he went soft inside of her and she gently removed him with a pop.

  He stared at her, this wild woman who had overtaken his passionate, but always proper wife. Her hair was tangled now, her face flushed with pleasure and triumph.

  “That was incredible,” he gasped, trying to find enough air to refill his empty lungs.

  She smiled. “I am learning, I think, how to make you quake.”

  He laughed as he watched her tuck him back in place and fasten his trousers. “Learning? If you are not already an expert, I fear I may expire.”

  She tensed at the words and he turned his face with a curse. “I’m sorry, Gemma, that was a foolish thing to say.”

  She shook her head, though she did not look at him. “You didn’t mean anything by it. I know you were only teasing.”

  Still, he saw the pain on her face. The embarrassment and the guilt. He placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look at him.

  “No one should blame you for what happened to Laurelcross,” he said. “I think I’ve proven that I will go to battle with anyone who dares. And that includes you, wife.”

  “You would go to battle with me?” she asked, a wavering smile returning to her face.

  The carriage slowed as they reached their home, and he nodded slowly. “I will torture you, with pleasure, until you admit you have done no wrong.”

  Her eyes lit up and desire washed away the other feelings that had been placed there. “Then I think we should go to war,” she said, trying to pretend seriousness even as a smile trembling at her lips. “And I shall not surrender easily.”

  He drew her closer and grinned. “I certainly hope not.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Gemma lifted an arm as the seamstress had told her and held very still as the woman pinned a few places here and there. The final fitting of her gown for Serafina and Rafe’s ball had been going on for half an hour, but it felt like an eternity. Still, as the woman turned her so Serafina could look at her, Gemma couldn’t help but smile. The duchess held Little Crispin in her arms, a beautiful Madonna who almost shone with the love for her child, her husband…her life.

  But it hadn’t always been that way, had it? Gemma had slowly begun to realize how very different things had been for Serafina and Rafe just a little over a year before.

  “You look beautiful,” her sister-in-law reassured her. “Except for that pensive look on your face.”

  Gemma laughed, though the comment made her uncomfortable. “Am I pensive? I shall have to be certain not to make this particular face at the ball. There I shall only be happiness and comfort, I assure you.”

  Serafina shrugged. “But not here. Here you can be you. Is there something troubling you?”

  Gemma hesitated, shooting a look toward the stranger in their midst. In the mirror, the woman caught her look and straightened up.

  “You know, I forgot a few rolls of fabric I wanted to show you, Mrs. Flynn. Would you mind waiting in the ball gown while I fetch them? It will be no longer than…” She glanced between the two women, as if making a judgment. “Shall we say half an hour?”

  Serafina smiled as she rose to her feet. “You are an angel, Madame. Thank you.”

  With a swift nod for them both, the seamstress departed, and Serafina shut the door behind her. When she turned back, her eyebrows were lifted in question. “Does that make you more comfortable?”

  Gemma only stared at the door. “She just swept out of here to give us privacy?”

  “I’m a very good customer,” Serafina laughed. “Or at least Rafe insists I be. Madame knows she will be paid for her time one way or another. Now, why don’t you tell me what is on your mind?”

  Gemma ducked her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m your best option. God love Annabelle, but she is Rafe and Crispin’s sister. She doesn’t want to hear details of anything intimate about their marriages. And she has a tendency to be a bit defensive of the two of them. The same goes for Mama Flynn. So you and I must be little islands for each other if we can be.”

  Gemma looked at her hands, clenched before her. Serafina made a great deal of sense, of course. But it was still difficult to just flat-out ask about Crispin, especially when he was so obviously reticent to have her know any secret he kept.

  “How are you feeling, Serafina?” Gemma asked instead.

  Her sister-in-law sighed. “Much better, thank you. There’s still some soreness since the birth of the baby, but I had a far easier time than some women. I shall be very ready to host and celebrate you and your sister at Saturday’s fete.”

  Gemma nodded as she examined the sleeping face of Little Crispin. “He is a handsome boy already,” she sighed. “He doesn’t look much like Annabelle and Mama Flynn, though, does he?”

  “No, he favors his
father and uncle,” Serafina said, her voice gentle. “From all I have heard and the portraits I’ve seen, they look like their father, Reginald. Hence our son’s middle name.”

  Gemma stepped down from the little dais where the seamstress had been making her alterations and paced to the window. “Did you ever meet Mr. Flynn?”

  Serafina shook her head. “No. He died several years ago, long before I came into the picture. Why all the questions about Crispin’s father?”

  “He was wild, wasn’t he?” she pressed. “Was he…was he cruel?”

  Serafina’s eyes went wide. “Gracious, no. I have never heard a story about Reggie Flynn from any source except that he was exuberant and filled with life and love, especially for his children. Questionable in judgment at times, but the boys adored him, as did Annabelle and Mama Flynn. He is still missed by them all, I think.”

  Gemma’s lips pressed together, and now Serafina gently placed the baby in the basket next to the settee and marched toward her. “What are you trying to determine, my dear? I function much better if you ask me what you want to know directly.”

  Gemma sighed. Serafina had offered to be a confidante and it seemed she needed one. Desperately.

  “I suppose I had hoped to understand why Crispin has been so…so unhappy in the last eighteen months. Why he was driven to drink and bargain away his fortune and trade away his freedom with a bet with my father. I know there are some men who are tormented by pasts with their family, so…”

  She trailed off, and Serafina nodded. “I understand. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

  Gemma felt her cheeks darken. “We are not like you and Rafe. We don’t have the kind of marriage where he opens up to me. He says everyone has their secrets.”

  Serafina bent her head, and there was an air of defeat to her that frightened Gemma. “Crispin certainly has those,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid he has kept them from us all. You know that until he married you, he had not seen his brother or his sister for months. And he had not been actively part of this family for even longer.”

  Gemma took a deep breath and forced herself to say the one word she was so uncomfortable to voice. “Why?”

  “When Rafe inherited his title from their cousin…inherited me…it wasn’t a future anyone in his family desired for him. Rafe didn’t desire it either, but we all quickly realized that there wasn’t a choice in the matter. We came to accept it. But Crispin fought it more than anyone.”

  “Yes, there is still a certain tone he takes when he talks about the duke, although it has softened considerably since he began spending time with his brother again.” Gemma thought of the flinches and the faces he sometimes pulled.

  “I hope he is beginning to see that his brother is not changed by this transformation in his life.” Serafina sighed. “Because when it first happened, it was as if Crispin thought his brother was being murdered, replaced by someone new. They had several rows about it.”

  Gemma moved toward her. “You know he is never anything but positive when he speaks of you.”

  Serafina took Gemma’s hand, her face softened by a gentle expression. “Well, I thank you for that, but he’s always been kind to me. In fact, he even helped his brother realize that he cared for me when we were at our darkest hour.”

  Gemma pursed her lips. “So my husband went wild all because of this change in his brother’s life.”

  Serafina released her hands and caught her breath, as if she were considering what to say next. Finally, she murmured, “I think it is far more than that.”

  Gemma’s stomach turned at the look on her sister-in-law’s face. Serafina was uncomfortable. And she knew something. Something she feared Gemma wouldn’t like.

  “Serafina, I must know,” Gemma whispered. “Even if it is difficult, even if it hurts me to hear it. I need to know the truth because this man is, in whatever way we come to work it out, my future.”

  “You deserve to know,” Serafina murmured. “A-a few months ago Annabelle began going to Marcus’s club and spying on Crispin. She thought somehow she could save him from himself in some way. She didn’t find out much, but she said that one night when he was deep in his cups, he muttered something about…about…”

  Gemma could scarcely breathe. “About?”

  “About her.”

  Her. The word hit Gemma in the stomach like a bullet and she stepped back. “A woman.”

  Serafina nodded. “Apparently so.”

  “Who was she?” Gemma asked. “What did he say about her?”

  Serafina shrugged. “I don’t know and neither does Annabelle. He was muttering, half-crazed with drink. He never gave any further details.”

  “Have they looked into it?” she pressed, shocked that she could form any kind of words with her head spinning as it was.

  “Rafe, Annabelle and Marcus? Annabelle asked them to do so, and I think Marcus did a bit of snooping, but there wasn’t anything to find. We are as in the dark as you are. I believe Rafe was simply trying to get his brother to come back into the fold in any way at all and then he would press him. But if he’s talked to Crispin about it since your marriage, I don’t know.”

  Gemma turned away, her cheeks flaming as she moved to look out the picture window to the garden below. Crispin’s fall had been partly because of a woman. She would have to be quite something to inspire him to such depths.

  Had he loved her? Did he love her still? Those questions swirled in her head and made her entire body ache with what she recognized as hateful, horrible jealousy. Crispin wouldn’t give her a part of himself because that part belonged to someone else.

  “You are very quiet,” Serafina said softly from behind her.

  Gemma squeezed her eyes shut. Tears pricked and she refused to let them fall and open herself up to questions about her own feelings. It was foolish to even have them about a man she’d known so short a time. Foolish to have them for a man who had never promised her anything except to be kind to her.

  And he had kept that promise.

  “Have I hurt you by sharing this?” Serafina asked.

  She turned to face her friend, her sister-in-law, with the most false smile she had ever exhibited. “Of course not. I asked the question and you provided me with an honest answer. I appreciate knowing even some small details about Crispin. They will help me as I move into the future with him.”

  “But you and he—”

  “Have not even a marriage of convenience,” she finished. “We were forced into this situation and are making the best of it. But no one is in love with anyone, no one has any cause for hurt. He has not declared that I am his love, nor would I…nor would I desire such a silly thing. So you couldn’t hurt me by telling me that the man loves someone else enough that something about her would spiral him into the depths of despair.”

  Serafina’s face was filled with empathy and she moved on Gemma swiftly. “You must know that I have never seen him as happy as he has been recently with you. You bring out something good in him, Gemma. Something Rafe says he hasn’t seen in a long time. You are good for him. And there is nothing that says that he couldn’t feel—”

  There was a light knock at the door, likely signaling the return of the seamstress, and Gemma was relieved when Serafina moved to the door and let the lady in.

  “Welcome back, Madame,” Gemma said. “Oh, those fabrics are lovely.”

  She followed the woman to the nearby table where she began to spread gorgeous lengths of silk, satin and muslin across the surface. And though they were all beautiful, Gemma could hardly see them, hardly think about them.

  Because all she could think about was Crispin, in love with some other spectacular woman. A woman who one day might very well steal all Gemma had built.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Crispin hated a ball—always had. But even he could admit, albeit grudgingly, that the one Serafina and Rafe were hosting was a smashing success. Their ballroom overflowed with
the very best of Society, along with a spattering of far more interesting people from the world of art, politics and even the underground. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.

  Everyone except for the one person he actually gave a damn about. Everyone but the woman standing next to him in an ocean-blue gown that highlighted the red fire of her hair and the gray depths of her eyes. Everyone but Gemma.

  She stood at his side, stiff and uncomfortable. But then she had been acting in a peculiar fashion since yesterday after her fitting. Yes, she still talked to him, she made love with him, but he saw a fresh pain in her eyes that he did not understand.

  Strangely, he wanted to.

  He shook the thought away and looked across the room to where Mary stood with Rafe and Serafina and a few eligible men. His new sister-in-law looked enchanting with her dark hair—so unlike Gemma’s—bound prettily at her neck and her orange gown bringing out the porcelain quality of her skin. She laughed and the others joined in.

  “Mary is doing very well,” he said, certain that would draw Gemma to a subject she wished to discuss.

  To his surprise, she jolted as if she hadn’t been looking at her sister. Apparently, her mind had been elsewhere. “Yes,” she said, now focusing on the same group he had been observing. “She has a lovely personality. With Serafina and Rafe’s help, I’m certain she will do very well.”

  “It must take some weight off your shoulders,” he pressed.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and her mouth drew down slightly. “Of course. Nothing would make me happier than to see her settled and free of our father.”

  Her words had no weight. He could see that in her eyes, hear it in the pain in her tone. But he could do nothing. The walls he had to erect kept him from offering or receiving true comfort.

  He turned toward her. “Shall we dance?”

  She hesitated, her gaze flitting to the dance floor where the waltz was just ending. “I—”

  “They will expect it at a ball celebrating, in part, our marriage,” he urged her.