Page 16 of Cora
There it was. Her secret ambition given breath and life. She wanted to avenge herself. Swan back into Society like she’d never left it and shame those men who had shamed her by shining brightly. Free herself from the enduring guilt of her failure to succeed despite so many advantages.
If Gideon Wentworth was the opportunity fate had given her to fulfill her wildest dream, then she would grit her teeth and endure the man’s company for the next fifty years. It didn’t matter to her whether she ever had intimate relations with a man again. There had been nothing much to recommend the experience on the occasions she had tried it. If Wentworth wished to take care of his needs with another woman, she would not stand in his way as long as he kept his activities discreet.
It was the way of the world. There was very little she could do to remedy the situation. Part of her rebelled at the unfairness of it. Cora held no hope that becoming Mrs. Wentworth this morning would do anything to improve her lot. Another part of her couldn’t help but wonder whether Gideon Wentworth’s wolfish grin still lurked beneath that genteel exterior…and if so, what that meant for her future.
CHAPTEREIGHT
GIDEON
By the day of his wedding, Gideon wished he had chosen to elope instead of letting his family crowd into the small private chapel at the Wentworth estate. Not that Cora would have agreed to such a wild plan.
“It isn’t too late to back out,” his mother said under her breath. “You could have married a countess. Or an earl’s daughter. Lady Lenore was a perfectly viable candidate?—”
“The issue is moot, Mother, considering the lady in question has been married for three years now.”
At least, once he survived today, he would be forever free from his mother’s carping about the one who got away. Lady Lenore had been a perfect specimen of English nobility, a full sixteen years younger, and being around her had made him feel ancient. At the time, he’d been up to his neck trying to prove himself worthy of the trust he’d been given at Wentworth’s, lest his father try to wrest control back and damage his health further in the process. Marrying the girl would have gone a long way toward reassuring them, but he couldn’t do it.
That was when he had finally been forced to accept that his inexplicable obsession with Cora Wilder was not going away. He did not believe in love at first sight. He didn’t believe in love at all.
But he wanted her, and that the desire to possess her in every way wasn’t going away. If it hadn’t in the eleven years since he’d brought about her downfall, it wasn’t going to.
His parents were not finished questioning his decisions, however.
“Acquiring Wilder & Co. is a foolish move, Gid.” His father’s use of a pet name caused Gideon’s molars to grind. An unsubtle reminder that he was still only a child who couldn’t be trusted to manage his own affairs, much less the personal wealth of Queen Victoria herself. Or the family’s, for that matter—despite the fact that he’d been doing the job competently for years, now.
“The bank is a solid investment, Father.”
His family didn’t know that he had been the one to start the rumors that kicked off the run on deposits. There was no reason for anyone to ever know.
He glanced at the clock.
The Wilders were late.
Fear prickled down his spine. His palms turned clammy inside his gloves. She wouldn’t leave him standing at the altar, would she?
He would deserve it. He’d earned all the retribution Cora could dish out.
“You’ve inspected the books? Personally?” His father demanded, bringing Gideon’s attention back to the present.
“Yes. Thoroughly. I also brought in an outside auditor.” The auditor had been more impressed with Wilder & Co.’s fundamentals than he was. Not that Gideon had said as much to its owner, his brother-in-law-to-be. He would never cede an inch of ground to Eryx. He still despised that upstart even if the past week had given him a smidge more respect for the man. Wilder lived up to his name. Uncouth. Wild. He was going to have to stop consorting with Countess Oreste, too. The Queen disliked that woman, and therefore, so did Gideon.
Wentworth’s bank was five generations in the making and it catered to the highest echelons of polite Society. Wilder’s wasn’t even a decade old, catering to the seedier side of London’s business class and Society’s fastest set. The fact that he’d been so successful galled Gideon almost as much as it offended his father.
“In acquiring the bank, I also acquire all of his clients. The Duke of Gryphon among them.” If the man ever showed up.
“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” his niece said, staring forlornly out the window. His two sisters had left most of their broods behind, but they had brought their older children, who were starting to get fidgety.
“Yes,” Gideon answered tersely. She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?
Tense silence descended as the clock struck two in the afternoon, then quarter past. Morning weddings were traditional, but with a special license in hand, he had the privilege of choosing the time and place, and Gideon had chosen the afternoon to accommodate his younger brother, Reginald. Reggie had contracted polio as a youth and was confined to a wheeled chair. He sat quietly, turning the pages of a book, though Gideon knew he caught every syllable that was spoken.
Had fate been kinder, Reggie would have made a fine successor to his father. He didn’t have Gideon’s temper. Fair or not, a man who depended upon a wheeled chair for mobility did not inspire confidence among the people who entrusted Wentworth’s with their wealth. Gideon’s public image was that of a strong, capable man. This was the reason he had taken up boxing for sport—that, and having his nose broken by the brothers after the Pindell’s ball. It made no rational sense, but clients liked seeing a pugilist taking care of their assets. He made them feel protected in a primal sense.
Gideon’s task was to keep the bank thriving and ensure his retired parents and his disabled brother were cared for, and he took it very seriously. Allowing himself to have Cora was the sole selfish luxury he would ever permit himself to have.
“There’s a carriage pulling up!” his niece exclaimed, jolting Gideon out of his ruminations.
One would think that his bride’s arrival might assuage the cold fear pooling in his belly. Instead, her appearance made it worse. Suddenly, Gideon felt like a shy schoolboy trying to figure out how to approach a girl everyone thought was too good for him. Knowing he had no chance, but willing to risk humiliation on the slimmest prospect that she might say yes.
