The Widow Wager (3 page)

“I was just explaining to your ungrateful wretch of a sister how she is to wed this fine gentleman,” her father continued.

Mary made a strangled sound in her throat and her grip on Gemma’s hand became tighter. “Wed!” she repeated. “No, Papa, you cannot mean that.”

“But I most definitely do,” he drawled, his hard smile once again falling on Gemma. “It will happen, girl. Tonight. I have already arranged for a special license.”

Gemma’s lips parted. “A special license?” She shook her head. “That means…that means you have had this planned for some time.”

His eyebrows lifted and he inclined his head slightly. “Someone had to make you worthwhile.”

“So you intended to wager with any man…no, you would have had to know your mark.” She spun on Flynn. “Did you know his intentions, Mr. Flynn?”

Flynn blinked a few times, but the bleariness in his stare didn’t clear. “I didn’t know anything.” He hiccupped.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She tended to believe him. After all, aside from his intervention when he thought her father might commit violence, he wasn’t interacting in this situation in the slightest. It seemed he was a victim, perhaps not as much as she was since he had made his own choices, but a victim nonetheless.

She returned her attention to her father, still piecing together his repugnant plan bit by bit. “So does Mr. Flynn lose regularly? Fall deep into his cups like this?”

Her father shrugged and Mary let out another cry. “Oh, Papa!”

Gemma ignored her sister’s outburst. Mary might be ashamed or saddened by this turn of events, but Gemma was far beyond that. She was enraged. She had never been so angry in her life.

She gritted her teeth, hoping to maintain some dignity rather than screech at her father. “You
planned
to get him drunk and make a bet with him where you knew he would lose. Where you knew he would be forced to take me as his bride.” When her father said nothing, she shook her head. “Do you hate me so much?”

He folded his arms. “I don’t think of you enough to hate you, Gemma.”

She flinched despite all attempts to stay serene.

“You don’t mean that,” Mary whispered, gripping Gemma’s hand with both of her own now. “You are both angry and—”

“There is no need to make peace,” Gemma interrupted. She never took her eyes off her father. “We are beyond that now.”

Mary shut her mouth.

“You had a chance to elevate us,” her father growled. “And you failed. This is the only way to get rid of you, bring in an income to this household, and perhaps your sister will have better luck.”

She felt Mary stiffen at her side and her stomach turned. Her father would barter with his youngest daughter just as he had with her.

“You cannot be serious,” her sister cried. “Please Papa, reconsider. You cannot truly mean to sell Gemma off to this…this…drunken stranger.”

Gemma watched as her father’s lips thinned in anger. He stepped closer. “You will shut your mouth, Mary Elizabeth, or you will not be pleased with the results.”

Gemma pulled her closer. “Don’t threaten her.”

“Please, we must all be calm,” Mary pleaded. “This isn’t happening.”

Their father glared at them. “You two, thick as thieves. You want to save her, Mary?”

Mary nodded swiftly. “Yes. Stop this, I beg of you.”

“Then perhaps you should be the one to take the bargain,” their father snapped.

“No!” Gemma cried, drawing her sister behind her, as if she could protect her. That was a joke. There was no protecting herself, let alone anyone else. She had lived in terror of what Mary’s future would hold for years.

“One of you will marry Mr. Flynn tonight,” her father ground out through obviously clenched teeth. “The choice is up to you, Gemma.”

Gemma bit the inside of her lip until she could taste blood. She stared at Crispin Flynn, still standing across the room, silent in the face of all that was happening around him. She stared over her shoulder at her sister. Mary was an innocent, still filled with the belief that things could work out, that she could marry happily and well, and live a joyful life.

And finally she allowed her gaze to settle on her father. “I hate you,” she whispered, meaning every word.

“Gemma,” Mary shook her hand away and moved to stand before her sister. She gripped Gemma’s arms, her fingers digging into the cloth of her gown. “Please, no. No, don’t do this.”

“It’s all right,” Gemma said, even though they both knew that was wrong. A lie. She stiffened her spine. “I’ll do it.”

Her father’s smirk made her want to slap him, but she ignored it instead and looked at Flynn again. His face was drawn, not with anger, but something else. He swayed slightly, his hand tightened on the chair nearby to settle himself.

“Please, Gemma,” Mary whispered. “You have already given up so much.”

Gemma squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she cupped her sister’s face. “And that is why I will do this. You have never…you don’t know what a marriage would be like. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Tears began to stream down her sister’s face and Mary wrapped her arms around her. Her slim body trembled as she wept into Gemma’s shoulder.

“Hush,” Gemma soothed her, stroking a hand over her hair. “It will not be as bad as all that.”

Of course she didn’t believe that. Flynn had a bit of a reputation, one of scandal and sin. She had to believe he was capable of using her body and soul. Her life could be one of fear and torment.

She could only hope his being drunk would save her rather than put her in even more danger.

“Mary, go to your room,” her father said behind them, his voice sharp. “That is enough of this foolishness.”

The sisters parted and Mary stared at their father. “I cannot leave her.”

“You will,” he snapped. “Go to your room.”

Gemma squeezed her arm. “Just go, Mary.”

Her sister shook her head and touched Gemma’s face once more. “Send me word as soon as you can. Please. Please. I love you.”

Gemma bit back a sob. She didn’t want Mary’s last look to be of Gemma hysterical, even though that was exactly how she felt at the moment. She was controlling herself for the sake of Mary, of not letting her father or her now-future husband see her terror…but inside she was swiftly unraveling.

Once her sister had departed the chamber, she gasped for breath, turning away from the men and leaning on the sideboard. “What will happen now?” she asked.

“Now we leave for your marriage,” her father said, almost benignly.

She spun to face him. “Now? In the middle of the night?”

He nodded.

She covered her cheeks with her suddenly cold hands. “But my things, Kate—”

“It will all be handled.”

“Word will spread,” she continued. “People will know and it will—”

“We will leave
now
.”

The harshness of her father’s tone silenced her and she ground her teeth together before she exited the room, entering the foyer with as much dignity as she could muster.

Her fate was sealed. And there was nothing she could do but pray that she would wake up from this nightmare. Even though she knew she never would.

Crispin lifted his throbbing head from his hands and stared at Gemma. She was sitting on the edge of one of the chairs beside his fire, her back straight and her face devoid of emotion. It was only the slight trembling of her lip as she told him what had happened the night before that gave away any of her fears.

“My God,” he muttered, self-loathing rising in him.

Of course, hating himself was the normal place he lived—he was accustomed to it. This, though…this was magnified by the look of disdain on this woman’s face. By the fact that he had no idea what he had done to her.

“And then what happened?” He watched her face for a flinch, for pain.

Instead, she glared at him. “We all drove in your carriage to the home of some fat, smelly vicar who married us in what must be the shortest and worst marriage ceremony in history. I cried and you…”

She trailed off and Crispin rose to his feet. “What did I do?”

“I cannot believe you truly don’t remember what happened,” she whispered.

He shook his head. Neither did he, honestly. Of course, huge stretches of blank time were becoming more usual for him. Now he was staring at the ultimate consequence of his bad behavior.

“You said nothing except what was expected of you. You said nothing at all. You could have protested, you could have stopped this…but you said
nothing
.”

Her voice lifted on the last word and she sucked in a breath as she attempted to calm herself. He could hear her hatred and her rage with each ragged exhalation of her breath. And he deserved it all.

Crispin allowed her the effort a moment before he softly asked, “And after?”

“We came here and my father hustled us to this room.” She stared at him, expression unreadable.

Crispin’s stomach turned. “And?”

“And what?” she asked.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “You are a widow, yes? You must know what I’m asking. Did I touch you? Did I…did I
force
you to do something you didn’t want to do?”

Surprise lit up in her dove gray eyes. “I—are you asking if we consummated the marriage?”

“I’m asking if I did something I cannot take back,” he said. “I’m asking if I hurt you.”

Her full lips parted a fraction, but then her face hardened back to the mask of disgust and anger. “You did hurt me,” she said, “But to answer your question, you never touched me.”

He sagged in relief back onto the settee. “Thank God.”

Her nostrils flared. “Do you often take advantage of women while in your cups?”

He jerked his face toward her. Now her anger was joined by a deeper fear that stabbed him in the heart.

“Never,” he reassured her. “I have never forced any woman to do anything, I promise you.”

“Then why so much fear about me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have also never married a woman in the middle of the night. And with such contempt and loathing on your face, such fear when you rolled over and saw I was awake, I just…I wasn’t certain that I hadn’t gone too far at last.”

She folded her arms. “You don’t think that taking part in this scheme with my father to force our union is going too far?”

He cleared his throat. “You have a point there, Gemma.”

“Lady Laurelcross,” she corrected coldly.

He arched a brow. So her late husband had been titled. He hadn’t known that. Of course, he didn’t know anything about this woman before him. His wife, apparently.

“Not Lady Laurelcross anymore, I fear,” he said gently.

Her face crumpled and tears welled up in her eyes. She struggled against them admirably, but her misery still clung to every frown, every tear that sparkled on her lashes but did not fall. Misery he had caused this lovely stranger by his wild, immature actions.

“However, since you do not feel I have earned the right to call you by your given name, a fact I do not refute,” he said, “I am happy to address you more formally. My lady, I am sorry.”

She drew back at the simple, yet heartfelt apology that came from his lips. She examined him closely.

“Are you, Mr. Flynn?”

Crispin got back to his feet and paced away from her. At this moment, she despised him and there was no getting around that. His words to her meant nothing, perhaps because in her account there had been so few of them so far.

Great God, how was this possible?

“Mr. Flynn?” she asked, and he realized he had been silent for far too long.

“I need to think,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head still throbbed, but he did his best to ignore it. “This cannot be legal.”

Behind him, she let out a rather unladylike snort and he found she had taken a seat beside his fire. She was watching him still, that strange focus burning into him when he turned to look at her.

“I’m certain it is not legal,” she admitted, her voice as icy as a winter wind. “But does it truly matter?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his chest beginning to tighten.

She shrugged. “I know my father. By now he has already begun spreading the word far and wide that we wed last night. I’m certain he used words like
whirlwind courtship
and waxed poetic about you sweeping me away with his happy blessing. No one will believe it, but the rumors will spread, nonetheless.”

Bile rose in Crispin’s throat, choking him once more. He swallowed hard. “Why? Why would he do this? Why would he create this grand plan to entrap me in a wager? He asked for nothing that I recall. So why would he give you away?”

She flinched at his question, and he wished he could snatch the words back. Damn, but he was a clod sometimes. Why could he not think before he spoke? Or acted? Or drank?

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he began.

She held up a hand. “No need for apologies, Mr. Flynn. I know where I stand with my father. I have for years. I am an albatross to him, you see.”

Crispin stared at her again, letting his gaze flit over her fine form before he settled on her lovely face. “Why?”

Her lips thinned. “I’m certain if you ask around, you will get some version of the truth.”