Tempted by a Lady's Smile (Lords of Honor #4)

Tempted by a Lady's Smile (Lords of Honor #4)

Christi Caldwell





Chapter 1



Somerset, England

Summer 1821

Miss Gemma Reed was neither pretty nor talented.

As a young girl she’d attributed her nursemaid’s lamentations to, well, meanness. At eight and ten years of age when Gemma had made her Come Out, however, the finding had been unequivocally handed down by the ton.

She was ugly.

Or, that is what had been decided and written with regular frequency by Polite Society during her first Season. Now, three Seasons later, the verdict had proven the same. It was all the more bothersome when a young lady was saddled with a name like Gemma, when she was the farthest thing from a Diamond. As the papers had so cleverly, or rather, un-cleverly, pointed out.

Gemma wrinkled her nose. In her estimation, ugly was quite harsh.

The carriage hit a large bump on the old Roman road leading to Somerset and her copy of Georges Cuvier’s Le Règne Animal tumbled to the floor. Gemma winced and bent to retrieve it.

She sat up just as her brother’s black barouche bounced once more. With a sigh Gemma abandoned her reading and put aside the small tome. Blasted carriage ride. She discreetly rubbed the spot just above her derrière.

Mother glanced over and frowned. “Do stop touching yourself. It is impolite.” Before Gemma could formulate a reply to that admonishment, her mother tipped her chin at the leather volume on the bench. “And be certain to have that hidden before we arrive. It won’t do to be seen carrying around a medical story.”

“It is a science journal,” she muttered, earning another reproachful look from her mama. As her disapproving mama launched into a lecture about appropriate reading material for a young lady, Gemma peeled back the gold curtain and stared at the passing countryside.

No, she’d never be considered conventional or pretty.

And though she didn’t quite see herself as a raving beauty nor even remotely beautiful, neither did she think she was the horribly unattractive figure painted by the ton. The talented part, well, that particular insult she would have to agree with them, on, however. That is, talents as they pertained to ladylike ventures—needlepoint, singing, fluttering a fan, watercolors. All endeavors she was rubbish at. And that was being generous. Yes, by Society’s standards she was neither pretty nor graceful and certainly not talented. With the exception of archery, the talents she did possess would never be seen as appropriate, proper, and as such, would never be remarked on by the ton. She could ride, shoot, and hold an archer’s bow better than the most skilled gentleman. Such a feat would never earn a lady any attention that was good and it would, most assuredly, not land her a husband.

The carriage hit another jarring bump and Gemma slammed against the side of the conveyance. “Bloody hell!” The curse slipped out and then she promptly bit the inside of her cheek.

“Gemma,” Mama scolded, giving her head a disapproving shake. “Do be sure to not speak so in front of His Grace, or the duke’s son, or…”

As her mother proceeded through the list of the distinguished guests who would be attending the Duke of Somerset’s summer party, Gemma redirected her attention out the window. Being the only friend to Lady Beatrice Dennington, the daughter of their host, Gemma well knew who would be in attendance and the very specific reason for this grand summer party. She and the young lady had struck up an unlikely friendship; both on their fourth Seasons and both unwed, except Beatrice was a glorious beauty while Gemma was…well, Gemma. Propping her chin on her hand, she stared longingly out at the rolling green hills and the passing countryside.

Just then, her brother, Emery, Viscount Smithfield, brought his horse alongside the carriage. She eyed his mount with a vicious hungering and her legs twitched with the need for being astride her own horse. She closed her eyes a long moment and imagined racing through the sprawling land with the wind in her face, free of Society’s snide comments, free of her mother’s chastisement, free of all of it. Gemma opened her eyes. Alas, ladies did not ride astride. They sat dutifully in carriages with tedium threatening to be the death of them and dreamed of a grand romance with their best friend’s brother. Her gaze collided with Emery. He gave her a knowing half-grin and a wink. A grin and a wink that said he well knew her love for riding and knew she belonged out there with him…if the world was an altogether different place for polite ladies.

Gemma let the curtain go and it fluttered back into place, swallowing the view of crisp, blue, summer skies and fluffy, white clouds and she, in this moment, felt not unlike a gilded bird trapped in a cage.

“…There are rumors that the marquess will wed Lady Diana,” her mother’s lamentations pulled her back to the moment. Her discourse brought every conversation, as it invariably did, back ’round to the talk of husbands.

The muscles of her stomach clenched. There was no doubt just which marquess her mother referred to. All the ton spoke of or cared about was the gentleman’s rank and wealth. And it was well known about town that the Duke of Somerset was suffering a wasting illness and this summer event had been designed and carefully arranged with the specific purpose of seeing his unwed daughter, Lady Beatrice, also approaching her fourth Season, as well as his son, Robert, the Marquess of Westfield, married.

“But I say if the son’s match was already determined, then the duke would not be hosting this summer party.”