Chapter Two
“What the hell are you doing?”
Lucas looked up from his breakfast to find Kit Gerrard standing boldly in the doorway of his dining room, arms folded, stance defensive.
“Eating,” he said simply, gesturing to his plate.
Kit blinked once. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
His friend’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with Gemma Templeton?”
Lucas slowly raised a brow. “Are you come to protect the innocent woman from the murderous villain? Here to ask after my intentions?”
Kit exhaled irritably. “Blackmoor, you know perfectly well that I trust you and your judgment. I would leave my wife alone with you in a darkened room without batting an eyelash.”
“That is because your wife would eat me alive.”
Kit’s composure broke for a smile and he shrugged. “True, but you would be perfectly mannered. I’m not afraid of your intentions for Gemma. I just want to know what they are. For your sake, I have to ask what you are doing.”
Lucas sat back and set his fork aside, measuring his old friend with a steady gaze. They had not been particularly close until recent years, but their friendship was longstanding. “Ideally, I will marry her.”
It was fortunate he knew of Kit’s skill with composure and reserve, for the untrained observer would have found the reaction lacking. But the sudden grip on the chair, wide eyes, and lack of breathing spoke volumes of his friend’s surprise.
“Marry?” Kit finally said on a faltering gasp.
Lucas nodded slowly, his mouth in a firm line.
“You swore you would never marry again.”
Lucas allowed himself a small, mirthless smile. “I told you last year I was considering marriage.”
“Yes, and with all the haste of considering new drapes,” Kit shot back. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “What is this?”
Lucas sighed and gestured to a chair. “Sit down.”
Kit hesitated, eyes surveying his friend with wariness. Then he exhaled and took the indicated chair. “All right, go ahead.”
Pushing the remains of his breakfast aside, Lucas turned to face him more directly. “I meant what I had told you last year. I was considering marriage. Rolling it around in my head, testing the taste of it on my tongue, that sort of thing. Then a few months ago I was at my estate and riding my new stallion across the grounds when a neighbor fired a rifle without warning, and the blasted thing threw me over a jump and I quite literally saw my life flash before my eyes. I…” He shook his head as an echo of the cold fear hit his chest again. “I could easily have broken my neck.”
He made a face, agonizing memories of that day, and the subsequent days, flitting through his mind. He wouldn’t tell Kit what had happened, the extent of his injuries, or the torment of the experience. And how it had changed him.
“It was too close,” he continued, “and it shook me greatly. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, hoping I hadn’t broken anything, and wondering what I had done with my life. I had spent years being miserable and alone, and that was no way to live.” He shook his head and shrugged. “So when I recovered, I determined I wouldn’t wait any longer. Marriage was suddenly important, and trying to be something more was important. And then I further received notice of my cousin’s increasingly ruinous behavior, and I absolutely could not let him inherit what I’ve worked so hard for. He is stupid and vain and would drain the estate for his own needs. My tenants would suffer greatly.”
He looked over to find Kit wearing a pensive expression. “So… You are looking to marry because you’re facing your own mortality?”
Lucas rubbed his forehead and heaved a sigh. “I suppose.” It was far, far more complicated than that, but it was enough.
“And aiming to sire an heir to prevent your cousin from inheriting.”
“Yes.”
Kit frowned and cocked his head. “Are those really the proper reasons to make such a hasty decision? Marriage is quite a significant step, and you’re being rather sudden about it.”
“Says the man who married a woman to save her reputation, and with only two days’ notice.”
Kit was neither amused nor impressed by the attempt at needling. “This isn’t something to take lightly, no matter what your reasons.”
Lucas raised a brow. “Do you remember my first marriage? I’ve learned my lesson. I was hardly going to marry the first girl I came across. This will take time and careful consideration, a determination of compatibility… Never mind what my end goal is, I am going to do this properly.”
“And Gemma?” Kit asked, looking mildly satisfied. “Where does she fit into this?”
“She is the one who triggered the idea in the first place. Years ago, if I am being honest. And…” Lucas hesitated for a moment and lowered his eyes. “It was always going to be Gemma,” he admitted with a raw honesty that was unlike him.
There was no response from his friend and Lucas reluctantly submitted to his curiosity and looked up.
Kit wore a bemused smile and his brow was creased. “Are you in love with Gemma Templeton?”
Lucas snorted and rolled his eyes, finding comfort in derision. “Please, I hardly know her well enough to claim anything of the sort, which is why I intend to court her. I simply think that she would suit my tastes and needs.”
“I could draw up a list of several women who would do that for you. What makes Gemma so special?”
That nearly made him laugh. What made her special? He sat back in his chair and raised a superior brow. “If you don’t know, there is no point in discussing it.”
Kit suddenly grinned, as he was becoming more and more prone to do under his wife’s influence. “Fair enough. Do I need to give you a warning? She is a dear friend of my wife…”
“Save your breath,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll not harm her in any way, shape, or form. Besides, she still needs to accept me. There is plenty working against me, and there’s no accounting for taste.”
Kit rose and clapped him on the shoulder. “Best of luck to you, Blackmoor. Marianne will be delighted to hear this.” He chuckled as he started from the room.
Lucas nearly sprang to his feet. “She can’t tell Gemma,” he barked, suddenly panicked. “I can’t… That is…”
Kit turned and gave him an indulgent smile. “Believe it or not, my wife can be trusted. She likes you, Blackmoor, and she’s been speculating all night. Why do you think I’m here?”
“Because you worry about me?” Lucas suggested, relaxing just a little.
Kit laughed once. “Because Marianne was beside herself and I would not know a moment of rest until I had something to tell her.” He nodded and turned from the room. “But I do worry about you.”
Lucas twisted his lips in a half grimace. He didn’t mean to worry his friends, but neither was he going to consult with them before making decisions regarding his life. His reserve had always suited him before, and it would suit him still.
His reasons were true, and he could not explain the urgency behind them any more than that. Not without delving into a dark part of his history that he would rather leave in the past. He much preferred moving forward and attempting to be alive again.
He did need to marry, and he did need to produce an heir. He was not about to let Thornacre go over to Lewis, who was without question the biggest waste of space that had ever come into any family of decency. In both size and habit. That prospect alone was enough to terrify a man with an entail, but when he added in the rest…
He returned to his seat and winced at the sudden twinge of pain, the most annoying evidence of how close he had come. He never looked at the scars, and he didn’t need to.
He was a man with nothing but scars, and most were not visible.
He was no candidate for any sort of husband, but there was no question in his mind anymore. He would do the one duty he had yet to fulfill, and he would do it his way.
And if Gemma Templeton would have him, he would take her.
But he couldn’t deny that the idea of a second marriage made him a trifle anxious.
The woman was different, quite drastically so, but he was the same.
What if the problem lay with him?
“I heard you had an interesting dance partner last night.”
“Oh, yes she did,” her mother crowed, sitting near the fire with a gleeful glint in her eyes.
Gemma rolled her eyes and yanked a stray thread on her secondhand gown. Her brother-in-law was a wonderful man, but he took his relationship with her far too seriously. Even Caroline was not this overbearing. And she never took Gemma away from practicing her music.
“Oh, you mean Mr. Palmer?” she asked innocently as she tightened the strings on her violin. “Yes, I was quite surprised to be asked. You know he only dances with those in their first Seasons.”
Despite her mother’s chuckling, Spencer was not amused. Being a father of three children, he had learned how to perfect a scolding look.
Fortunately, Gemma was immune.
“That is not what I mean,” he told her as he sat back in his chair and drew his leg up. “You danced with Lord Blackmoor.”
Gemma matched his pose in the most lady-like way possible, setting the instrument aside. “I did,” she confirmed, lifting her chin.
“Why?”
“Because he asked.”
“You know what they say about him.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes again. “Yes, and I also know what they say about us.”
Spencer stiffened and his eyes turned hard. “You know that’s not the same thing.”
“Oh no?” she asked, tilting her head. She glanced across the room at her mother, then leaned forward and hissed, “How much truth is there in the general estimation of our financial straits, Spencer?”
“Well, I…”
“Because it’s far worse, and you know it,” she overrode, stealing another look at her mother, who was too focused on her embroidery to hear anything. “But what the lovely members of Society don’t pity is our troubles. They are inclined to find fault with Papa for apparently mismanaging the grand fortune we supposedly had in our past, and ruining my chances at a good match, and how we must have done something positively horrid to end up this way.”
“Gem…”
“It’s not enough to be poor, we must be poor and criminal.” She shook her head and looked away. “It makes no difference what they say about him or me or anyone. They know absolutely nothing.”
Spencer was silent for a long moment, then he sighed. “I concede to your point. My brother and his friends think well of him, so I suppose I must reserve judgment.”
“Please do,” she muttered dryly.
Really, sometimes her brother-in-law was too superior for his own good. Becoming a member of Parliament had washed away any insecurities he’d had about being a second son, and he took the duties of exerting his influence over her whenever he could.
She’d never wanted an elder brother, and the charm of having one wore off on occasion.
“I only wanted to ask after the dance,” Spencer murmured, tugging at his ear. “I didn’t mean to attack him. Or you.”
“He danced very well,” her mother chimed in, perking up at the word ‘dance’. “Rather catlike, and graceful for a man so tall.”
Gemma deflated a little and folded her hands. “You came all the way over here to ask me about one dance with one mysterious viscount?”
He flashed a grin. “He doesn’t dance, and it’s a bit illicit, all things considered. I wanted to see if he’d made any sort of indication as to why.”
Gemma threw up her hands and rose. “You think that just because a man dances with me once, he must suddenly want my hand in marriage?”
“Blackmoor won’t marry.”
“Oh, so one dance ruins me,” she scoffed, marching past him. “How silly of me, to not have a care with my reputation!”
“Gemma, stop!”
She screeched and whirled to face him. “No, you stop, Spencer. I get enough of the marriage and reputation lectures from my parents, who seem to think that five Seasons isn’t quite enough to throw away ideas of a match of affection and fortune. It falls to me to save us all, but they refuse to entertain the idea of me marrying for comfort alone. And not that any of you care to notice, but no one is lining up for even that. So forgive me if I will dance with whomever I want, regardless of what anyone thinks.”
Spencer stood gaping openmouthed in shock and she felt her cheeks flame as she exited the room with far more composure than she’d managed the entire interview.
But her rage was sincere, and she fled the house rather than face anyone else. Truth be told, she worried far too often about their financial situation. Someone had to, and as her parents spent all of their energies putting up the front of being fairly well-to-do on a pitiful income, they were no help. They’d always had little enough to live on by Society’s standards, but recent years had only made things worse. Spencer and Caroline did what they could, but they were not able to relieve the extent of their problems.
And Gemma… sweet, little, apparently never grew up Gemma… was the only one who could see the truth.
If she didn’t marry soon, there would be no more London, no more balls, no more outings. Oh, she could visit her sister and continue on as she had been, but she could not infringe upon their family life forever. She would have to retrench with her parents, and live in a less expensive place and far beneath their current manner of living. They had already cut back so much to try to live more within their means, but outward appearances were more important than inward security, it seemed.
More than once, Gemma had begged her father to just arrange a marriage with a respectable and wealthy man for her hand, as she had the sort of temperament that could get along with anyone. She had long since given up romantic notions, and she could very easily be an honorable and respectful wife to a sensible gentleman.
Her father, however, was determined that Gemma would fall in love and would not consent to any other match.
Well, he would have to deal with a spinster daughter, then, and there was no proper way to make ends meet there.
Her mother was aging far sooner than Gemma would have liked, and was only growing ridiculous. She thought it delightful that Gemma had danced with Blackmoor, and after a thorough interrogation last night in which Gemma revealed nothing, was determined it would end in a shocking match that would make her infamous in Society. Gemma feared the day, should it occur, that Blackmoor set foot in her house. Her parents might never let him leave.
Poor man. Whatever his past or his sins, no one deserved that.
She fidgeted with the ribbons of her bonnet, which she had neglected to tie when she’d left the house. She had no patience for such things, and this bonnet was her oldest, and most tatty. She had others, but she was determined to wear each out to its fullest, thus saving her the trouble of needing to buy more. She had the funds herself, as she had been saving her pin money for years, and only occasionally dipped into it for her own amusement.
Her whimsical wager with Lily and Marianne seemed fairly stupid now, but she doubted they would expect her to actually pay. But then, she could afford to pay them a pound each, should she be successful.
She shook her head and sighed. Somehow, she’d make do. She’d done so for years, and the idea of ruination had lost the terrifying effect it once had.
She looked up at the road before her and was startled to find Lord Blackmoor headed in her direction, his eyes on her, his expression one of mild surprise.
“My lord Blackmoor,” she said faintly, finding him far more imposing by the light of day.
He bowed to her. “Miss Templeton.” He gave her a carefully assessing look. “Are you out alone?”
She nodded and shrugged a shoulder. “I fled the house before a chaperone could be found. A bit impudent, I know.”
His lips twitched. “Why do I have the impression that you are always a bit impudent?”
She grinned and playfully curtseyed. “I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea, my lord.”
His pale eyes intensified for a moment as he looked at her, then they flicked somewhere beyond her. “May I escort you back home? Or did you have somewhere else to go?”
Gemma chewed her lip for a moment, her smile still in play. “You may escort me, sir,” she told him, “but I’d rather not go home just yet.”
Shockingly, he asked no questions and merely held his arm out for her, which she took, and he slowly led her in the direction of Hyde Park. It was still rather early in the day, and hardly anybody was about, but given her agitation, she was not sure she actually would have cared.
Blackmoor was resolutely silent for a time, then inclined his head to say, “I was just on my way to your house to call on you.”
She immediately shook her head. “Oh, you had better not do that. I had to answer a great many questions about our illicit dance last night.”
He reared back, stunned. “Illicit?”
“Their words, not mine.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Your mother disapproves?”
Gemma scoffed loudly. “My mother had nothing to do with it. My brother-in-law, on the other hand…”
“Mr. Hammond?”
“Indeed. Troublesome wretch.” She shook her head, still glowering at his behavior.
“I imagine he’s only protective,” Blackmoor said in a surprisingly sympathetic tone.
She had to allow that and made a face. “You imagine right, but if he thinks one dance could ruin a girl, he’s got straw for brains, and I should never have let my sister fling punch on him.”
“She did what?” he exclaimed on a startled cough.
She glanced up at him. “Did you miss that? Yes, I suppose you must, as you were in Hampshire, I think.” She gave him the loose details of how Caroline and Spencer had met, and how Gemma had been there to assist in the master plan.
True to his reserve, Blackmoor had no reaction or expression, but his eyes were far less composed. Despite what his face showed, his eyes were quite a different matter. He was amused by the story, and not at all scornful.
Perhaps the stodgy and reclusive viscount was not quite so dreary after all.
What a shocking thought.
“Do you know, my lord, I think we should be friends,” Gemma said suddenly.
He glanced down at her with one thick brow raised. “Do you?” he asked, his voice wry. “Why is that?”
“You are not naturally talkative, and I can talk about anything for an exceptionally long time. You do not smile; I do. You are reserved and well behaved, I am open and rather impudent.”
“Seems to me we are opposites,” he mused in an unreadable tone. “What makes you think we can be friends?”
She quirked a smile at him. “Because of what we share, my lord. An overabundance of wit.”
“I’ve never been accused of having an overabundance of anything,” he informed her. “Except, perhaps, mystery.”
“All the more reason to be friends with me,” she replied with a light laugh. “There is no mystery about me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Miss Templeton.” He met her eyes and shook his head slowly. “Not in the least.”
Suddenly, it was rather difficult to swallow, and she could not feel her face. But she managed to overcome herself with a brief shiver and said, “So we might be friends?”
He considered the idea for a long moment, his eyes still on her. “For now,” he finally said.
They meandered about Hyde Park a little longer, conversing lightly on several topics. Well, Gemma conversed, and Blackmoor responded when necessary. He asked her a few simple questions about herself, but nothing particularly revealing or insightful. Despite never feeling uncomfortable in the presence of any man, there was a remarkable difference in comfort with him.
Comfort was there in abundance.
It made no sense, as he probably ought to have made her uncomfortable, given his rumored past and his hard appearance. But she had no such discomfort, never once had a twinge of nerves or anxiety, and found herself perfectly at ease. Even his short answers and brusque manner did not put her off. She sensed that was simply his way, and it had nothing to do with her.
In fact, if his eyes were any indication, he was quite interested in her. He focused on her with a rapt sort of intensity that skittered her heart, listened to every word she said with patience and attentiveness, and seemed as fascinated by her as she was by him. She was not anything special or particular, as she had learned over the years, and yet he seemed to see something worth attention.
Friends for now indeed.
He led her home afterwards, sparing her the awkwardness of having to explain his presence to anyone by letting her proceed the last block herself. He remained in his place and watched her go, as if concerned she would be attacked in the final unaccompanied stretch. She offered him a smile and a jaunty wave when she reached her door, and he straightened up a bit, touched his hat, and made no other response but a quirk of a brow.
What would it take to make him smile?
Gemma grinned at his retreating back and wrung her fingers. Her new mysterious friend had agreed to meet her again tomorrow, should the weather be favorable, on the Serpentine Bridge in Hyde Park, but only if she brought a chaperone as escort.
She wouldn’t mind doing so, but she had no chaperone to spare. He would have to get over that.
Shaking her head, she reentered the house and tugged off her bonnet.
“Where have you been, Gemma?” her mother asked as she suddenly appeared from the drawing room.
“Just a walk, Mama,” she replied airily. “The morning is quite delightful.”
“Spencer was very distressed, I do hope you will apologize for your harshness.”
“Of course, Mama,” she assured her, having no intention of doing any such thing.
Her mother hummed and adjusted her askew lace cap. “He must mind his manners about dear Lord Blackmoor. We mustn’t scare the man off before his suit is official.”
Her mother turned away and headed to parts of the house elsewhere, allowing Gemma to throw her hands up in the air. One relative fearing the worst of her associating with him, and another encouraging and anticipating the most drastic of opposites.
Imagine what either would say if they knew she had just spent a full hour alone in his company.