Page 51 of Her Notorious Rake
“Is Theodore—”
“I’ll go fetch him, my Lord.”
“Much obliged to you,” Dalton sank onto the sofa, lowering his head into his hands.
After a little while, he heard footsteps in the hall, and then Theodore voice that sounded somewhere between concern and amusement. “Is something amiss, Blakemore?”
“Everything’s amiss, Theodore. Everything. My uncle, he—” Dalton couldn’t even finish speaking. He rose to his feet, striding over to the window.Is this truly happening?
He closed his eyes tightly.
“What did the old man do now?”
“He designed to entrap me with his niece. Why? Because he’s been conspiring for this very thing for years.” Dalton could scarcely breathe, digging his nails into his palm.
He just needed to somehow convey this to Gemma. But it was unlikely he’d even get his foot in the door at Kenway House.
Chapter 23
Gemma ran until her sides hurt, tripping and falling once and getting her beautiful gown all stained and torn. But she got back up and kept running until she at last reached her aunt’s house but a few blocks away. Gibbons let her in, his eyes widening when he noticed her disheveled appearance. As he stepped aside for her to enter, he cried, “Miss, are you unwell? What has happened?”
Gemma ignored him, flying up the stairs and rushing to her bedroom. Once there, she slammed the door shut and sank back against it, her eyes slamming shut. This must be a nightmare of some kind. It had to be.
Covering her face with her hands, she let the sobs finally come. They racked her body as she lowered her head into her knees in the dark room. After what might have been hours, or only a few minutes, someone rapped on her door. Gemma blinked, realizing she’d shifted onto her side on the floor. Sitting up, she rose, sniffling, and walked over to the window. Numb. She felt numb. And so foolish.
“Gemma?” Aunt Philippa called through the door, her voice sharp as always. Gemma couldn’t bear to see or speak to her aunt right now, though. She just knew the woman would say,I predicted this very thing.
Eyes stinging, tears dripping off her jaw, she wished that she could just go back home. For the first time in a while, that was all she wanted. The door creaked open and Aunt Philippa entered, her mouth pinched, her eyes piercing. Gemma turned back to the window, digging her fingers into the bare skin of her upper arms.
Her body slowly became conscious of the chill in the darkroom, since the fireplace had not yet been lit. Aunt Philippa remained silent as a maid hastened in to start a fire. When she at last left, Aunt Philippa whispered, “Did I not—”
“Yes,” Gemma choked, “You did tell me. And I do wish I listened. I truly do. But for now, Aunt Philippa, will you just let me be?” She began to weep again, and she heard Aunt Philippa sigh, weary, before crossing the room to take Gemma in her arms.
“Rakes are nothing but rakes, my dear,” she murmured.
“I thought he was different. That he was truly a good, decent man. But—” Gemma found her aunt’s hug comforting, more so than she expected. She let herself just cry, no longer holding the tears back, until her head ached, her eyes burning, and all she wanted to do was sleep.
Aunt Philippa called Rose in to help Gemma ready for bed, before she swept out of the room.
Gemma fell into a deep sleep quickly, her dreams full of Lord Blakemore and Celeste, entangled in one another’s arms, in the privacy of the dark garden. She awoke with a gasp, sitting up abruptly. For a moment, she wondered if it had all just been a dream. Until it all came rushing back, crushing.
How could she have been so ridiculous to think that someone like him, worldly, reckless and headstrong, would ever truly care for someone as naive and unremarkable as she was? He’d just been toying with her, enjoying her innocence, her blind trust. It had all just been adiversionto him.
A tear rolled down the bridge of her nose onto her pillow as she stared at the flickering shadows on the wall, cast by the fire.
Gradually the fire dwindled into mere embers that glowed brightly in the dark room. The door opened softly again, and Rose carried in a tray with tea and other sweets. “The lady of the house sent these up,” she said softly, setting the tray down on the bed.
“I can’t eat anything,” Gemma whispered. Her head pounded with a dreadful headache, and she closed her eyes slowly. She prayed for sleep, though it continued to elude her.
“I’ll leave it here on this table by the door. Should you need anything, pull the cord to ring for me.”
Gemma didn’t hear the door close. She drifted asleep again.
***
Dawn had just broken as Dalton reached his room. The whole house was dark and quiet, save for the faint echoes of servants stirring downstairs. As he turned the doorknob, Uncle Ernest’s voice rang out in a tight whisper, “Where have you been?”
Dalton jumped, whirling around to face his uncle. He swallowed hard at the sight of Uncle Ernest emerging from the shadows, a candle in one shaking hand. His face was mottled with an anger that Dalton had never seen in him before. It caused him to step back.
