Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(8)

“Whatever do you mean?” Gemma asked, unable to tear her eyes away from Wilde as he whispered something into his lady friend’s ear.

“The gossips have been absolutely dying with curiosity. Is he as heartbroken as everyone claims? What happened to Sir Wilde last Season that turned him into such a delicious rake? I would have liked to have my try at the man.” She giggled. “But it is of no matter. I will simply be patient; after all, if he is as wild as everyone is saying, he’ll be needing new companionship tomorrow evening.”

Gemma felt her face flush as she looked away from Wilde and directly at the woman. “How do you mean to heal his broken heart? How does any woman successfully seduce a rake?”

“My, you are innocent, aren’t you?” The woman threw her head back and laughed. “He does not want to remember he has a heart. Men are vulnerable creatures; when they offer a gift of love, and it is rejected, they are never the same. I aim to make him forget he had a heart to begin with. And whatever woman was stupid enough to reject him, well, I hope she is there to witness his behavior. After all, it is she who is responsible for the man he has become.”

“The man he has become?” Gemma repeated as the feeling of dread descended into her belly.

“Why, yes! At this rate, Sir Wilde will be one of the most delightful rakes this Season, mark my words.” The lady sauntered off and approached Wilde. She leaned forward, whispered something in his ear and waited. Wilde’s smile turned seductive as he nodded his head once and then his eyes met Gemma’s.

With a wicked grin, he winked and walked off with not one, but both ladies.

Tears burned at the back of her throat as she watched the exchange, willing Wilde to look back, to stop this ridiculous behavior. But he left.

“Are you ready?” Hawke said behind her. “It’s positively sweltering in this place. Come along, dear.”



****



Once safely away from the prying eyes of the gossiping horde, Gemma regarded her brother, who sat across from her in the carriage, speaking mindlessly of this lord and that debutante.

She sat with her hands folded in her lap, as befitting a gently bred lady of the peerage. With an almost imperceptible movement, she slipped her left hand from its place and drew off her glove. A bare hand would intensify the sting, and it was her dearest wish to leave a burning impression of her fury before he had a chance to realize what had happened.

With her right hand she gestured out the window and said, “Isn’t that Sir Bryan?”

Hawke glanced out the window, leaning forward slightly to get a better view.

As he did so, she pulled her left arm high above her head and let loose a wild swing, landing the full force of her strength squarely across his right cheek. Never had she struck anyone in her life, let alone her brother, but the pain of it on her own palm and the sound of Hawke’s cry was so satisfactory, she smiled wide in triumph.

Before her, Hawke clutched his face in agony and his eyes frantically searched hers.

“Gemma, what the h—”

“Truly?” Gemma interrupted his eruption. “Do not pretend, dearest brother, that you are not deserving of ten times that!”

His shock at both her physical attack and her verbal outburst was obvious. She had always been the sweet, proper lady with impeccable manners, no matter who was present. The full measure of her anger surprised her as well, but she was past caring.

“You… you…” She couldn’t think of a word bad enough to capture his essence without loosing a torrent of expressions that would make a pirate blush — and so she did.

Hawke’s face darkened into crimson. “Really, Gemma. Your language! Remember your station.”

“Remember my—” Gemma couldn’t believe his gall. Her control was long gone. She leveled her finger in his face. “You are a marquess! Yet you sat amongst those men and referred to me as a piece of… a piece of cheese! And you want me to remember my station?”

“Gemma,” his voice was soft, as though he hoped to placate her. “You misheard what was spoken.”

“Did I?” She was yelling at the top of her voice. “Did I also mishear the words spoken about you no longer sending my letters to Sir Wilde?” She lifted her hand as if to slap him once more.

The anger surfaced in Hawke’s expression then, and he grabbed her hand and wrenched it away from his face, tightening his grasp when she resisted.

“You shall remember yourself, sister. You shall conduct yourself as the daughter of a duke, and you shall respect my authority regarding all decisions for your future. Do you understand?”

He leaned forward, glowering dangerously into her eyes. He twisted her arm slightly as if to emphasize his point.

Tears threatened to spill over, but Gemma held firm in her resolve not to let him know he was hurting her.

“Do you understand?”

“I do not.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“What was that?”

“I do not. I do not understand you. I will not accept your authority over me for another moment.”

His confidence faltered for a moment, and she tugged her wrist from his grip.

“All my life I have been careful to be proper at all times. The proper daughter, the proper sister, the proper hostess, the proper lady. I’m done. And if you tell me I must marry whom you choose, I am telling you now, I resolve to seduce the first unworthy sod I meet. To the devil with the family name.”