Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(21)

“And tomorrow? What do I do tomorrow?”

Anthony pulled out a cheroot and lit it. “Tomorrow, my friend, is a new day. But I imagine if you put this rake business behind you, you will see life isn’t as bad as you’ve made it out to be.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.” Anthony slapped him on the back. “The best remedy for a broken heart is not to get under the first woman you see, or over, if you get my meaning. Time. Time is the best remedy. Well, that and tea with a splash of whiskey, but that was always my preference. Go home, Wilde.”





Chapter Ten


Gentlemen, there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to ask himself the question, “Am I a rake? Or simply a gentleman who believes himself to be a rake, when truly all I want to do is sit on my backside and read?” If you paused after asking yourself this question, you have your answer. If you asked the question in the first place, then it is safe to say you never were a rake to begin with. For rakes do not question their purpose. They define it. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



Gemma couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder toward Colin as Mr. Everett led her back up the path. They had left him there, lying in the dirt. It ground against every fiber of her being to leave him there without providing assistance, making sure he was well.

How forlorn he’d looked there in the shadows, cursing the tree that had fallen him. Her heart had gone to him, but her escort would not allow it. What had he said to her? He would not have her ruined. By helping an injured man? Everett had seemed the most congenial of Hawke’s friends, but he was proving to be like every other man in her life: wanting to control her and keep her under his thumb.

Her mind returned to Colin. Only he had not tried to control her. He had ever been the gentleman.

“The fireworks are lovely, are they not?” Everett’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Lovely,” she answered half-heartedly.

Everett patted her hand on his arm and smiled. “Do not fret about Sir Wilde, my dear. Men like him are never alone for long.”

No doubt he meant it to comfort her, but his words had the opposite effect. Her throat tightened, and she glanced over her shoulder once more.

“What do you mean?”

“Only that men of his reputation are never lonely long. Someone will come along to—” He cut off the thought, seeming to suddenly remember with whom he was speaking. “Think no more on him, sweet. Let us speak of something more worthy.”

“More worthy? What might that be, Mr. Everett?”

He smiled warmly, and a surreptitious twinkle lit his eyes. Lifting his hand, he gestured to a marble bench just off the path. She followed him to it and sat where he indicated.

“We might speak of the stars,” he said, as he took the seat next to her and pointed to the sky.

Gemma looked up at the inky black sky, where the stars blinked back at her. They had never held much fascination for her. Hardly a worthy subject, as he had put it.

“We might speak of the flowers,” he said and slid closer, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture at the bushes around them.

She glanced at the blooms, tightly closed up for the night all around her. Their fragrance hung faintly in the air, but they seemed shriveled and tired.

His warmth seemed to increase at her side, and she knew he was drawing closer still. Far too close for appropriate association.

It was then Gemma realized Pearl was no longer with them. The girl had been so quiet, Gemma wasn’t entirely certain at what point she had left them.

“We might speak of your lips,” Everett said, leaning ever nearer.

No. No. No. Gemma cringed inwardly, but held herself together enough to sound confident and in complete control of her own emotions.

“That hardly sounds like a proper subject, sir.” She was afraid to look at him. Afraid it might give him the impression of an invitation. Instead she looked anywhere but at him, then abruptly stood, wringing her hands. “Whatever happened to Pearl?”

“Your lady’s maid? Your brother had need of her.” He reached for her arm and pulled her back down to the bench. “Do not worry, Lady Gemma. We are completely alone here.”

“That is what worries me, sir.”

He laughed. It sounded like a mixture of amusement and irritation. “You have nothing to fear of me, dear Gemma.”

His familiar use of her name drove an icy shock through her.

“My brother would never allow me to be alone with a man, Mr. Everett. Surely he did not intend for my maid to leave me without a chaperone. It was his order that she accompany us in the first place.”

“It is your brother who chose this moment to call her. It is his dearest wish that you and I come to an understanding, my love.”

Gemma tried to stand again, to put space between them. Hawke would never put her in this position! Alone in Vauxhill Gardens at night with a man? Everett held her arm tightly, refusing to grant her retreat.

“Come, sweet. It is my intention to marry you. Your family approves. You yourself have told me I am preferable to Percival and Sumner. And I am certain, given half the chance, I can convince you of the reasons you would prefer me to any other man.” He lifted her chin toward him with his free hand and inclined his head toward her.

She tried to pull away, but he held her in place. His lips slowly descended. She closed her eyes, not out of passion, but out of complete disgust. So this was how it was going to happen? She would be ruined in Vauxhill Gardens, ruined to marry the man of her brother’s choosing — a man who was completely like her brother in every way. No doubt her brother had the whole thing planned out. Any moment now he would burst through the brush with two or three witnesses to catch them in the act, then force them to be married. The thought was revolting.