“Ow.” Petra's gloved hand flew to her injured cheek. “Really, Mother.”
“Just tinkle the keys with your fingers, pet. Turn your face from the door so the duke can see your lovely profile.”
“Now, my dear, let me look atyou.” She ran her eyes down Jemma's slim form. “The dark green suits you, I'm so thrilled to see you out of black and gray. The duke has many connections, niece, so you must make an impression as well. Think of yourself as a complement to your cousin until you are the centerpiece.”
Aunt Mary lifted her cheek to Rowan. “Thank you for being on time, scamp.”
Rowan pecked his mother's proffered cheek obediently. “Of course, Mother. I wouldn't miss Petra's big night.” He winked at his sister.
Petra hit a sour note on the pianoforte. “Do shut up, Rowan.”
Aunt Mary gave both her children a pained smile. “Rowan, why don't you and Jemma start a game of chess before dinner?” She commanded with a firm press of her lips.
Rowan walked Jemma across the drawing room to the family chess table while Petra half-heartedly plucked at the pianoforte's keys.
“Mother is a tyrant, isn't she?” Rowan whispered, taking care not to be overheard.
“No. Well a bit,” Jemma acknowledged with a grin.
“Wait until she decides to marry you off, Cousin. You may not find it so amusing,” Rowan cautioned her. “She'll have all manner of eligible men presented to you, after checking their pedigrees, of course.”
She thought of Nick and his questionable background. Would that Aunt Mary, Lady Marsh, had been able toresearchhis connections. She could still feel his hands and the brush of his legs twisted about hers. Grieving over her father and the loss of her home these last months, she’d tried desperately to forget Nick Shepherd. Forgetting had been easier at her uncle’s estate in Essex. But her arrival in London seemed to remind her all over again of her flight from Bermuda and the reasons for it. Today had been particularly difficult and she struggled to push thoughts of him aside. Perhaps it was the thought of the Season and that some of thetonmight actually know Nick. Could he be here, in London? Or had that been a lie as well?
“Jemma? Have I upset you?” Rowan signaled to a waiting servant for refreshments.
“No, of course not.”
“The feel of your nails through the fabric of my coat would lead me to think otherwise.” He pulled out her chair and waited for her to answer. When she didn't, he moved to the other side of the table.
“Who was he?” Rowan placed the pieces neatly on the chessboard.
“I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.” Jemma busied herself with settling her skirts about her.
“Your secret is safe with me, Cousin. Just don't ever tell Petra, she'll blab to Mother. Did you love him?”
Jemma lowered her eyes lest she give herself away.
Yes, I loved him. I still do, even after all he has done.
Rowan moved his pawn, watching her with a curious look.
Would she ever truly get over Nick? Each morning she awoke to the vague sense of loss, not just of her father and her life in Bermuda, but for Nick. As Anna dressed her for the day, she would tell herself how lucky she was that her indiscretion had not brought her a bastard to raise. Fortunate indeed that she had managed to escape Hamilton and the machinations of the Corbetts. As she sat at dinner, she would ignore the gnawing ache in her heart, discounting the loneliness and utter desolation that would bubble up before dessert was served. Lying in her bed at night she would finally allow herself to think of the day on the beach, then curse herself for still caring for the scoundrel.
“Perhaps there is hope?” her cousin said softly, nodding for her to take her turn.
“No.” She lifted her chin, steeling herself against the sense of loss and anger. “I’ll never see him again and it’s better I don’t.”
“I see.” His eyes darkened with concern. “I would not wish to meet him then, for I would take offense to anyone who has hurt you so. We will speak of it no more.”
Jemma moved her knight. “Thank you, Rowan.”
“I’ve met His Grace,” he deftly changed the subject. “In fact, I've played cards with him at White’s.”
“Have you?” Thankfully, her cousin decided to not question her further. “And how do you find him? I understand he's quite frightening.”
“You must stop listening to Petra. She's afraid of her own shadow.” Rowan stroked his chin in thought. “I would say that he is not a man you should cross and those that have, rarely live to tell the tale. He is reputed to be a wicked, damned man, capable of horrible things.”
“What sorts of wicked, horrible things?” Jemma was rather looking forward to meeting him. “That he's a witch?” At Rowan's frown she said, “And I didn't hear that only from Petra.”
