Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(29)

“Do you truly think he will shoot you?”

“Do you know your brother at all, sweetheart?”

She nodded. “It will work. It has to work.”

“It will,” he confirmed. “Else I will come to you by night and whisk you off to Gretna Green.” He planted another chaste kiss on her brow. “Now, let us return you to the party. You look far too magnificent to miss the dancing.”





Chapter Fourteen


Rakes do not let their emotions get the best of them. Gentlemen, let me be clear on this one point — just because a woman kisses well and lifts her skirts, does not mean you love her. What you are feeling is nothing but a whiskey-hazed lust. I've seen many a man hitched to his first seduction merely because he allowed himself to get carried away. Do not let this happen to you. Stay unattached, distant, careless — and if for some reason — you do say ‘I love you’ on accident... Run. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



What had been a gloriously sleepless night of joy and anticipation of that which was to come, too soon came to an end when Gemma made her way to the morning meal. Hawke awaited her, wearing a wide triumphant smile. She should have known then that it could only spell ill fortune for her hope of a life with Colin.

“Gemma, dear sister! I have wonderful news!” He was fairly bursting with it. “Do you recall the letter you received from Mother not so very long ago?”

Gemma stopped with her fork-full of eggs halfway to her mouth.

“I can see by your expression that you do, so I shall not draw out the suspense. Father’s solicitor arrived early this morning with news of your betrothal.”

The fork slipped from her hands and landed on her plate with a sharp clatter.

“Stunned to silence in your bliss, I see.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“B-betrothal?” Gemma managed to choke out. Her throat had gone suddenly dry, and she wasn’t certain she would be able to draw her next breath.

“Yes, sweet girl! To the Duke of Bridgewater! He’ll be here this afternoon to meet with you and discuss arrangements. A duke! What do you say to that, Gemma?”

“No.” The word came out barely above a whisper.

Nonetheless, Hawke heard it. Wide-eyed, he stared at her for one brief second before slamming his fist firmly on the table, vibrating the glasses and silverware. He stood abruptly to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor behind him. The serving staff jolted, appeared shocked for an instant, and then hastened from the room.

Gemma refused to cow to him, though her entire being trembled with what he might do in his fit of temper.

“I shall not marry him.” Strength she did not know she possessed found its way to her voice, and she stood as well, with an emphatic fist pound of her own.

“I say you shall!”

“I care not what you say. I have made my own choice, and it is Sir Colin Wilde.”

“Sir Col— That man is a rogue! Mother and Father will not hear of it. Nor will I! I will kill him first!” he roared back at her. “You shall return to Brookshire immediately! Nay! I shall deposit you in a nunnery! Sir Colin Wilde, indeed! Why, his very name soils my tongue as I speak it!”

“There is nowhere you can send me that he will not come for me, brother. He has given me his word. And if you refuse to hear reason—”

“Given you his word? Of all the— The word of a debauched rake! What good is that? Rakes give their word when it suits their pur—” His voice broke off and his eyes blazed with fury. He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her in utter horror. “You little whore…” Hawke’s eyes narrowed with the low declaration.

Gemma’s jaw dropped open in disbelief. But before she could respond, Hawke stormed from the room, and a moment later, the front door slammed, signaling his exit from the house. With an exasperated wail, Gemma slumped into her chair, dropped her head to her hands, and wept.





Chapter Fifteen


When a rake is reformed, he is a different man. The woman he loves marks him, and gentlemen, he is also, sadly, in danger of getting shot. For rakes rarely fall without a fight. —The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox



Present Day

"Get up. Get up, you wretched excuse for a man!" Van Burge's eyes were alive with fury. He threaded his fingers into Colin's cravat and tugged him roughly up from the floor. “You and I will settle this. Today! Else I shall have you declared a coward. In one hour. Jackson's. Do not fail.” He spat every word into Colin's face as he gripped him by the throat.

Van Burge released Colin with an emphatic shove, then he spun on his heel and stormed out, spewing threats and curses all the way.

“Blast.” Colin moaned and swiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

Two hands appeared before him, no doubt a belated offer of futile help from the traitors he called friends.

Colin lifted his eyes to the double image of Ambrose and Anthony, the treacherous twin spawn of Satan. He shook his head and took one of the offered hands.

“Van Burge seems in earnest,” Anthony said. An irritating mocking smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“In earnest, Anthony? Truly? Whatever gave you that idea?” Ambrose snorted with disdain.

“What will you do?” Anthony ignored his brother and bit straight into the heart of the matter.