Just Another Viscount in Love Read online

  His brow furrowed in confusion. “Then what is?”

  Instead of excusing herself and ending their discourse, she decided to share the truth with him, even while knowing what it might cost her.

  Reluctantly, she slid her hand free, her fingertips inadvertently brushing the crisp golden hairs near his wrist before she pulled away. Absent of his touch and warmth, she curled her hand into a fist.

  “The problem is that I excel at card play, and the reason for it is quite scandalous.” She drew in a fortifying breath before she continued. “Regardless, I cannot alter the facts. My father spent many years in gaming hells, and some owned by associates who did not mind having his daughter sit beside him. Many thought it was a lark to teach me how to play, keeping me occupied when my father was next to me, losing whatever fortune we might have had. During that time, I learned tricks from cheats and sleight-of-hand artists and even helped to spot the crooks who kept cards up their sleeves.

  “And while I want to assure you that I do not condone cheating or practice it myself, the things that I have learned make it appear as though I do.” She swallowed, preparing herself to see the look of horror that would surely cross Sam’s expression any second now. “I cannot help but study people. By their expressions and gestures, and without giving it much thought, I can usually guess which cards they hold.”

  But, once again, Sam surprised her.

  “That’s marvelous, if you ask me,” he said immediately and without even the smallest hint of abhorrence. “I find myself rather envious of the skill of reading people. I’ve no luck at it myself.”

  In her opinion, he was always on target with her thoughts . . . but she couldn’t think about that now.

  Reeling from his response, her breath staggered out of her lungs. “There are many who would believe that my upbringing, as well as the out-of-the-ordinary lessons I learned, were unseemly for a young woman, if not barbaric.”

  “I do not believe that,” he said, reaching through the railing to take her hand again, his fingers dipping to the center of her fist, opening her grasp, and setting off a torrent of heated flutters. “You fascinate me, Gemma. And I don’t want you ever to hide who you are. Not with me.”

  A beat of silent expectation stretched between them. Feeling safe, free from censure, and a thousand other pleasant emotions, she wrapped her fingers around his hand and nodded, unsure that her voice wouldn’t break with her answer.

  “I want to know everything”—he grinned and tugged her closer—“especially how to best Holt at the tables.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The following evening, Gemma went directly to the library again after dinner. As a happy coincidence, Sam soon followed, and they shared a few precious minutes alone. Well . . . not completely alone. The door was open, and Aunt Edith lingered in the hall, but Gemma’s heart didn’t know the difference. That lopsided whirring sensation began the instant he walked into the room.

  Because of the four horsewomen and their constant interference, this was the first opportunity Gemma had to speak with Sam or even breathe the same air. Yet seeing him move toward her, his gait sure and direct, none of that mattered anymore.

  “Have you found a book you fancy, Miss Desmond?” he asked with an almost rakish lift of his brow.

  “Indeed,” she said, not looking away from him. Then she quickly realized that she wasn’t holding a book.

  By the flash of his grin, Sam noticed too. “I’m glad.”

  She felt flustered and hot beneath his gaze, beneath her skin. Touching her hand to her throat, she found it ever-so-slightly damp with perspiration. “It’s rather warm this evening.”

  “After living in the desert, I should think you would be accustomed to the heat.” As he spoke, his hungry gaze dipped to follow the path of her fingers.

  She found herself tilting her head, her fingertips lingering, imagining they were his. “The evenings were much cooler.”

  “Do you prefer that climate, or do you like it here?”

  As with most of their exchanges, she sensed there was another layer underneath his question, a way for him to gain an understanding of her thoughts. “I prefer the weather in Surrey the best of all, and at Dunnock Park especially. It is perfect in every way.”

  Pleasure filled his expression, as if he’d known she meant that she liked him best of all, that he was perfect in every way. He took a step closer until they were standing toe to toe, his gaze darkening, drifting to her lips, and she knew he intended to kiss her.

  She wasn’t about to stop him.

  Then suddenly there was a commotion in the hall, followed by Lord Holt’s voice asking, “Wouldn’t you prefer the parlor over the library, my lady?”

  Sam took a step back, and Gemma turned to face the shelves, right before Lady Tillmanshire and Miss Ashbury spilled through the doorway.

  The baroness began simpering and fawning immediately. “Lord Ellery, how clever you are to know the premier time of the day to take a tour among the shelves.”

  When the baroness and her daughter linked arms and began to saunter around the room—without even bothering to pick up a single book—Gemma assumed that her time with Sam was at an end.

  Ever the consummate host, Sam politely responded to Lady Tillmanshire but then turned back to Gemma. “Miss Desmond, since you are so fond of history, I thought you might also enjoy this.”

  He handed her a book from the shelf in front of him, his fingers brushing against the bare skin exposed above the lace edge of her mitts. When she looked down and saw the book was on botany rather than history, she realized he’d done this solely to touch her.

  For this reason, Gemma vowed to wear fingerless mitts every single day. Thankfully, Berta had brought back a fresh pair from the village when she picked up the—previously horrifying but now fondly—stained muslin from the laundress. The dress was now a lovely shade of dark rose that would be perfect for a special occasion.

  “This room requires a feminine touch, my dear,” Lady Tillmanshire announced to her daughter, her voice ringing like the blade of an ax hitting stone. “A proper wife might improve upon the furnishings, draperies, and add trinkets to the shelves to make them more enticing. You have always had a good eye for such things.”

  Gemma exchanged an amused glance with Sam and pursed her lips in thoughtful acknowledgment. Obviously, the baroness was trying to plant the seed of enticement.

  Wanting a way to continue their encounter, a thought came to her. She still had yet to mention her observations of Lord Holt at the card table. So she too plucked a random book from the shelf and handed it to him, their fingers surreptitiously tangling. “And this book was quite interesting, Lord Ellery. I especially enjoyed the chapters I read last night in the parlor, regarding the royal houses of . . . Holt.” She paused for emphasis, hoping he would follow. “Though one might lift a brow over the actions at the hands of the kings and queens.”

  It had taken effort to spot the gestures that revealed Lord Holt’s cards the previous evening. He was a careful one. At the table, he always sat with his back to the corner, ever watchful. Nevertheless, Gemma had discovered a few interesting tells.

  As if perfectly attuned to her, understanding resonated in Sam’s grin. “Your insight enthralls me. I should like nothing more than to hear all your thoughts, on any topic of your choosing.”

  She knew from the unreserved warmth of his tone they were no longer speaking of books or card play. And she tucked that knowledge away, keeping it close to her heart.

  During the week, Gemma made a habit of visiting the library after dinner and picking up a different book before heading into the parlor with the others. What made this part of her day especially nice was that Sam did the same. In this way, her days were summed up in small moments in the library in the evening and then even smaller moments in the breakfast room each morning.

  In the hopes of seeing him alone, Gemma had to rise earlier and earlier each morning. Sam seemed to be of like mind, for he was alway
s standing near the door of the breakfast room, waiting for her with an expectant grin.

  Then, invariably, one of the four would appear in a flurry of skirts, slippers scraping rapidly on the floor. Usually, this was Lady Cantham, who apparently took pleasure in wrinkling her nose at the buffet and making every attempt to command all of Sam’s attention.

  Nonetheless, just as he did during their not-so-private library trysts, he always found a way to be near Gemma.

  Most often, he walked past her place at the table and paused to set a dish of something—marmalade, cream, or honey—in front of Gemma’s plate. “Good morning, Miss Desmond,” he said each time, the low timbre of his voice gliding through her and awakening her appetite. Bending beside her, his sleeve would brush her bare arm before he withdrew. And each time, he left her insides fluttering and tingling with longing.

  She was desperate for an opportunity to be alone with him.

  Yet the four were determined to keep them apart. They had split up into groups, making sure to trail either Gemma or Sam throughout each day. And Gemma often felt as if she were walking around wearing an archery target.

  Thankfully, Sam hadn’t been easily deterred. He’d found other ways of sharing private moments with her. Like on the day of horseback riding, when he walked over to her mount to ensure that she did not have a loose stirrup. His blunt fingertips grazed over the leather of her half boot as he secured her foot, leaving her with the briefest, most tantalizing touch above her ankle. There was also the afternoon in the village. While the others were buying new hair ribbons, she and Sam shared a single glass of Mrs. Selby’s pink punch in the square.

  And of course, there were the flowers.

  For the past six nights when she retired to her bedchamber, she found a woodbine blossom on the window seat. And every night before she closed her eyes, she pressed her lips to the petals and placed it on the pillow beside hers.

  After that first week, Gemma knew that no matter how the four interfered, it still did not detract from her growing feelings for Sam. Best of all—or worst of all; she still couldn’t decide—she had an inkling that he felt the same way.

  Today, she’d woken up with a terrifying truth. She was falling in love with him.

  It left her torn. Sometimes Gemma forgot about her sullied surname and began to imagine a quiet life at Dunnock Park. Then other times, the four helped to remind her that she didn’t belong here and that she should leave before something terrible happened that ruined Sam’s good opinion of her.

  “Did you hear me, my dear?” Aunt Edith asked from beside her as their party traipsed through the orchards and groves of Dunnock Park.

  Gemma blinked, finding her way back to the present. She hoped her musings hadn’t been transparent.

  “I missed the last part,” Gemma said, innocently owl-eyed.

  Gradually, her previous thoughts dispersed and her surroundings became clear—the glossy green leaves covering branches heavy with ripe red fruits, and the crisp, mouthwatering scent of apples permeating the air.

  “I said,” Aunt Edith continued in a hushed voice, “that for the past week, I have not seen Lord Ellery without the company of Lady Tillmanshire, Lady Cantham, Miss Ashbury, Miss Leeds, or all of them together.”

  Gemma grumbled her displeasure. “We must allow them merits for diligence.”

  Directly ahead, the four took turns keeping him occupied by posing various questions.

  “And what type of trees are these?” Miss Ashbury fairly shouted when Miss Stapleton had almost gained some of his attention.

  “Apple,” Sam said, his tone unusually terse.

  Lady Tillmanshire issued a low, baying laugh that—to Gemma’s ears—sounded eerily similar to the throaty growl of a cantankerous camel. “What an incorrigible flirt you are, Lord Ellery. Of course my daughter was asking for the Latin name.”

  “I’m afraid these apples do not speak Latin, my lady.”

  Another obnoxious laugh followed, and Sam cast a helpless glance over his shoulder to Gemma, rolling his eyes to the low-hanging canopy overhead. Gemma offered him a smile of support before he turned back to endure more inanity.

  “Considering that the other gentlemen rode into town for a supposed surprise, Lord Ellery has been keeping us well entertained,” Gemma said to her aunt. “I daresay there isn’t a single woman who feels slighted by him.”

  “What about you? If he continues to divide his time between the others, then we will leave next week, and nothing will come of your acquaintance.”

  “Then it will be for the best.” Gemma covered up the unexpected break in her throat with a cough.

  “I do not believe that,” Aunt Edith said, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

  She sidled closer, not wanting to risk being overheard. “When my father is found, he will be tried for his numerous crimes, and his family will all have to endure the speculation and rumor again. I would not saddle Lord Ellery with such an ordeal to bear.”

  “Our host is not the type of man to care about your name or father’s reputation. Why not present him with your concerns and allow him to choose the path he would take?”

  “I cannot.” She wasn’t sure what scared her the most—what would happen if he chose her, or how desolate she would feel if he didn’t.

  Having reached their destination, the party stopped. Each group began unfolding the quilted blankets they carried as the footmen opened picnic baskets.

  “I do not like how resigned you are, my dear,” Aunt Edith said with quiet vehemence. Hooking the curved handle of her parasol over her forearm, she took hold of two corners. “You’re waiting for the worst to happen instead of taking measures to ensure the best outcome.”

  Gemma gave the blanket a firm shake, settling her side on the ground. She waited until they were both seated in close proximity before speaking her mind. “Believe me, Aunt, if the choice were mine, I would order carriages for all the other women and send them away. Then I would lock out the rest of the world as well and live contentedly here at Dunnock Park.”

  There. She’d said it, the words so freeing that she could almost feel them taking flight, rising high above the walls she’d built around her heart.

  Yet the truth of misguided confessions was that, eventually, they fell to their demise, much like Icarus and his wax wings.

  “All the other women? Even me?” Aunt Edith sniffed with feigned despair. Her grin, however, gave her away. Clearly, she was pleased by her niece’s admission.

  Gemma pressed a kiss to her soft, lavender-scented cheek. “After plaguing me all afternoon, I daresay you might be the first to go.”

  Her aunt’s lilting laugh drew attention from the others. Ellery’s smile was automatic, and even Miss Stapleton and the Misses Creighton grinned. As expected, the four did not.

  “It is such a lovely day that one cannot help but laugh with contentment,” Aunt Edith said to the party. “What a shame, Lord Ellery, that the other gentlemen could not be here with us.”

  Standing off to the side, Sam directed the footmen to fill teacups with an apple tisane and deliver them to each guest, and then he turned a playful smirk on Aunt Edith. “If that is your way of trying to ferret out information regarding the surprise I have planned, it won’t work, Your Grace.”

  A determined gleam sparked within in Aunt Edith’s eyes. “Certainly you could tell us if we are to expect seeing your parents at this . . . event.”

  “Perhaps it is not an event at all,” he said with a sly shrug, no doubt to pique everyone’s curiosity. “However, I can tell you this much—my parents will not be in attendance.” When a round of discontented rumbles met his declaration, he added, “I do expect them to join us for dinner one evening, quite soon.”

  Gemma felt the heat of his stare, as if he spoke the last part solely to her. Beside her, Aunt Edith drew in a quick breath as if she saw the same thing. Disconnecting her gaze from Sam’s, Gemma glanced to the group to see if anyone else had noticed. The Misses Creighton and
Miss Stapleton were blissfully unaware and chatting among themselves. But the four were scrutinizing her severely.

  Suddenly, the orchard felt like an icehouse for all the glacial daggers being launched in her direction. Yet knowing that they only said hurtful things out of Sam’s earshot, she knew she was safe from whatever insults they could sling at her. It gave her an opportunity to view the four with a more objective eye.

  Quite honestly, she could appreciate the reason for the slant-eyed glares Miss Ashbury and Miss Leeds sent her way. Lord Ellery was a prime catch, after all. If the women were to brandish their claws over any man, it ought to be one who was worth the effort. And Sam most certainly was.

  At the end of her assessment, Gemma realized that the four were all bluster and no bite. Here at Dunnock Park, under Sam’s watch, they held no real power.

  Then, just as soon as she’d finished the thought, she noted Lady Cantham eyeing her while tapping a closed fan against her chin. A shiver of foreboding trickled down Gemma’s spine.

  “What an interesting necklace you have, Miss Desmond,” Lady Cantham said.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Gemma responded hesitantly. Why, exactly, after so many days of receiving silence, had she now earned this apparently cordial observation?

  The young baroness slid a sideways look to her stepdaughter. Then Miss Leeds sat forward, the nostrils of her flat nose narrowing on a sniff. “You always wear a different piece of jewelry each day, Miss Desmond. I wonder, do you travel with a treasure chest, or do you . . . randomly pick up objects from wherever you are staying?”

  This was the first time Miss Leeds had spoken directly to her as well. At least, where everyone could witness their exchange.

  “I have a few pieces I’ve collected over the years. This coral necklace, in particular, was a gift from my aunt.” Wary, her attention flitted to Sam, seeking comfort.

  He smiled in reassurance, but that soon altered when his gaze dipped to where her fingers touched the necklace, and his eyes darkened, warming. Likely, he was recalling their outing on Leith Hill when Aunt Edith had beseeched him to assist with the clasp. And now she was too.