The Duke’s Wallflower Bride

Chapter One

“Aunt Constance, no!”

Five-and-twenty-year-old Lady Gemma Carson, the only sister of the Duke of Kensington, watched helplessly as her spectacles sailed through the night air. They landed in the lake with a small splash, sinking into its dark depths the same way her heart did.

The bridge of her nose still stung from having her spectacles ripped off. Gemma turned to her aunt, tears in her eyes, feeling both embarrassed and enraged. In the lamplight, her Aunt Constance, who usually appeared so kind and warm to others, stared at her coldly. Gemma had thought sneaking down to the lake in the middle of the night would render her some peace, but she had been wrong.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Gemma?” Constance, Viscountess of Alcott, asked. “You cannot catch a husband with those ugly things on your face! What else have you snuck out here, hmm?”

She snatched the romance novel from Gemma’s hands and tossed it to the ground before grabbing and shaking out the folds of her niece’s peach-hued ball gown.

“Where is it?” Constance demanded, roughly yanking Gemma’s garments this way and that. “I know you must have a sweet or snack tucked away. You always do.”

Her vision was blurry without her spectacles, but Gemma tried her best to fight off her aunt’s assault.

“Aunt Constance, please, stop! I have nothing! You made sure of that,” she replied.

“Nothing but plump flesh,” Constance said, finally stepping away. There was disgust in her tone, and Gemma felt the bout of shame overtake her. She wrapped her arms around her middle and lowered her head to make herself appear smaller.

“I did not sneak any food from the party,” she replied. “I only wished to get away from the crowd and read.”

Constance snorted.

“I should throw your books into the lake along with those ridiculous spectacles of yours! Perhaps then you would stop hiding away and work harder to find a match. We are hosting a ball for your cousin’s betrothal, for Heaven’s sake! This might be your last chance to find a suitable husband!”

The idea frightened Gemma horribly. Her affection for books had been one of the few comforts of her life. Especially when surrounded by other pretty, thin, and rather snobbish members of the ton. Though now that she no longer had her spectacles, the favored hobby would be exceedingly difficult.

“I need spectacles,” she insisted, raising her head as she found her voice. “Without them, I cannot see!”

“Whether you can see or not does not matter. All that matters is what prospective suitors see. And with those ugly things on your face, you are not seen,” Constance snapped back readily. “I will not allow you to keep living like a spinster, Gemma. Not if you wish to continue to live under our roof.”

Gemma pressed her lips together tightly, wondering if that would not be so bad. After her brother, Dominic, and her sister-in-law, Alexandra, finally repaired their estranged marriage, she decided to give them their space and move in with her aunt, uncle, and cousin in the countryside. The longer she stayed under her aunt’s strict rule, however, the more she wondered if that had been a mistake. She loved her Uncle Mortimer dearly, and Letitia was proving to be a good friend, but her Aunt Constance’s rule was strict and demeaning.

She missed the freedom of living with Alexandra, her best friend.

“Perhaps I should not impose on you any longer, then,” Gemma countered, tired of her aunt’s constant belittlement. “I suppose I should tell my brother of the poor treatment I receive here. How do you think he would take to hearing that I have been cared for so terribly?”

Constance did not even bat an eye at the threat. Instead, her mouth twisted up into an unsettling smile as she slightly tilted her jewel-adorned head.

“You would be so selfish?” Constance asked. “After five years of estrangement and finally finding marital peace, you would disrupt the happy couple just to have your own spoiled way.”

Another wave of guilt washed over Gemma, and she dropped the subject. She had watched Alexandra wilt in loneliness for five years after Dominic had left her shortly after their wedding day because of his own fears. Now, they were finally together and happy. The last thing she wanted was to get in their way.

Aunt Constance had not been so terrible at first. The kind aunt she had remembered from her childhood was a little overbearing, yes, but Gemma had just suspected it felt that way because she was unused to having an older person look after her. Now that it was a little over a year, though, Gemma understood that there was a harsh woman behind that mask of soft beauty.

“I know you think I am tearing you apart, Gemma, but that is only because you have had no one watching out for you. You were left to your own devices for too long, and look at where this has led you. I may seem harsh at times, but it is only because I want you to find a husband, and you cannot gain one looking…” Constance waved a hand over Gemma’s figure. “Looking like this.”

“I never said I was looking for a husband.”

“Oh, Gemma. You just tell yourself that. But if you let me help you, we can find you a great match! Just look at your cousin Letitia. She is betrothed to the Duke of Wildcrest! You may not be able to set your sights so high, but I am sure a baron, perhaps a vicar?”

Gemma sneered as she rolled her eyes.

“Some match,” she retorted. “The duke is nothing but an incorrigible rake. You do not know him like I do, Aunt Constance. You forget he is Dominic’s friend. The things he has done… he will break poor Letitia’s heart before she even makes it to the altar.”

“A broken heart is not so bad when it comes along with an elevation of status and vast financial gain, Gemma,” Constance retorted just as quickly. She then crossed her arms and muttered, “And you have no idea what a relief it is to have your husband distracted from your marital bed. Trust me when I say it can be a joy of its own.”

Gemma made a face of discomfort. She loved her uncle Mortimer dearly. He was the exact opposite of his wife. Warm. Comical. Patient. And like Gemma, he had a softer physique. She did not appreciate the way her aunt spoke of him one bit. Also, it was one thing to have your husband distracted from the marital bed, and another one entirely to be humiliated by his libertine actions.

“He will hurt her, Aunt Constance,” Gemma warned.

Constance tsked her tongue.

“The only person who will hurt her is you if you do not start bending to society’s rules,” she replied. “Now, Letitia and His Grace’s engagement party is in full swing up at the manor. I expect you to tuck this bitter, self-indulging attitude away and come join us again. You may chat and you may dance, but that is all! No more sneaking off to read books, no eating, and I better not find you wearing another set of spectacles!”

Gemma bristled.

“There is no chance of that, Aunt Constance,” she replied, waving her hand toward the water. “My only pair is now at the bottom of the lake.”

“Well, at least that has been taken care of,” her aunt retorted.

Constance turned to leave, and though Gemma figured it would probably be better to just let her, she found herself grabbing her by the arm.

“Aunt Constance, I am serious about the Duke of Wildcrest. He might be handsome and of higher standing, yes, but he will hurt Letitia. He is a womanizer and an incorrigible rake, and he does not care for her. You cannot truly want that for her. She deserves to choose a husband for herself.”

Constance whirled on her, her eyes ablaze with fury.

“You will keep your spinster radical ideas to yourself, Gemma. Do you understand? My daughter will be elevated through this marriage. She will be a duchess. And if you open your mouth this evening and threaten that, so help me God, nothing will save you from my wrath.”

Gemma backed away from the ferocity of her aunt’s voice, what little bit of fight she had left draining from her in that moment. Her cheeks heating with shame, she lowered her head and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” she muttered.

“Very good,” Constance said. “Now make yourself presentable and come back to the party. Even with that sour look on your face, I believe I can make some introductions. I swear, Gemma, if you were not my niece…”

Constance’s words faded into a disgruntled muttering as she began to walk away, leaving Gemma standing alone at the lake. Woefully, Gemma turned toward the water and let her tears slip down her cheeks. If she could swim, she would jump in and search for her spectacles. But since she had no such skill, she simply looked on at the now slick, unbothered surface and wished she had not been caught.

I wish I could speak to Dominic and Alexandra. But no, I do not wish to cause problems for them now that they are finally happy together.

Not wanting to allow her aunt to feel the need to drag her back to the party, Gemma inhaled a calming breath to push away her misery and wiped her eyes. She was just about to turn toward the well-lit manor nestled at the other end of the shrubbery maze when she heard a sudden, strange noise, and froze.

Who is there?

Chapter Two

“Come get me, Your Grace…” the lean, leggy blonde maid called, her sweet voice soft and alluring in the wind.

Asher Warden, Duke of Wildcrest, smirked as he stopped in the middle of the maze, his moss-green eyes alighting on the maiden’s dress lying upon the ground. Before that, she had dropped her apron, shoes, and stockings throughout the maze, leaving him a delectable trail. Knowing there was not much else the woman could shed, Asher hurried on.

Hunter and prey were his favorite game, and though the stakes had been raised by playing it at his own engagement party, he only felt a more intense thrill.

“Coming, little rabbit,” he sang, following the direction of the woman’s voice.

Miss Letitia Alcott, his betrothed, was a pretty, lithe young thing. A bit boring. Well, incredibly boring, actually, but that was all right. It meant that he did not need to keep her occupied. Besides, they both knew what this marriage was. Just another contract between nobles, nothing more. So why not live his life as usual? He would be dead in three years anyway, leaving his fortune to his bride and, hopefully, his heir. Then she would be free to do whatever she wished as well. It was a fair trade in his mind.

“Damn it,” Asher muttered as he turned a corner in the maze and was met with nothing but darkness. He scanned the area as best he could in the dim light, and when he found no clothing or naked beauty, he turned around and tried another path. Again, he ran into a shrub-lined hall that led nowhere. Another one with no torch.

The viscount and his wife must have arranged torches only so far in the maze to discourage the guests from going too far, he decided.

“Birdie,” he whispered. Or was it Anne? Bessie? Bertha? He used to remember all of his lovers, but in the past two years, they had all become a blur. Looked the same. Felt the same.

Growing irritated, Asher turned around once again, determined now more than ever to not only find his clever little runaway but to get out of the blasted maze. Finally, after several long minutes and no more delectable clues to be found, Asher saw an ebbing light from around a corner. He pressed his body tightly to the wall of the maze and looked around, then smiled devilishly as he saw his prey.

There you are, he thought gleefully as his eyes landed on a voluptuous silhouette standing by the bank of a lake. In silent footsteps, he crept forward, but just as he caught the alluring scent of her clover and lavender perfume, he crunched a stick beneath his boot. The woman moved to turn, and he made his move.

“Shh, little bunny,” he whispered into her ear, a hand going to her mouth as the other wrapped around her waist.

“Lest you might feel this wolf’s teeth.”

He leaned forward to kiss her neck, only then realizing that the woman he had captured was fully clothed, and then pain erupted in his palm.

“Ouch!” He seethed, flinging his hand away from her.

The woman he had caught whirled around, a scream ripping from her throat, and he chortled with delight as he discovered that it was none other than his best friend’s sister, Lady Gemma. Despite the pain throbbing in his palm, Asher smiled and wagged his brows.

“You know, Lady Gemma. I always imagined you would be a feisty one, but I did not expect you to bite.”

“And you are one to talk? I always knew you were a terrible rake, Your Grace, but I did not expect that you would go around licking women like a dog,” she grumbled with distaste.

His gaze darkened as he realized she had no idea of the images she was conjuring up in his mind with her words. Or was she doing it on purpose?

“Your imagination is quite limited then,” he teased, walking in a circle around her. “And what is prim and proper Lady Gemma doing out here alone in the dark? Who are you expecting to meet?”

Gemma’s brown eyes narrowed at him, and her button nose wrinkled with disgust.

“No one,” she said defensively. “I am not a degenerate like you, Your Grace.”

“Such venom,” he chuckled darkly, then shook his head and tsked his tongue. “And here I thought we were friends. Why the formalities?”

“My brother is your friend,” she quipped back, turning slowly to keep her eyes on him as he continued to walk around her. “You and I are not, nor have we ever been, anything approaching congenial, Your Grace.”

Asher chuckled once more, completely forgetting about the maid he had been chasing.

“I forgot how feisty you were with your big words,” he replied.

“You forget nothing as you do not know me,” she replied icily. “But if my words confound you, I shall use smaller ones for you. I knew you were a rake, but I did not know you had inclinations of a stray dog. Running around, licking every woman you meet in hopes they would take you home.”

“Well then, you obviously do not know me very well,” he replied, his tone dipping an octave as he made a show of dragging his eyes down her form. “As I said, you have a limited imagination, and I am quite fond of licking.”

Gemma looked at him with disgust, sending a chill of satisfaction up Asher’s spine. He decided he liked making her mad much more than he liked his game of hunter and prey.

“Never in my entire life have I ever met a man so depraved as you. And now, you are going to marry my cousin. Why do you not turn your attention elsewhere and leave her alone?”

Asher took a step closer and took a stray lock of her hair with his hand, twisting it around his finger. “Do you have someone else in mind?”

Gemma stepped back and away from his reach, ready to fire back with another icy retort, but Asher spoke again.

“Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we are not friends, but that does not mean that I do not know you or have not noticed you.”

As he said so, he allowed his eyes to take her in.

She looked pretty tonight, he decided, but not quite like the young woman he remembered. The peach gown with its horrendous bows and ruffles did nothing for her complexion or her figure. Neither did her tightly pulled-back hair. His eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the lamplight, and only then did he see that her eyes and nose were red. Not only that, but there was a small bruise on the bridge of her nose where her spectacles normally sat.

“Did you fall?” He asked, dropping his flirtation.

Gemma’s eyes darted away from him, and her pale cheeks flushed red.

“No,” she replied.

His brows knitted together as he took a step closer, this time to inspect the bruise, and Gemma immediately took a step back.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he sighed. “I did not know it was you before, all right? I was chasing someone else.”

“At your own engagement party?” She asked, then laughed bitterly. “Of course you were. You are despicable, you know that? You are going to do nothing but hurt my cousin.”

Asher chortled.

“I have never tried to keep my inclinations a secret. She is perfectly aware of who I am.”

“Well, she is not,” Gemma bit back. “Her mother keeps her quite shielded from such knowledge.”

“That may be true, but what about you? Have you not warned her about getting associated with a man like me?”

Gemma’s eyes darted down as she frowned.

“Her mother will not allow me to say any such thing,” she replied, sounding defeated.

“But you wanted to?”

“Of course I did,” she retorted, crossing her arms. “Letitia is innocent and does not deserve the heartache of your infidelity.”

“Well, she will not have to endure it for long,” he muttered.

Gemma gave him a suspicious look and took a step toward him.

“And what does that mean?” She demanded.

Her inquisitive gaze startled him. No one ever caught his morbid little quips, or if they did, they never inquired after them. Yet Gemma had caught it the second it left his lips. He did not answer her, though. What would he even tell her? That he was destined to die in three years? Instead, he reached up to her face and brushed the pad of his pointer finger delicately over the bruise on her nose.

“What happened to your spectacles, Gemma?” Answering her question with a question.

Gemma’s brown eyes widened for a moment as she batted at his hand.

“Nothing,” she replied. “It is none of your concern. And you may only address me as Lady Gemma.”

“Where are they?” He said, following her step and ignoring her retort.

“They are gone.”

“That is a shame. I have always found you more adorable when you wore them,” he replied flirtatiously.

But his small smile diminished as he watched shame color Gemma’s cheeks and hurt fill her eyes.

“Gemma,” he said, his tone insistent and serious now. When she frowned again, he sighed and said, “Lady Gemma,” with sarcasm. “Where are your—”

“They are at the bottom of the lake!” She burst out. “My aunt told me not to wear them, and I disobeyed, so she threw them away.”

Asher felt a surprising anger rise from within as he watched Gemma wither before him, and he ground his teeth.

“I will have a few words with Lady Alcott. Your brother will hear about this as well,” he stated, his tone laced with warning.

“No, you will not, and he will not,” Gemma snapped back. “I moved here so he and Alexandra are finally together and happy, and I will not be the reason that is disrupted. Besides, it is my fault. I am the one who snuck away from the party to read, even though I was forbidden to do so.”

Asher worked his jaw, trying to find the right words.

“That is why you are here? To give your brother and Alexandra space?”

Gemma shrugged.

“They deserve it, don’t you think? After five years of being apart? Of lies and fear?”

“But what about you, Gemma? Are you happy here? Away from your friends and home?” Asher asked, his tone insistent.

Gemma sucked her teeth as she rolled her eyes.

“As if you care,” she retorted.

Before he could reply, he heard the sounds of pleasure-filled moaning nearby, making him aware they were not alone. Gemma heard it too, and her eyes widened with fear.

“I need to go,” she whispered, backing away from him. “If that is my aunt, and she sees I am still here, she will be furious at me. We cannot be seen alone together.”

Asher chuckled, knowing undoubtedly by the sounds they heard that it was not Lady Alcott.

“I do not believe you have to worry about your aunt,” he replied. “For if that is your aunt, then seeing you with me would be the least of her concerns.”

Gemma did not seem to understand the joke, for she only took another step backward.

“Calm down,” he advised her, raising his hand in a stopping motion. “And stay here. I will go check.”

Gemma said nothing as he turned his back on her and walked toward the noise. After parting a few branches, he found his prize: the maid he had been chasing along with another man atop her. They were both naked, writhing in pleasure, and unaware of how loud they were being.

 Asher felt no disappointment as he watched his prey from earlier being pinned by another. In truth, he had forgotten all about her as he talked to Gemma.

“Your Grace! I can explain—”

But Asher spared her no second glance as he turned to go back to the lake.

“I told you, it was not your… Lady Gemma?”

Asher looked up and saw that she was gone; the only trace of her being there was the lamp and book she had left behind. He grabbed them both and took a few steps toward the maze, shining the light over nothing but the hedge walls.

He felt a bit of disappointment at her departure and held up her book, flipping it open to a random page. Asher grinned as he read the salacious words of the love scene within it. The imagery the author provided made the scene very vivid.

“Well, aren’t you the most adorable little hypocrite?” He mused aloud, snapping the book shut.

Chapter Three

“Stop frowning,” Constance whispered into Gemma’s ear as she set a plate down before her. “Our guests do not deserve to see such ugliness so early in the morning!”

Gemma fixed her face immediately and pushed away her thoughts of Asher and his outrageous behavior. Yet as her stomach growled and her eyes looked down at her sparsely filled plate, she nearly frowned again. She had spent the remaining hours of last evening trying to accomplish two things: avoid another interaction with Asher and find a crumb or two to eat, as her aunt had forbidden her from having dinner. She had failed at both.

The moment Constance had seen her back in the manor, she had snatched Gemma to her side. For about ten minutes, she had pushed her to meet any eligible gentleman within their radius, and then Asher walked in. The moment Constance had seen him, she had flown to his side and escorted the two of them to Letitia, where they remained corralled for the rest of the evening.

What was more annoying, though, was that Asher’s eyes were glued on Gemma every time Letitia looked away. Which, because her cousin was bored and missed much, was often. Even Constance had not had the wherewithal to notice, despite Gemma’s warning.

What annoyed her most, however, was Asher’s fake concern over her spectacles. She knew he did not care. Not truly. Men like him did not care about anything but themselves.

Yes, he was devastatingly handsome. She could not deny that. The wheat-colored strands of his hair fell into a side part that framed his strong jaw and cheekbones perfectly. Then there were his lips, carved lips, not soft and big like hers, but strongly masculine. And his physique… well. She squirmed in her chair, thinking of how even through his embroidered jacket and crisp shirt, she could see the definition of his muscles the night before.

He had startled her when he… licked her. She did not regret biting his hand. But when she had whirled around and saw that it was him, there had been a moment before her distaste had set in where she had felt a shiver of enjoyment at his touch. The spot on her neck he had touched with his tongue still burned.

That very thought now made her frown with embarrassment. He had not even had the wherewithal to differentiate her from the woman he had been chasing! Sour with discontent, Gemma stabbed her fork into the tiny piece of carrot her aunt had given her and chewed it with aggression.

“Come on, duckie, buck up,” Uncle Mortimer whispered to her, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Connie has had three cups of tea already. She will need to relieve herself in… ah, now.”

Uncle Mortimer lifted his fork toward Constance, and Gemma looked up just in time to see her aunt leave the breakfast room crowded with guests.

“Do not waste time, duckie, now is our chance,” Uncle Mortimer said excitedly, reaching for the plate of sausages in the middle of the table. Like Gemma, he had also been placed on a strict diet because of his gout.

Despite her foul mood, Gemma smiled as her uncle rolled two sausages onto her plate, eight on his, then he reached for the bowl of scrambled eggs and put a heaping spoonful onto both their plates. Uncle Mortimer then grabbed the butter and rack of toast points, hurriedly buttering several before distributing them equally between her and himself.

“Papa, stop,” Letitia whispered, her pale blue eyes wide with alarm as she watched him overfill his plate. “Mama will be back soon. She will catch you! Please do not make her angry while we have guests.”

“She will not catch us if we hurry, will she, duckie?” Uncle Mortimer asked, looking at Gemma.

Gemma only giggled and looked at her uncle. He ate quickly and greedily, at a speed Gemma had seen no one manage before. By the time Constance returned to the breakfast room, his plate once more looked nearly empty. Sighing in contentment, Gemma took small bites from her own plate, hoping no one besides Letitia had noticed her uncle’s rapid feasting.

She was relieved that nearly everyone around her seemed too deep in conversation and their breakfast to notice. Everyone except Letitia, who was staring woefully down at her nearly full plate.

“Oh, come, Letitia, please do not be upset with him,” Gemma urged quietly, reaching for her cousin’s hand. “You know he means no harm. We were both quite hungry.”

Letitia glanced over at her, looking paler than usual, and shook her head, her coiffed pale blonde curls bouncing around her ears.

“I am not upset, Gemma,” she whispered back. “I am just… not hungry.”

Gemma narrowed her eyes at her cousin in speculation.

“You are lying. Are you ill, Letitia?” she stated. “What is wrong?”

Letitia looked as if she were trying to find her words, but before she could open her mouth, they both heard a shriek. Both of their heads whipped toward the sound to see Constance snatching Mortimer’s plate from the table.

“What are you doing, Mortimer?” Constance seethed in an angry whisper. “You know this is bad for your health! I have told you time and time again—”

“They are not for me, my dove, they are for Mrs. Butterbeans,” Mortimer replied in a soothing tone. “She must eat as well.”

Constance glared at her husband, clearly seeing through the lie that the food was for Uncle Mortimer’s beloved pet pug.

“We have been married for over twenty years, Mort,” she replied, her tone clipped. “I know when you are trying to flirt your way out of my anger.”

“Oh, come, my dove,” Mortimer placated. “Do not be angry.”

“If you do not want me to be angry, then do what I say,” Constance whispered back angrily.

To Gemma’s misery, her aunt then turned her angry gaze toward her.

“I suspect he was not alone in this,” she bit out. “I see the grease on your plate. You are just as bad as he is.”

Gemma felt her heart sink as she looked around the room; their guests started to notice her aunt’s anger.

“Connie, dove, we have guests.” Mortimer tried to intervene.

“And you shame me in front of them by eating like pigs,” Constance hissed, glaring from her husband to Gemma. “Why? Why do you do this to me? I am trying to do what is best for you both. All I do is care for your health too much, and this is what I get in return?”

“Aunt Constance, forgive me, but…” Gemma replied feebly. “I barely had anything to eat yesterday. You had me skip dinner, and now I only got to eat two carrots for breakfast.”

“How else are you supposed to lose weight?” Constance demanded, shaking her head.

She rolled the sausages from Mortimer’s plate back onto the platter, then picked it up and handed it over to the nearest footman.

“Go feed these to the dogs at once,” she demanded. “And from now on, do not set any platters before my husband or niece. Am I clear?”

The footman quickly agreed as he took the plate, and Mortimer woefully watched his breakfast being taken away.

“Aunt Constance, please. We are sorry, we—”

Gemma’s words were cut off by her aunt’s sharp tone.

“If you wish to make atonements, the two of you will start listening to what I say! Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you that you will not catch a decent husband if you are as big as a house?”

Gemma’s cheeks flushed bright pink. Not only from shame, but from knowing that even when she was this cruel with her words, her aunt still demanded an answer.

“Do you not think it is ironic that while you are worried about my eating habits bothering others, you yelling at me in front of them is what is drawing attention from our peers?” Gemma bravely asked.

Constance went rigid as her face flushed with rage, but she took a moment to at least look around her. When she saw the curious stares of their guests, she firmly shut her eyes and blew out a steadying breath.

“Get out of my sight,” she whispered, her eyes snapping open and landing on Gemma. “Now.”

Gemma rose from her seat, but was surprised when Letitia rose with her.

“Where are you going?” Constance demanded. “Your betrothed has not joined us yet. He will expect you to be at his side as he breaks his fast.”

“Forgive me, Mama, but my meal is not settling well,” Letitia replied, wrapping her thin arm around Gemma’s. “I believe I need a walk, and Gemma will be kind enough to keep me steady, will you not, Gemma?”

Gemma nodded readily, thankful that her cousin was not making her take the walk of shame alone.

“Forgive her,” Letitia urged quietly as they made their way outside. “She is stressed about this party. It has been ages since we have had guests over for this long.”

“I am not worried about her,” Gemma replied, shrugging off the sting of her aunt’s harsh words. “I am worried about you. Aunt interrupted us before, but I know you were about to tell me something. What is wrong?”

Letitia waited until they approached the gardens, then continued to leave Gemma in worried silence until they were surrounded by the bright, large rose bushes bursting with white, red, and pink blooms, creating a thorned cloak of privacy.

“I cannot do this, Gemma. I do not want to marry the duke,” Letitia confessed at last.

Gemma’s brows drew up in surprise.

“But your mother says you are a good match,” Gemma replied.

Letitia let out a weak laugh.

“My mother says many things. I know she means well, but sometimes I fear that the world she tries to speak of is not at all the one we live in,” Letitia said. “Everyone knows that this is an advantageous match. But it is still nothing more than an agreement, a contract. I wish to marry for love. I wish to marry a man who is not a rake. And one who is closer to my age.”

Gemma stayed silent for a moment as she looked at her cousin. Had she seen something? Heard something? After all, Asher was not trying too hard to keep his antics confidential. Still, they both knew that Letitia backing out of this arrangement was something Constance would not allow her to do. Letitia being eighteen, and the duke two-and-thirty, would also not be an issue or grounds for breaking the betrothal. Such matches were quite common.

“Every man has wild oats to sow, or so they say,” Gemma offered gently. “Perhaps in a short while, he will settle down. Surely this is just pre-wedding nerves. All brides have them, do they not?”

Gemma did not believe her own words, but she could not take the defeated, sad look on her cousin’s beautiful face.

“I am not so naïve,” Letitia replied. “Though most people think of me so. And I am not nervous. I am unhappy. I do not want this marriage, Gemma.”

Gemma felt a wave of guilt hit her as she thought of the conversation she had had with Constance the night before. They had both thought Letitia to be unobservant, and a bit lost in thought. Clearly, they were wrong, and Letitia was far more keen-eyed than either of them had ever realized.

“I am very sorry to hear this, Lettie. But what is there to be done?” Gemma asked, pulling Letitia closer.

Though she had not outright hurt her cousin, she had the overwhelming sense of making things right for her. It was the least she could do for misjudging her so harshly.

Letitia looked at her with a smile of relief.

“If you truly wish to help me, you will assist me in finding a way to call this wedding off,” she urged Gemma. “I know Mama will not accept my refusal, but if we give her a better reason? Perhaps prove to her that such a marriage could harm our reputation, then perhaps she would change her mind about him.”

Gemma raised a brow.

“And how are we to do that?”

“As I said earlier, I am more observant than what people give me credit for. I know it is quite likely that the duke was taking part in some sort of deviant behavior while he was gone from the party last night.”

Gemma blushed as she thought of her and Asher’s meeting by the lake and his tongue on her, but said nothing.

“We should catch him in the act and expose him to everyone else,” Letitia went on. “If we do that, I am sure that will give me enough cause to break free from the engagement without fault. So, when he disappears next time, which he will surely do, I want you to follow him. If you catch him meeting with another lady, I want you to hurry back to me with the news, and I shall encourage some of our guests to accompany me on a seemingly spur-of-the-moment walk, where we will all catch him in the act.”

“This is a risky plan, Lettie. And it might not work. After all, he is a man, and he—”

“Help me,” Letitia insisted, squeezing Gemma’s hands. “Please, cousin. I do not want to marry him. I wish to marry someone I love.”

I could prove he is still a rake, Gemma thought, taking in Letitia’s pleading expression. With how careless he is, it probably will not be that hard.

She nodded her head and gave Letitia an encouraging smile.

“I promise to do my best,” she replied. “I will follow him tonight.”