Tears fell from Gemma’s eyes. She couldn’t help them. She didn’t try to hide them. “That’s dreadful.”
“It was,” echoed Mrs. Howard. “After the old duke died, His Grace and his mother became closer. He always loved her very much. It was difficult for him when she died.”
Gemma sucked in her breath and slowly exhaled. The things Mrs. Howard had just told her were awful. Now Gemma understood why Lucian had been the way he’d been.
But one thought throbbed viciously through her brain, pounding her skull with its importance.
I will not allowmyson to be treated that way.
She might not even beenceinte, but it didn’t matter. She had to have Lucian’s promise, or she could not continue with their agreement. She wouldnotallow her children to be raised without love.
O
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Next Morning
Lucian awoke in his wife’s arms. A feeling of contentment unlike any he’d ever known swept through him. He nuzzled his face into her hair and breathed in her intoxicating scent. What was this wonderful feeling? Happiness? Contentment? He’d never known it before. He pulled her close and kissed her atop the head.
These last two weeks with Gemma had been the best of his life. Better than anything he’d imagined. And she was beginning to trust him. He could feel it. It wasn’t only in the way she responded to him in bed. It was in the way she asked him questions and listened to his answers. It was in the way she laughed when he made a jest, and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him over breakfast in the morning. She was still wary—and probably rightfully so—but he’d made progress in gaining her trust. He’d asked her to give their marriage a chance. And she was. He felt it. Each day, she was opening herself up to him a little more. Trentham had been right. Beingcharming wasn’t difficult, after all. And there was no trick to it. Just respect and interest.
“Good morning,” came Gemma’s sleepy voice muffled by the covers.
“You’re awake?” He smiled and pulled the covers away from her lovely face.
She drew her fingertip across his chest and glanced up at him from beneath her lashes.
He swooped down to kiss her, but she ducked and laughed. “Wait, Lucian. I need to ask you something.”
He looked down at her and smiled. “I like it when you say my name.”
She bit her lip and glanced away.
There was something wrong. He could feel it. Last night, they hadn’t spoken and had merely fallen into bed together, ravenous for each other as usual. But now there was tension in her drawn-up shoulders. There was hesitancy in her gaze. “What is it?”
“Will you tell me something?” She still did not look at him directly.
“What?” His heart hammered, panic rising in his chest. His gut told him he wouldn’t like what she was about to say.
She pushed herself up against the pillows and crossed her arms over her middle. She stared down at the covers silently.
Lucian pushed himself back against the pillows next to her, but he searched her profile. “What is it, Gemma? Say it?” Fear made his voice sound angry.
She swallowed. He watched as her throat worked. “I’ve heard a few things,” she began tentatively. She uncrossed her arms and plucked at the quilt with her thumb and forefinger but still didn’t look at him. “Things that concern me. Servants’ gossip, mostly. But I want to ask you directly.” She sucked in a breath. “What sort of parents were your mother and father?”
Lucian’s face hardened into a mask of stone. “Servants shouldn’t gossip.” His parents were not a subject he was willing to talk about. And to hear that his servants had shared anything about his family with her incensed him. Gemma didn’t need to know details of how he’d been raised or how his parents had treated him. All of that was a long time ago. It had nothing to do with their future.
“It’s not just the servants,” she clarified, her voice rising with what sounded like alarm. “When you and I went to Griffin’s…you said my family was warm and loving. You said yours was different.”
“It was different.” The words shot out of his mouth as if they came from a pistol. His jaw was clenched. What the hell did any of this have to do withthem?
“They didn’t show you affection, did they?” she prodded.
The overwhelming emotion that had invaded Lucian’s chest was spreading now. And it was unmistakable. Anger. Anger that this was coming up. Anger that his servants had gossiped. Anger clawed at his insides. He never discussed his parents with anyone. Ever. No one ever asked. “What does it matter what my parents were like? They are bothdead,” he nearly spat.
Gemma winced, drawing away from him slightly. “It matters quite a lot.” Her voice was raw with sadness.
“I don’t see how.” Along with the anger, discomfort was also spreading quickly through his veins. He was used to being in control of everything. But he couldn’t control this. He couldn’t control her questions or her reactions to his answers. He couldn’t control what she thought of him. He scrubbed a hand through his hair.
