Page 11 of Her Notorious Rake
But once in bed, he yearned for a stiff drink of brandy. Dalton tossed and turned, his mind continuously returning to the young woman he’d met in the garden tonight.Who could she be?
The next morning, Dalton woke as the first rays of morning sun peeked through the curtains, spilling onto his brocade bedcover. For the first time in what must have been an eternity, he roused from sleep without a headache.
After having breakfast he met Theodore at the fencing courts again, and managed to carry on a full match without tiring early.
“You aren’t as pale as the other morning,” Theodore joked. “You seem in much better spirits today.”
“Perhaps a little. I slept well last night.”
“Last night?” Theodore and he paused their fight to wipe at their faces shiny with perspiration. “Did you attend Lady Kenway’s ball?”
“My uncle wished me to be there. To dance with his cousin’s daughter.”
“The scandal sheets are rife with mentions of Lady Kenway’s niece, a Miss Hayesworth. Did you see her?”
Miss Hayesworth…Gemma Hayesworth. Of course—he’d glimpsed her throughout the evening, flanking Lady Kenway most of the time. She was willowy, a bit older than other girls in their second season, but no doubt beautiful, with curly dark hair and—
He froze. Could it be? Had it been Miss Hayesworth in the garden?
The young woman who had taken his handkerchief was slight, just as willowy as Miss Hayesworth, with the same curly hair that clung to her tear-stained cheeks. His heart jolted as he remembered the thrill that had surged through him when her hand brushed his. Her recitation of the constellations…
“Ah—yes. I did make her acquaintance.”
“I expect her aunt has put her back on the marriage mart?”
“It would seem” Dalton managed in a casual tone.
***
Lady Philippa Kenway has taken a country dweller under her wing. Will Miss Gemma Hayesworth secure a husband thisseason? Or will she return to her burrow a spinster?
Gemma reread the scandal sheet several times, her heartbeat thudding heavily in her throat. Just as she began to read it for the fifth time, Aunt Philippa, who she had not even noticed enter the room, plucked the sheet from her hands and ripped it into several shreds before discarding it in the fireplace. “It would be most advisable to refrain from reading these rags,” she sighed, patting her hair into place. “You shall only grieve yourself should you continue to do so.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Gemma murmured. But her eyes pricked as her mind replayed the exact words she’d read on the sheet.
“I have dwelt in London for many years, and if there is one thing that I’ve learned, it is that people will alwayscravegossip, something to gasp about. But you must learn to take no heed to any of it. Or else, you shall drive yourself mad.”
Gemma gulped but nodded. “Yes, Aunt Philippa.”
Her mind returned to Lord Blakemore though, she’d tossed and turned all night thinking about him, about his gentle kindness with her in the garden, and how that flew in the face of Aunt Philippa’s evident distaste for him. He’d known the constellations Cepheus and Cassiopeia, and perhaps he too enjoyed astronomy like she did. She scrambled off the settee and begged for pardon from her aunt, that she meant to take a walk in the garden.
Once outside in the fresh morning air, she darted back down the row of bowers to where she’d paused last night in the throes of apprehension, trying to compose herself desperately. And then, Lord Blakemore had emerged from the shadows, if only for a moment. But in her pocket she’d tucked his handkerchief, and now, in the shadow of the rose arbor, she pulled it out and unfolded it in her palm to stare down at the delicately embroidered initials ofD.B.
Chapter 5
Two days later, Gemma had just stepped inside after taking another brisk walk out in the garden. Aunt Philippa swept in, two of her maids on her heels.
“How should you like to attend a Venetian breakfast? They are quite popular here, and your mother wrote me that you have never attended one. But of course, your last season was so brief.” Aunt Philippa’s tone turned softer, a bit jarring from her usual brusque demeanor.
Gemma managed a smile, smoothing her skirts as she rose. “I should like that very much.” Taking walks in the garden helped to stave off the little bursts of homesickness that would descend, usually at night, although having Udolpho here helped considerably. He slept with her every night and when she shed bitter tears at the thought that she wouldn’t see her mother for a good while yet, Udolpho crept into her arms, nuzzling his face against hers.
Even if Mother persisted in thinking she would make a good match with Vicar Jennings, Gemma longed to run into her arms, tell her about the stinging words in those scandal sheets…sit in the garden on these crisp spring evenings, with the kittens tumbling and playing at her feet, gazing at the stars, which seemed harder to see in London.
One of Aunt Philippa’s footmen opened the drawing room doors, announcing the arrival of Lord Neville.
Aunt Philippa and Gemma exchanged glances just before Lord Neville himself appeared. He first bowed to Aunt Philippa, greeting her warmly, and then he turned to Gemma. She extended her hand for him to press his lips briefly. When he looked up, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright as he studiedher with little attempt to veil admiration.
Gemma’s own face heated as she turned to glance at her aunt whose smile was undoubtedly…delighted. As if something of her own design was unfolding before her very eyes.
