Page 90 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“Summon me once she does wake up.”

Mrs. Harting bobbed a curtsy while assuring him that she would.

James spent the next few hours trying to concentrate on the work before him, but it proved surprisingly hard to do because his mind kept drifting to last night and his time spent with Gwendolyn.

The occasional sound of an elephant horde, which had to be his sons thinking they were being quiet as church mice, also managed to distract him. Still, he dealt with the most urgent matters and got through enough correspondence for the day to allow himself to put the rest aside until tomorrow.

Anyway, it was time to take his sons down to the beach.

Since Mrs. Harting had not summoned him, he supposed Gwendolyn was still asleep and would not join them.

He stifled his disappointment and made to stride out of his study—only to find Gwendolyn preparing to knock at his door.

She must have just taken a bath, for her hair was wet and simply brushed back in a long and loose tumble while it dried. Her gown was a simple but unmistakably elegant light-blue muslin that enhanced the blue of her eyes and made them sparkle.

Well, she always sparkled.

Was this girl real? She was almost too beautiful to be real.

Her cheeks were stained pink, an angry pink, and her hands were shaking as she held up what appeared to be a letter.

He frowned. “What’s wrong, Gwen?”

Her lips were pinched with tension as she handed the parchment over to him. “Can you believe the gall of that wretched man? He wants to call on me tonight. Here. At your home. Does he think we will invite him to stay for supper? What is his motive in coming here? Why not show up last night when he knew we were waiting for him in Brighton?”

Her reference to “that wretched man” could only be to her absent betrothed.

But James understood his purpose immediately. This was a game for Clement, a game of power and control. One designed to humiliate and insult James.

The bounder was issuing a declaration of war, showing that he could march into James’s territory and take Gwendolyn from under his very nose.

Over my dead body.

“What does he mean by this, James?”

“That he wants you back,” he said, trying to remain calm and not show that he was burning up with anger.

Truly, if he could blow fire through his nostrils, he would torch the cad as soon as he walked through the front door.

Her eyes widened. “You think he wants me back?”

Was that hope in her voice? This was not the response James cared to hear.

“Gwen, what he wants does not matter.” He took her by the shoulders and would not allow her to escape his gaze, but that had him staring into her beautiful face and pain-filled eyes. “What matters is what you want.”

She said nothing, her mouth merely parting in an O of surprise.

He took a deep breath. “You are at a crossroads.”

“A crossroads?”

“Yes,” he said, giving her shoulders a light caress. “I am standing on the new path to your right and Clement is standing on the old path to your left. So, I must ask you. Which one of us do you want? Which road will you take?”

He took a deep breath.

Several, in fact.

“It is time to choose, Gwen. You cannot put off this decision any longer.”