He couldn’t picture it. Wasn’t even certain how such a thing could have happened. Shehadbeen quite young when he’d left. Was it possible that in the year since he’d been gone, she’d changed that much? According to every man at this club, it wasn’t just possible. It was a fact.
Add to that, the news that Gemma was apparently the darling of theton. She had a full social calendar, according to these chaps. She hosted parties and attended them, knew everyoneand was known by everyone. And apparently she was adored by all of Society.
Damn it. He’d clearly made a mistake not shipping her off to Cumberland.
“I must admit,” came Lord Tinsley’s reedy voice, “I didn’t understand when you first married her. Other than her being of good family, that is. But now I realize thatyouwere the cleverest of the lot all along, Grovemont. You managed to marry the most beautiful lady theton’s seen in an agebeforeshe was beautiful.” Tinsley nearly laughed himself hoarse while Lucian glared at him from behind his half-filled brandy glass.
“And I’ve had more than one lad ask me if you’d look askance at your wife taking a lover,” Lord Berbrook said. “Though I did remind him that you’ve yet to sire an heir, so he will probably have to wait.”
Wait indeed. Lucian tossed back the rest of his drink. Was he having a fever dream? Had he contracted ague, that dread illness common in India due to the humid air? How was it possible that his wife—his scheming, disobedient wife—had become the toast of thetonin fifteen short months?
Lucian didn’t know. But he was damn sure about to find out…immediately. He signaled to the footman that he was leaving.
“Who did you say was having a ball tonight?” he asked his friends as he stood up.
“The Monroes,” they shouted in unison.
Lucian lifted his chin by way of good-bye. The Monroes were having a ball tonight. That’s where Gemma would be. Sothat’swhere Lucian was going.
O
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucian ignored the stares and whispers directed his way the moment he stepped into the Monroes’ ballroom. When the butler announced his name, a collective gasp went up around the room. All pairs of eyes were on him now as he slowly descended the marble staircase to the lower level of the room where most partygoers were gathered. So much for being discreet.
He made a show of smiling and nodding to anyone who welcomed him back. He went from group to group, shaking hands and exchanging small talk, but all the while his gaze impatiently darted about the large room. Where was Gemma?
He’d been at the blasted ball for the better part of an hour before Lord Tidwell, who was obviously deep in his cups, had the temerity to blurt out, “I should think you’d want a word with your duchess, Grovemont. I believe she’s out on the balcony with Pembroke at the moment.”
Lucian’s head snapped up. He just so happened to be standing at the far side of the ballroom next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Monroes’ verandah. He slowly turned his head to look out the window. Two figures were there, standing outside against the balustrade. A man and awoman. The dark-haired woman was wearing a bright-turquoise gown. Her head thrown back, she was laughing uproariously. The man was down on one knee, holding her hand.
Lucian’s jaw clamped tight. Was he to believe thathis wifewas out there alone with a man who appeared to be…proposing marriage? After the stories he’d heard at the club, he didn’t doubt it.
“Yes, there she is. With Pembroke,” Tidwell verified, pointing to the couple and slapping Lucian on the back. “They’re thick as thieves.”
Lucian didn’t wait to hear more. Without so much as excusing himself to the group, he turned on one heel and stalked toward the French doors.
A collective hush fell over the ballroom.
Gemma was laughing so hardshe thought her sides might burst. Pembroke had become one of her closest friends over the last year, and he’d escorted her out onto the Monroes’ balcony tonight when she’d mentioned that the ballroom was too hot. Now he was on one knee, drunkenly pretending to propose to her with a large pink peony that he’d somehow procured from a nearby bush.
Pembroke had asked for Gemma’s help in ensuring that his proposal, when it came time to make one to the lady of his choosing, would be adequate. Gemma, of course, had happily obliged, and Pembroke was even now practicing.
“My dearest, Lady Gemma,” he said, bending over her hand with an exaggerated swagger. “Will youpleasedo me the honor of becoming my wife?”
The next thing Gemma knew, Pembroke was flying across the balustrade. He landed on the grass below in a tangled heap. And herhusband, of all surprising people, was standing in front of her looking like an angry god. His face was dark, clouded with fury, and his nostrils were flaring. Otherwise, he looked annoyingly fit and tanned. A state that made his blue eyes even more arresting.
“She’s already married,” Grovemont spat down to Pembroke without so much as looking at him.
Pembroke jumped up and scrambled away into the darkness, muttering, “Quite right.”
Gemma turned to face her husband. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, careful to keep the long-practiced indifference on her face.
So, he was back? And he’d seen fit to arrive here tonight? It was probably no more than a coincidence. She doubted he’d known she was here. He wouldn’t cross a roadway to greet her. But it was no matter. The Monroes’ verandah was as good a place as any to have this long-awaited discussion.
Her husband was about to find out that she was no longer the uncertain little bride he’d abandoned fifteen months ago. And she would enjoy letting him know it. “Pembroke was only jesting,” she insisted, giving Grovemont a false, tight smile.
“He’snotamusing,” Grovemont shot back.
