Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(23)

“What the devil!” a muffled voice said from a distance.

Colin couldn’t have cared less. He tugged on Gemma’s lower lip. Blazes, how she was sweet.

“Get off my sister!” A strong hand pulled Colin back from Gemma.

But he did not look to see to whom that hand belonged. No, all he wanted to see was the look of desire on Gemma’s face. Her eyes gave her away, she was just as affected as he, and suddenly he was transported back to an easier time. A more innocent time, where they had been able to kiss, to touch, to dream of a time when they could be together.

“After everything I have done to keep the two of you apart, you still fight me?” The marquess laughed and stood in front of Colin, blocking his view of Gemma. “Do you realize what could have happened? Ruined! You could have completely ruined her!”

Colin’s body turned cold. “Is that not what you had planned for this evening? To find your sister in the arms of a willing man in order to arrange her marriage to a man of your choosing?”

“Well, I—” Van Burge cleared his throat. “This does not concern you, Sir Wilde. Run along.”

“In truth, this concerns me a great deal. You caught your virgin sister in my embrace. That means—” Colin stated, rather boldly, considering the circumstances.

“It means if you have any sense left, you will not speak of this to anyone… ever.” He straightened his jacket and turned to Gemma.

Colin should have warned the man.

But then again, if she hadn’t thrown the first punch, Colin would have had to.

Her hand connected with her brother’s jaw with a sickening crack. Caught by surprise, he tumbled to the ground.

“How dare you!” she screamed at him.

“How dare I?” Van Burge laughed as he massaged his jaw. “I dare because I am your brother! I dare because you are my responsibility! And I will not see you engaged to a mere knight!”

Colin flinched. His eyes searched Gemma’s as her gaze locked with his.

“What would people say? You are the daughter of a duke, Gemma. Be reasonable.”

At that, Colin had to laugh. Clearly Van Burge was the least reasonable of the bunch, but he didn’t find it a prudent time to point that little fact out.

The marquess strode toward Colin. “If you dare pursue her again, I will end you. Do you understand?”

Colin looked past him to Gemma. She was shaking. Her entire body was slumped over in defeat.

“I understand.”

Van Burge grinned smugly and turned back to Gemma, but Colin wasn’t done speaking.

“I understand you are a terrible excuse for a brother, a rotten human being, and an altogether selfish individual. I understand, Van Burge, but I do not agree to the terms.” Colin inclined his head to Gemma and then slowly backed away from the scene. After all, the marquess was her legal guardian; he was also a man and could do anything he wanted with Gemma. But that didn’t mean Colin had to like it, nor did he have to stand by and watch her slowly crumble at the hands of her evil brother.

He had all but admitted to trying to keep them apart. The sting of rejection that was ever present in his chest began to ease as he realized that perhaps Gemma had been in love with him all along.





Chapter Eleven


Gentlemen, do not get down on yourselves if you are not able to keep up with the rakish lifestyle. Few succeed, and hundreds fail. Remember, there are worst things in this life. After all, you could be French. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



“A letter, m’lady,” the lady’s maid announced, bounding into the room as though she owned it. She tore back the drapes, and the sun sloshed into the room, burning through Gemma’s closed eyelids.

“Pearl…” she groaned. “Can it not wait until a decent hour?”

“No, m’lady. Orders from the marquess himself. The letter’s from yer mum!” she said, with far too much exuberance. Her admiration for Hawke fairly bubbled out and hung on the girl like leprosy.

Definitely akin to leprosy, Gemma thought as she stretched and peeled back her duvet reluctantly. Hawke was a scourge. Gemma had half a mind to marry the first sod to come along, if only to be rid of her brother’s particular plague.

And Pearl.

Gemma had to begin thinking about a new lady’s maid. Perhaps Julia, the scullery. She seemed unfazed by Hawke’s charms. Of course, she was eighty-three if she was a day, so it was unlikely the marquess had been chasing her around the kitchen.

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Pearl met her there with a pair of slippers and her housecoat. Gemma reached for them with another discontented murmur.

“Why is it, Pearl, that the marquess has nothing better to do so early in the morning than rouse me from my slumber? His night was as late as my own.”

“Later, I’d wager,” Pearl announced with a girlish giggle, then had the decency to blush when she apparently realized what she had just confessed.

Gemma could feel her own embarrassment rising to her cheeks, but she turned away from the girl, slipped her arms into the robe Pearl held for her, and pretended not to understand.

“Where is his majesty? In Father’s study?”

“Why, he’s still abed, m’lady. He received the letter when he came in last night, but gave orders you should get it at first light o’ day.”