“But how long can a person rely on their wickedness before it consumes them?” Anthony called after him.
“Forever.” I hope. Colin briskly walked out of the room and back toward the noise of the ball.
Chapter Two
A kiss is never just a kiss. If a rake desires to truly be different than other gentlemen, he must learn the art of the kiss. If it were merely about two lips touching, then every bloke out there could do it. But it is not. The prelude to the kiss is what makes a women crave rakes, not gentlemen. A rake understands that a woman must first be teased, caressed, touched, nibbled, if you will. She must be breathless for more. You must give her the words she longs to hear, and then when she is ripe for the picking, you sweep in and kiss her softly across the mouth while slowly increasing the pressure until she moans. When she moans, you have her. If there is no moaning, then, my friend, it is safe to say, you are doing it all wrong. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
Gemma scanned the room for a glimpse of Sir Wilde. Her brother had only just allowed her to return to London this week. For whatever reason, he had convinced her parents of the necessity of the prolonged absence. They fully agreed that she should retire to the country estate for a time, to recuperate from her episode with the man they deemed below her station.
She wished she had never told her lady’s maid of what had transpired between her and Sir Wilde. The disloyal girl had turned right around and passed the information directly to Gemma’s brother, Hawke. Enraged, he had stormed from the house to find the offending gentleman to teach him some manners.
To Gemma’s recollection, Wilde’s manner was altogether perfect. She closed her eyes and remembered, replaying the stolen moments they had shared. A wistful sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it.
“My lady, please,” Hawke whispered beside her, tightening his grasp on her arm. “Remember yourself.”
“I am remembering, my lord.” She cast a sidelong glance at her brother and wriggled her arm against his grip. “If you don’t mind, I am quite certain I no longer require your assistance, and you are hurting me.”
His cold stare warned her against giving any sign of impropriety.
Hawke knew what buttons to push with Gemma. Her sense of propriety was ingrained in every fiber of her being. In fact, it was that cursed sense that had mortified her so desperately when she and Wilde had first been caught in the embrace. She’d reacted with utter shame and disgrace at the time. But her long visit to Brookshire had given her ample time to consider the matter.
Looking back on it, Gemma was certain the only thing she would have done differently was insisting Wilde lock the door. That would have solved everything.
A warmth spread through her cheeks to her ears. Who was she fooling? Even yet, the simple memory of Wilde’s lips on hers made her blush to the roots of her hair.
“Take care, sister,” Hawke warned as they approached a group of his acquaintances, pasting a false grin on his face for their benefit. “Percival, Sumner, Everett, Lady Judith, may I present my sister, Lady Gemma, recently returned from Brookshire for the remainder of the Season.”
Gemma had never been introduced to any of them before, but she knew of them. She had heard her parents and Hawke discuss Mr. Percival at great length. He was next in line for the Earldom of Worcester, and one of the Royal Duke’s favorite cousins. No doubt they had designs on him as a match for Gemma. They never said as much in her presence, but they hinted often that she should set her aim higher.
Sir Wilde would never meet their lofty aspirations.
Mr. Sumner, who also was heir to an impressive title, ran a close second in her parents’ opinion, though from the daggers in Lady Judith’s green eyes, he was spoken for whether he knew it or not.
Gemma tried a soft reassuring smile at the other woman, but it was not returned. Etiquette required a curtsy, so Gemma offered it to them with practiced grace.
“Would you care to dance, Lady Gemma?” the gentleman Hawke had referred to as Everett asked her, extending a hand. Then he glanced to her brother. “With your brother’s permission, of course.”
Hawke nodded and lifted Gemma’s arm toward Everett.
Not that I have a choice. “I’d be delighted, sir,” she replied, and slipped her hand onto the gentleman’s proffered arm. If nothing else, it would get her out from under the watchful eye of her overzealous brother for a few brief moments.
Hawke had become unbearable over the past few months. As though he had nothing better to do in life than find his poor ruined sister a suitable prospective mate.
Fortunately, as dance partners went, Mr. Everett was exceptional. It was a quadrille, and the movement of the dance offered Gemma a grand view of the ballroom. Since she did not have to worry about her feet being unduly trampled, she had adequate time to search the room. If Sir Wilde was there, she would see him.
Gemma had written him letters, explaining why she had left Town, but he hadn’t once replied. If only she could speak with him for a moment, she was certain she could clear the air, and eventually her parents would acquiesce. Wilde was well-connected and not wholly untitled. And she loved him. Surely they would see that.
“Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but you seem preoccupied. Are you troubled?” Mr. Everett asked. Concern marked his clear blue eyes as he escorted her off the floor.
“I apologize, Mr. Everett.” Embarrassment burned in her cheeks.
“It’s quite all right, Lady Gemma. It’s not the first time a lovely lady was woolgathering in my presence. I have that effect on many. I fear my dancing leaves something to be desired.”
“Not at all, sir. You are a remarkable partner.”
A wry grin creased his lips. “Perhaps simply stunned to silence by my rugged good looks, then?”
Gemma regarded him a moment. He was handsome. With his thick brown hair and eyes the color of bachelor’s buttons, he was nothing to sneeze at. She hadn’t noticed before, not that it mattered a whit. Her heart belonged to Colin Wilde.
When she didn’t answer right away, Everett shifted his weight to his other foot and glanced over her shoulder toward the dance floor. “Your silence is most reassuring.”
“Oh dear, I do apologize, Mr. Everett.” The shame burned her ears.
“Not to worry, my lady. Fortunately, my ego is nothing if not resilient. I shall simply bid you adieu, return to the corner, and lick my wounds. Before you know it, I’ll be dancing again with another young lady, equally as affected by my charms no doubt.”
A glint of humor danced in his eyes as he smiled and bowed over her hand to plant a chaste kiss on her glove. Then he deposited her neatly with her brother and made his way to the refreshment table.
“That seemed to go well,” Hawke said, nodding after the retreating Everett.
Gemma struggled to keep from rolling her eyes at him. “I believe I’ll see myself to the ladies’ lounge.”
“Yourself? No, I think not. I shall escort you.”
“Truly? To the ladies’ lounge, my lord?”
It was her brother’s turn to blush crimson. “I beg your pardon, sister. I meant only to see you safely to the door.”
Gemma was relatively certain she could make it the twenty steps unmolested. She shook her head to show her disdain, then glanced toward the door to the corridor and froze.
Colin.
****
Colin eagerly scanned the room. He needed an escape. Actually he needed several escapes. If he went back into Hades, what normal blokes would call the library, he would have to deal with his two well-meaning friends. And he wasn’t altogether sure he could speak without blubbering like an idiot or shooting someone.
His days were predictable like that. He was either so depressingly morose that he wanted to jump out of his window, or anger clouded his thoughts and vision so much that he was unable to think straight, let alone make sound decisions.
The only way out was in. Straight into the lion’s den, also known as the ton. He
lifted his eyes heavenward, shrugged his shoulders, and took a deep breath.
Only the breath stayed in his body when it should have been expelled, for the minute his eyes focused on the woman across the room, he was unable to do anything but stare. He could feel his body tense as heat made its way through him until he thought he might explode.
Gemma.
Slowly, he exhaled, and then of course, he did something stupid.
With a sneer, Colin tilted his head in her direction, promptly pulled the first woman he saw to him, and patted her bottom.
Lucky for him, it was the Widow Darlington, a lady who had already made known her desire for an assignation.
Guilt gnawed at his insides as he watched Gemma’s face fall. Was that a tear? She pushed through the crowds and disappeared.
Lady Darlington giggled next to him. “My dear boy, was that an invitation?”
Colin straightened and gave her a cool glare. “Not at all. It was merely a test to see if the goods were as worthwhile as you boasted.”
“And?” She purred.
“I find you lacking.” He smirked and walked off, wanting very much to trip on his own feet and knock himself out so he wouldn’t have to look at himself in the mirror in the morning.
He was living in a pit of his own making, and he had no clue how to get out of it. And rather than try to climb out of the dark hole he daily found himself in, he decided the only way out was to dig deeper.
So he’d read Anthony’s journal and dug.
He dug until his fingers bled.
And all he had to show for it was more darkness and more emptiness. Then again, what did one expect when they were digging holes?
With a curse, he walked in the direction where Gemma had disappeared. The last thing he wanted to do was apologize, but he could not go on with the rest of the Season and pretend their history did not exist. Closure. He needed closure, and the only way he knew how to achieve that was to have the final laugh, the end scene.
He nodded to his peers as he slowly paced around the room until he found the darkened hallway he was certain Gemma had taken.
Ah, the ladies’ lounge.
He waited in the shadows.
Within minutes, Gemma emerged.
Saints alive, he had forgotten how beautiful she was. Smooth red hair was piled high above her head, her soft cheekbones had the glow of youth, and her lips were just begging for a kiss.
Let them beg.
“My lady.” Colin stepped out of the shadows only long enough to pull her around the corner where they would not be seen. “May I have a word?”
Her lower lip trembled. She stared at him and nodded her head, just once.
“I will think of you no more,” Colin said, though his words seemed to tremble as they poured out of his mouth.
Gemma’s eyes widened. A blush stained her cheeks. “What if I say I will think of you forever?”
“Then you are a fool,” he spat, though his heart thumped wildly against his chest.
“I may be a fool, but at least I am not a coward.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, her chin nearly resting on his chest.
“Coward?” Minutes ago Colin had wanted to kill Anthony; now he was grateful, for at least he knew how to use his rakish charms against Gemma. Allow her to believe in his cool indifference when really all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms and never let go.
“Yes, I believe that is what I said. You are a coward.” Gemma’s blue eyes were glossy with unshed tears.
“I see.” Colin slowly inhaled her scent and reached to tilt her chin toward his mouth. Before he lost his nerve, he crushed his lips against hers, relishing the memory of their first kiss. The day that changed everything. The day she abandoned him and chose her family over love.
Her mouth was so soft, softer than he remembered. It was everything he wanted — everything he needed. For a minute the darkness didn’t seem so dark. The hole seemed not so deep. But it was an illusion, for she could not be trusted — not as a friend and surely not as a lover. She would stomp on whatever was left of his heart and leave him in utter darkness, even deeper in the hole of his own making.
With a laugh, he pushed her away. “Still as innocent as I remember. Thank you for reminding me, dear Gemma.”
She stared at him in breathless shock. “Reminding you of what?”
“What I’m missing, of course.”
Her eyes shined with a sudden hope. Hope he knew he would crush as surely as she had crushed his by rejecting his love last Season without as much as a goodbye. He answered her silent question.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I bid you goodnight.”
Chapter Three
A rake must at all times feign indifference, for if a man seems too interested, he risks losing the thrill of the chase. After all, what man desires to chase after a woman when she is already his to begin with? Indifference, my friends! Do not easily offer your smile, nor your attention. Make them beg for your gaze, your touch, your very words. And when the woman finally begs, when you have her in your clutches, simply take what you want and leave. It is as simple as that. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox
The words cut like a hot blade straight into her heart. The memory of his lips burned on hers, but his eyes were smoldering dark steel.
Gemma could say nothing to him in response. The thick emotion in her throat made speech impossible, even if she could piece together a suitable response. They say the line between love and hate is a thin one. Colin had crossed over. She saw it in his eyes. He hated her. And she hated that she loved him still.
Swallowing back the inevitable sob, Gemma spun on her heel and fled.
She couldn’t stay there. Not another moment. She would find Hawke and make him take her home.
Back inside the ballroom, she scanned the dancers for signs of her brother. He was nowhere to be seen. Twirling about, she searched the outskirts of the room. Again, no Hawke.
The irony served only to nauseate her further. He had been keeping such a close eye on her every moment, so much so that he had suggested following her to the ladies’ lounge, and yet now when she truly needed him, he had disappeared into oblivion.
Groaning inwardly, she knew she would have to return to the corridor. She only hoped she would not encounter Colin once more. With a deep breath, she resolved to find her brother, no matter what it took.
Perhaps if she hadn’t been so lost in her despair, she would have sensed someone behind her before turning abruptly, slamming straight into the broad chest of Lord Maddox, the husband of Gemma’s bosom friend, Bridget. He grunted at the impact.
“Pardon me, my lady,” he muttered breathlessly.
“Oh Lord Maddox! I am so sorry!” Gemma felt overwrought. All she wanted was to find her brother and leave that place.
“Lady Gemma?” He grasped her elbow to steady her on her feet. “Are you injured?”
“No, my lord. Only embarrassed. I should have taken more care with my direction.”
“No harm done, my dear.” Lord Maddox glanced around them as though searching out the reason for her haste. “Is anything amiss? You seem rather distraught.”
“Everything is well. I was just on my way to find my brother. Have you seen Lord Van Burge, perchance?”
“Yes, indeed. I just came from the tables where I persuaded him to take my place in the game. He is there still. May I escort you to him?”
“No. Thank you, my lord. I can manage.” He released her and nodded, but as he stepped away, a sudden fear gripped Gemma. If she were to meet with Colin again, she would be alone. She needed someone to provide a buffer between her heart and the man’s scorn. “Lord Maddox!” Her voice faltered into a frantic squeak.
He spun around to face her. His expression betrayed his concern. “Yes?”
“I… I would like you to escort me. Thank you. For offering.”
His golden-green eyes sparkled with humor, as if he knew why she’d changed her m
ind and couldn’t help but mock her pain. After all, he and Colin were as thick as pirates in the West Indies.
Gemma’s stomach turned uneasily, but she took his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her into the gentlemen’s gaming den.
“There he is.” Lord Maddox lifted a hand to gesture toward Hawke, who seemed deep in conversation with the gentlemen at his table. Not surprisingly, they were the same fellows he had introduced her to earlier in the evening. Mr. Everett, Mr. Sumner, and Mr. Percival laughed raucously at the point he had just made.
“I see him, thank you.”
“Then I shall excuse myself, my lady, to locate my party, by your leave.”
“Of course, my lord.”
She made her way closer to her brother, hoping to get his attention without having to engage in pleasantries with the other gentlemen at the table. All she wanted was to go home.
His table was near the corner of the room, located just behind a pillar. As Gemma drew up behind him, pieces of the conversation from the table floated to her ears.
“That, gentlemen, is why I removed my sister from London for the winter.”
“You say your parents were against the match?”
“They were once I finished my description of the fellow. And, of course, his abysmal rank of knight served only to support my cause.” The others laughed at his mocking tone. “You know, of course, I’ve never liked Sir Wilde. I have no intention of letting him worm his way into my sister’s affections.”
“She certainly deserves the best,” one of the gentlemen added. Gemma believed the voice to be that of Mr. Everett. Though she could not see clearly from her place behind the pillar.
“Right. And Wilde is nothing but a pretender. His reputation comes purely from the company he keeps. None of it is of his own doing. And now, look at him. I was right to keep them apart. He has deteriorated into the worst sort of creature.”
“How long did he continue in his suit?”
“Weeks. Months. Even after I ceased sending the missives on her behalf.”
Taming Wilde Page 2