The Widow Wager (22 page)

Those two words hit him in the already tight and tingling balls, and he began to pound against her, thrusting wildly even as the tiny part of him that wasn’t drunk reminded him about her pleasure.

But her pleasure didn’t seem to be an issue. Leaving one hand on the desk edge to steady herself, she snaked the other between her legs and began to stroke herself in time to his thrusts. Soon she bucked, her cries growing louder and her body milking him with her release. His control was gone thanks to drink and high emotion, and he clasped her hips as he thrust a few more times, then came deep inside of her clenching body.

Without a word, he withdrew and swept her into his arms. He returned to the settee where they had begun and perched her in his lap. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder. They were quiet for a long time before she lifted her head and studied him.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He blinked, his mind still reeling from both the drink and the power of their joining. “For what?”

She blushed again, despite what they had just shared. “For not making me feel…damaged. Or unwanted.” She turned her face. “That sounds silly.”

He caught her chin and kept her looking at him. “You are not damaged, Gemma Flynn. And you are most definitely wanted.”

She smiled at him and he caught his breath. This was not a smile he had seen before. This expression was just for him. And it hit him in the gut like a punch before she settled her head back on his shoulder with another little, satisfied sigh.

Later, when he was sober, he knew he would lament his increasingly tangled feelings for his new wife. He knew he would punish himself for allowing her to pierce even a tiny fraction of the armor he had carefully built around himself over more than a year.

But for now, he merely held her close and enjoyed the pound of her heartbeat which so closely matched his own.

Gemma kept reminding herself that she shouldn’t be upset. She told herself that it was better this way. But as she stared at the empty seat her husband should be sitting in, sharing a luncheon with her and Mary, her heart still sank.

It had been this way for four days. Since her sister’s arrival, Crispin had been more and more scarce around their home. During the day he left, telling her muddled stories about potential investments and financial meetings that she found herself praying were the truth. And he came home after supper many a night, only to join her and Mary for after-dinner drinks.

He never missed the after-dinner drink.

Of course, he never missed joining her in their bed, either. His lovemaking was as ardent and pleasurable as ever. But she still felt him pulling away, peeling himself from her day-to-day life.

What surprised her most was how much she missed him.

“Are you even listening?” Mary’s laughing tone interrupted her reverie and Gemma jerked to pay attention.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she said with a shake of her head. “Woolgathering.”

“Mooning, you mean.” Mary smiled and Gemma couldn’t help but join her. One very positive development in those same four days had been that when Crispin was around, he had worked very hard at earning Mary’s regard.

And it was working. Of course it was. When he made even the barest attempt, he could be devastatingly charming.

“Will your Notorious Flynn be joining us today?” Mary teased.

Gemma pursed her lips. “Oh, don’t call him that, Mary. It isn’t respectful.”

“He laughs when I do it,” Mary insisted. “And I would never outside these walls. But
is
he coming?”

Gemma bent her head. “I-I don’t know. He didn’t exactly inform me about his plans.”

Mary’s smile fell, and after the servant had taken her empty plate and left the room, she leaned forward to touch her sister’s arm. “He cares about you, Gemma.”

She pursed her lips, embarrassed by the statement. “Does he now?”

Mary nodded. “He does, indeed. It’s obvious.”

Gemma laughed, though she felt anything but amused. “Obvious how?”

Mary shrugged. “The way he talks about you when you aren’t in the room says it all.”

Leaning back, Gemma stared at her sister. “What do you mean he talks about me when I’m not in the room? When?”

“I don’t know. Oh, like last night. You left the parlor to deal with some question from the kitchen. The moment you were gone, Crispin was going on and on about you.”

Gemma lifted her eyebrows. “This comes as a surprise to me.” She hesitated, for she should simply let it stand, but her curiosity was raised and she found herself whispering, “What does he say about me?”

The moment she asked the question, she heard how desperate—even pathetic—it sounded. After all, Crispin was likely only telling Mary nice things to get in her sister’s good graces and convince Mary he wasn’t the monster she had built up.

“He said you were a fine woman,” Mary said.

Gemma’s frown drew deeper. He would likely say the same about the cook.

“He said he was lucky to have you placed in his lap.”

Gemma jerked her gaze to her sister. Certainly that was not something Crispin would say about the cook. And in some small, sad, lonely part of her, she ached.

“Well, I think we are both lucky,” she managed to say, her throat suddenly dry. “Either of us could have done much worse in a forced union.”

“But you think more highly of him that that,” Mary said, making a face. “I know you do.”

Gemma took a breath, uncertain how to explain her complicated thoughts to her still-innocent sister, but she was saved when the door to the dining room opened and Crispin himself stepped inside.

She pushed to her feet. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello,” he said with a quick smile for them both.

“Would you like lunch?” Gemma asked. “We have just finished, but I’m certain—”

“No, no,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I ate at Annabelle and Marcus’s.”

She flinched. So that was where he had been. Calling on his family. Without her. “I hope they are well.”

He nodded. “Yes, very well. And I bumped into Rafe there as well. He said he had something to discuss with all of us, including you, Mary. So he is on my very heels.”

Mary tensed. “So I shall finally meet this duke.”

Gemma turned her attention away from her husband and to her sister. “Don’t fret, he is not a scary duke. He’s the most unduke-like duke I’ve ever met.”

“Tell him that, he’ll love it,” Crispin said, smiling, but she could see his distraction. That same distraction that had stood like a wall between them for days.

“Well, we needn’t have this discussion of his in the dining room,” Gemma said. “Why don’t we go to the blue parlor? It’s my favorite in the house and has comfortable seating for us all.”

Crispin nodded and offered her his arm. She hesitated a moment before she took it and his eyes darkened at that fact. But he said nothing as he led her from the room, her sister a few steps behind them.

“Is everything all right?” she dared to ask.

He glanced down at her as they entered the blue parlor, and he released her. “Of course,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. He moved to the side bar and stared at the liquor, but to her surprise, he took nothing. He merely leaned back against the edge.

Within a moment, Fletcher appeared in the doorway with Rafe at his side. “The Duke of Hartholm,” he intoned, as seriously as if he were announcing him at a formal ball.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gemma caught Crispin flinch at the use of his brother’s title. But then he smiled. “Hello, Rafe. Fletcher, can you get some refreshments for everyone?”

The butler bowed out and Crispin stepped forward. “Your Grace, may I present Miss Mary Quinn, Gemma’s sister.”

Mary blushed, rubbing her hands on her skirts before she held one out to Rafe. She bobbed a curtsey as he took it. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

Rafe laughed and shot a look at his brother. “You told her I’m a fop, didn’t you?”

Mary looked to Gemma with confusion. “I-I’m sorry, Your Grace?”

Rafe shook his head and placed his second hand over Mary’s. “My dear, I have only been duke for a blink of an eye and I never wanted the job in the first place. You are family now so you must call me Rafe, at least when the world isn’t watching. I do hate being Your Graced.”

Mary smiled, as everyone did when faced with Rafe’s charm, and nodded. “Very well, Rafe. I do appreciate what you and your wife are offering to do for me. I hope it will not put you out.”

He released her hand. “Not at all. Serafina looks forward to it especially.”

Gemma stepped forward and Rafe leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Hello, Rafe. How is Serafina?”

“So very well.” His eyes lit up at the subject and Gemma barely resisted the urge to look away. “She is almost fully healed from the birth of the baby and is looking forward to resuming normalcy. Or as close as she gets to it with me in the house.”

They all laughed at his self-deprecating humor as a maid entered the room with a tray of refreshments. Gemma sat on the settee, her sister beside her, and poured the tea. “Crispin tells us you have something to discuss with us all.”

Rafe took the cup she offered and settled into as chair. Crispin pressed his lips together when she lifted the pot in his direction, but nodded
slowly and came to sit on the chair across from his brother.

“There is a ball tomorrow night that is being hosted by Lord and Lady Elsworth,” Rafe began. “And Serafina has ensured that you and Crispin are invited to it.”

Gemma blinked. “Mary and Crispin?”

Rafe shook his head. “No, not Mary. Not yet. Serafina has plans for you, Mary, and I will get to them in a moment. For tomorrow’s gathering, it is Gemma and Crispin who have been invited.”

Crispin clenched his fists. “I don’t want to go to some bloody earl’s soiree.”

“He’s a marquis, actually,” Rafe said with a glare in his brother’s direction. “And if you let me finish, I shall explain why this has been arranged.”

Crispin rolled his eyes. “
Fine
.”

“You know there is much talk about the union between you,” Rafe said. “Thanks to your father bragging in an attempt to force you to stay together, the
ton
has tongues a wagging. Serafina believes if you come to this event, show that you are truly together, perhaps even play up that you have some affection for each other…”

Gemma looked at Crispin when his brother said those words, but her husband remained focused on Rafe. She frowned.

“…then you could quiet some of it,” Rafe finished. “And we can also set the stage for Mary with a few comments from me and some hints about the second event that will happen this week.”

“Second event?” Gemma asked.

Rafe smiled at Mary. “My wife thinks that by Saturday she will be well enough to play hostess, and so we will be having a ball at our home. To celebrate the birth of Little Crispin, the marriage of Big Crispin and you, and also to announce our support for Miss Mary Quinn.”

Mary’s eyes were wide. “A fresh coming out?”

Rafe nodded. “Yes. And of course we will pay for a beautiful new gown for you, Mary. You can come tomorrow while Crispin and Gemma are at the ball and be fitted with Serafina at your side—if that is amenable to you, Gemma.”

Gemma was about to agree when Crispin pushed to his feet. “I will pay for Mary’s new gowns, Rafe.”

Gemma froze at the look on her husband’s face. He was infuriated, but also humiliated as he glared down at the brother he loved so much and yet had such a complicated relationship with.

Rafe hesitated, but then inclined his head. “Of course, Crispin. I did not mean to tread into your responsibilities. I will have the dressmaker bill you if that is your preference.”

“It is,” Crispin said, his tone icy as he stomped once more to the sideboard and the liquor there.

Rafe swallowed, and for a moment he looked at Gemma. She saw he was as concerned as she was about Crispin’s drinking. And that struck even deeper fear in her. They both looked at her husband, but Crispin was only holding a bottle in his hands. He had not yet poured himself a drink.

“Is this arrangement to your liking otherwise?” Rafe asked softly.

Crispin turned, setting the bottle back in its place as he moved. “Do I want to go to a stuffy ball, either yours or this Elsworth’s? No. Will I in order to repair any damage I’ve done and to help ease Mary’s transition back into Society? Of course.”

Gemma let out a sigh of relief and she thought she saw Rafe do the same as he stood.

“Then it is settled. Serafina will send you all the details for both balls, Gemma, and arrangements for Mary to join her tomorrow for her first fitting. And I am off.”

“Actually,” Crispin said, stepping forward. “I have something else to discuss with you. In private.”

Gemma tensed as she pushed to her feet. “Well, Mary and I can go up to my room. It seems I must choose a gown of my own for the ball tomorrow and I could use her assistance.”

Rafe nodded. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night, Gemma. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Mary.”

Mary said something appropriate and all but skipped from the room. Gemma moved slower, watching Crispin as she crossed to him. She touched his arm and he looked at her. His expression felt so very empty, so very blank that her heart hurt. What had she done?