Page 27 of Her Notorious Rake
Prudence ducked her head. “You are too kind, Lady Kenway.”
“As for the paintings, you missed out on a treat, my dear,” Aunt Philippa turned to Gemma. “We saw such a vast assortment of pieces, most from Italy, an excellent collection lent by a famed patron of the arts here in our own London.” She lifted a thin brow, leaning forward as if about to divulge a secret. “I did see Lord Blakemore there. He was paying his cousin a great deal of attention, as he was the night of the opera. It would not surprise me if his uncle intended to make a match of them.”
She deliberately misread Gemma’s aghast expression, letting out a tinkling laugh. “If, of course, Lord Blakemore lets himself be committed to another in a conjugal fashion.”
Gemma tried to swallow and couldn’t. Of course, this should come as no surprise. She would put him from her mind, determine not to think of him again. Regardless of how much he fascinated her, drawing her like the needle on a compass towards true north. The way the planets were destined to encircle the earth in a never-ending parade. Such was her interest in Lord Blakemore, however ill-placed.
After Prudence departed, and Aunt Philippa retired for a rest before dinner, Gemma returned to the library, browsing its shelves for a book on the subject of astronomy. But alas—most of the books in Aunt Philippa’s collections were of poetry or religion, and a few pertaining to her late husband’s role as a minister in Parliament. There were law books, and history tomes, thick and covered in dust. At last, she perched on the window sill, a smile playing at her lips when Udolpho entered the library, trotting up to her to join her on the ledge.
“Perhaps it was a great mistake to come here, Udolpho,” she murmured, tilting her head back against the paneled wall. Udolpho curled up in her lap, and for a wild moment, Gemma considered retiring to her room, writing to Mother and telling her she meant to return home, posthaste.
She’d been so foolish.Sofoolish. To let herself imagine that Lord Blakemore could possibly see her in the same light shehadseen him. That he found her interesting, that they had truly connected over a shared love of the stars. Clearly, she had been blinded by his charm, that bewildering pensiveness in those blue eyes. Anger slashed through her, quick and hot, like a bolt of lightning.Childish. You’ve been childish, she told herself, tears pricking her eyes. Rain began to fall as twilight drew closer, and she listened to the clang of church bells from the chapel down the street.
I should have never come. Never.
A footman rapped on the library door. “Miss, dinner will be served in an hour.”
Gemma clambered to her feet, and with a meow of protest, Udolpho slipped to the floor, darting out between the footman’s legs. Gemma stifled a grin as she hurried past to her room, to change into a proper evening dress. Upstairs, she paused before the looking glass. She was hardly a Celeste. Celeste was tall, elegant, with perfect pointed features and the clearest eyes. No,Gemma was small. Rather plain. Eyes too big for her face. Lips that were too full. Dull hazel eyes. Hair that would never be tamed.
With a sigh, she hurried to the wardrobe and withdrew a deep blue gown, that made her skin look paler than it was. She missed running barefoot through the garden in nothing but a light frock, sometimes in an apron, reading books for hours, cooking with Mama.
“Miss, it is dinner time?’ A maid stood at her door, and Gemma nodded, slipping her feet into her shoes and following the maid out into the hall.
Downstairs in the dining room, Gemma picked at her food, until Aunt Philippa set her fork down with a clatter, frowning across the table at her.
“Are you unwell, my dear?”
“Perhaps a little,” Gemma whispered, blinking away the sting in her eyes.
Aunt Philippa motioned for a footman to take Gemma’s plate. “We have a lively day tomorrow. Do get some rest. As you ought to have earlier rather than gossiping with Miss Harcourt.”
Gemma flushed but nodded. “Yes, Aunt Philippa. Goodnight.”
Once she reached her room again, she flung herself on the bed and let the tears come. She cried and cried, a sinking sense in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter 13
Ernest Blakemore stared down into the fire in the hearth, his grip around the head of his cane tightening until his knuckles ached.Where is that girl?He turned to glance over his shoulder, but still there was no sign of Celeste. What was delaying her?
He needed to speak with her, urgently. It seemed that every time his nephew encountered that Hayesworth girl, he became increasingly smitten with her. The signs were all there, and it was dismaying, for Ernest had not any of them until now. Until Gemma Hayesworth.
He’d watched the boy flirt his way through a ball, through numbers of parties and dinners and operas. But never had he seen him take to a girl quite the way he took to this young woman fresh from the countryside. Everything about her wanted. Her figure. Her manners. Her polish. Her wealth, most of all.
Ernest ground his teeth. He would not stand by and watch it. Watch his fool brother’s son marry someone who did not bring wealth of her own into the marriage.
He would make sure that the Blakemore name and fortune be united with another equally formidable lineage. And Gemma Hayesworth’s family had been ruined—her father had squandered everything away, and creditors had picked him clean.
He had left his wife and daughter with nothing. And now, that daughter designed to wile her way into Dalton’s heart.
The sound of the door clicking shut brought Ernest back to the present, and he turned to see Celeste standing there, her eyes wide, face pale, as she regarded him curiously. “Is something amiss, Uncle?”
He hurried over, pulled open the door, looked about the hall outside, and then closed the door again. Turning to her, he guided her to the other end of the room in front of the fireplace. “I did not send you off to finishing school for nothing,” he hissed. “You must heighten your affections for Lord Blakemore.Charmhim. You are hardly plain. And your wiles are at your disposal. Yet—yet each time he sees her, he grows more besotted with Miss Hayesworth.”
Celeste shrank back, her face paling even more. “Uncle—”
He grasped her by the arm, sighing heavily. “He is on the precipice, don’t you see? You must lead him to the edge, enthrall him so that he cannot refuse…and when you’ve got him in your grasp, I shall declare his behaviour an affront to your reputation. That he must marry you if he means to remain respectable.”
“Uncle—you don’t mean—you don’t mean that we are to—”
