The Widow Wager (26 page)

It strangely put him to mind of the way she moved when they made love, and the longer he watched, the more enamored he became of her grace. Why did she have to be so damned perfect in so many ways?

“You are quiet tonight,” she finally said, breaking the silence as they touched hands and then broke apart once more.

He smiled. “I could say the same about you.”

“Am I?” she asked, all innocence, though her deep blush told him that she had been caught.

“Indeed. You have been since you were fitted for that gloriously beautiful gown yesterday afternoon. Tell me, did Serafina say something to hurt your feelings?”

Her eyes went wide. “You know she would never do such a thing!”

They twirled away from each other briefly, circling around another couple before they returned to touch hands once more. God, it was electric every time.

“Well, it cannot be because you don’t like the gown,” he continued. “Because it is most fetching. I don’t think you’ve ever been so beautiful.”

She stumbled in one of her steps and looked around to be certain she hadn’t trod on any toes. When they touched this time, he saw her face flicker with the same awareness as his own. He pulled her a touch too close and her breath hitched.

“Crispin,” she whispered.

He didn’t allow her to say more, for they spun away, hands in and then out. For the rest of the song, she said nothing, but focused intently on every movement she made.

He frowned. Whatever was troubling her was deep, indeed. Worse, he was beginning to suspect it had nothing to do with gowns or even Mary and her future.

He feared that Gemma was so distant because of
him
. But didn’t he deserve it? For the past week, since the afternoon her sister had come to stay with them, he had been more and more withdrawn.

How could he explain to her that it was because he wanted her too much, he liked her too much? How could he say that he was forced to push her away? There was no way to say those words and make them sound anything but foolish and cruel. They would open him up to explanations he did not want to make to her…to anyone.

The song ended and she curtseyed to his bow, then slowly reached out to take his hand. He led her from the dance floor and on the edge, he stopped.

“How can I make you smile again?” he asked.

She blinked. “I am smiling.”

With a shake of his head, he murmured, “Not with your eyes.”

Those same eyes went wide, dilated as she opened her mouth and shut it again, as if she struggled to speak. Sadly, she was not allowed to do it, for over her shoulder Crispin spotted two women coming toward him. All thoughts of Gemma faded as his world shrank. His life shrank. He everything shrank.

And in that moment he needed a drink more than anything.

Gemma struggled for words, but could find none, especially when Crispin’s gaze moved away from her and settled behind her. His cheeks paled and his eyes went wide. Heart pounding, she turned to find what had stolen his interest.

Approaching were two women, twin images of each other, with blonde hair and icy blue eyes. They were beauties, to be sure, and Gemma’s heart stuttered. Was one of them
her?
The
her
that had been built up in Gemma’s mind so much in less than twenty-four hours that it seemed everything in the world was about the stranger her husband apparently cared for?

The women lived up to her imagination.

“Crispin Flynn,” one of them hissed, her face a twisted mask of unadulterated rage. “How dare you?”

Crispin swallowed. “Imogen, Isadora, how lovely it is to see you. I did not realize you had been invited.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the second woman hissed, just as angry. “You would have hidden like a coward if you had.”

Gemma jolted. There was so much vitriol from these two that she had to believe one was his love.

“And you,” said the one who had spoken first, her attention on Gemma now. “
You
must be the fool who tricked him into your bed.”

Crispin stepped forward and insinuated himself between her and the women. “Have a care—this is my wife.”

Gemma touched his arm and then slipped from behind him. “We have not been introduced,” she managed to say, her voice shaking just as her hand shook when she held it out. “I am Gemma Flynn.”

Crispin made a pained sound in his throat. “These are Miss Imogen and Miss Isadora Brookfield.”

Neither woman took her hand, but both looked her up and down like she was trash.

“Was this what you were doing when you were ripping our sister into shreds?” the second twin asked.

Gemma’s gaze darted to Crispin’s face. So neither of them was
her
. Their sister was
her
. So where was she? Here lurking? Watching her sisters confront the man she loved and the wife she had to hate? Or was she home mourning her loss?

Gemma’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to watch Crispin. His face was filled with so much pain that she wished she could comfort him. But that would be very wrong right now.

“Enough,” he said softly. “That is not how it was.”

“Wasn’t it? You told people at the ball a few days ago that you loved this woman, that it was all a fairytale,” the first twin sneered. “I know, let’s ask Alice ourselves how it was. Oh no, we can’t. She isn’t here.”

Relief flooded Gemma for a moment. So the lady,
her
, was not watching. That was something. But she could not stand by while these beautiful harpies attacked Crispin.

“I do not know what your quarrel with my husband is,” she said, and now it was she who stepped between Crispin and the women. “But to address him in this fashion in his brother’s hall is not appropriate, whatever your anger stems from.”

The first twin looked her up and down and then laughed, though the sound had no pleasure to it. “You have found a champion, Flynn. Once again, far better than you deserve.” She turned her attention to Gemma, and the hate in her blue eyes was staggering. “You may convince yourself that you love him,
Gemma
Flynn
, but he is incapable of loving anyone but himself.”

Gemma’s eyes narrowed. “This is not my home, but I am going to ask you to leave.”

The sisters exchanged a glance and then flounced away toward the ballroom exit. Gemma exhaled a long breath and turned toward Crispin. He stood staring after them, his lips pressed so hard together that they were white. His shoulders were shaking.

“Crispin,” she whispered.

He jerked his head in an indication of the negative. “Don’t, Gemma. Please.”

He said nothing more, but went in the same direction the ladies had just departed. She watched him for a moment before her body seemed to make a decision all on its own and she followed.

He trailed through the ballroom, ignoring those around him, and out into the foyer. But he did not follow the departing ladies, as she had feared he might. Instead, he stumbled down the hallway and threw himself into a parlor, slamming the door behind him.

She stopped at the barrier, thrown up to keep her out likely more than anyone else. But she could not allow it. She would not. She reached out and opened the door, stepping into a dimly lit room and shutting it behind her.

He stood at a table beside the fire, his hands shaking as he uncorked a bottle. He didn’t wait to pour himself a drink, but tilted the bottle back to drink directly from it.

She let out a cry and rushed toward him. “Stop, Crispin! Stop!”

He lowered the bottle, swallowing before he set it down. “Go away, Gemma.”

She flinched, for there was no doubt he meant that order. And a part of her wanted to follow it. To depart the room and leave him to his drink and his loss and his feelings. Delving into them only opened her to what she knew was going to be a great deal of pain.

But as she stood there, staring at this man who was so utterly lost, she realized how deeply she cared for him. And if their future was together, she had no choice but to help him overcome his past. Or at least make herself aware of what she faced if this woman was still a part of his heart.

“Who is she?” she asked.

“Leave it alone,” he said, turning away from her.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to measure her erratic breathing. “Crispin,” she said, gentling her tone. “You said everyone has their secrets and that is true. But this secret seems to have consequences for me and I feel I have a right to know at least some facts.”

He turned on her. “How does any of this have consequences for you?”

She arched a brow. “Those two women…
her
sisters…just attacked you at a party meant to celebrate our supposedly loving marriage. If they are willing to do that within earshot of dozens of people, I’m certain they are saying worse elsewhere. Who is she? Who is this woman who meant so much to you that you spiraled into despair?”

“Who said
she
made me spiral into despair?” he asked, his tone suddenly sharp and his gaze focused.

“Annabelle heard you talk about her when she was watching you at Marcus’s club a few months ago. Serafina told me yesterday afternoon at my final fitting.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and a stream of curses left his lips that made Gemma blush to the tips of her ears. When he finally uncovered his face, he looked her in the eye. “That explains why you have been so odd over the last day. What did she say?”

“Not much,” she said, honest because she required the same of him. “No one knows much, if that is what worries you. Just that there might have been a woman who caused part of your…your breakdown over the past year. That coupled with Rafe’s situation took you over the edge.”

He let out his breath in something that resembled a chuckle, but there was nothing of light or humor on his handsome face. Just pain. So much pain.

“That is an apt description,” he murmured.

“And yes, hearing about this woman troubled me,” she continued. Her heart began to pound. “I-I was surprised to know that someone had so recently held your heart, and I fear—”

She broke off, the confession too close, too raw for her to say easily.

“What do you fear?” he asked in that same flat, awful tone that had come into his voice the moment he entered this room.

She swallowed hard. “I fear that she still holds it, Crispin. And I know we agreed that love would not come into our union, but the idea of a lady who holds something so close and dear to you roaming in our circles can’t help but make me anxious. Will she come to me at some point, as her sisters came to you, accusing me of stealing you? Will I bump into her at charity events and be forced to make polite conversations about the weather when we both know I have your bed and your name and she has your heart and your soul?”

“Please stop,” Crispin whispered.

It was the tone of his voice that made her obey. He sounded so broken, so lost, so filled with pain. She shut her mouth and waited, waited for him to be ready to respond to her questions and fears.

He leaned both hands on the back of the closest chair and took a few long breaths, as if he had to settle himself before he could speak. Think.

“You do not have to worry about seeing Alice,” he finally said, his voice low. “Alice is dead.”

Crispin was so on edge that Gemma’s gasp sounded like a gunshot. He wished it was, aimed straight at his heart so that he wouldn’t have to tell her this story. Wouldn’t have to say all the words that buzzed in his mind. But she was right.

She deserved to know the truth. No matter how much he hated it. No matter how it would make her see him for the bastard he was when he was finished. No matter how it tore him…and them…apart.

“I met Alice Brookfield at a country gathering eighteen months ago,” he began. “She was very pretty and she made me laugh.”

Gemma’s flinch was so slight that someone else might not have seen it, but he was so focused on her that he did. It was all about to get so much worse, he shuddered to think what she would do in a moment.

“I wasn’t looking for someone to take my heart,” he continued, turning his face so he wouldn’t see Gemma’s every inhalation, every blush. “But Alice pursued me in a way no lady ever had. There was this innocence to her, this sweetness that had never felt real with other women. After a few weeks, I was smitten, and it was then she revealed to me that she was supposed to marry in a fortnight.”