Tempted by a Lady's Smile (Lords of Honor #4)(10)

Oh, blast and double blast on Sunday. How to explain her furtive sneaking to a person who’d long known to be wary of that very sneaking? Emery winged an eyebrow upwards. Why could she not have been one of those ladies with clever responses? Instead, she stood, unblinking like a dratted owl perfectly caught by her brother. “Is it late?”

“It is,” he repeated, his ever-narrowing eyes conveyed his wariness.

“There you are.”

Brother and sister swung their gazes as one to Beatrice who stood with her hands propped on her hips and a smile wreathing her guileless face. Salvation came in the most unexpected, but most welcome, form as Beatrice strode forward. The mischievous twinkle sparkling in her cornflower blue eyes belied that perception of innocence.

Some of the tension drained from Gemma.

The consummate gentleman, Emery dropped a bow. “Lady Beatrice.”

As though they met in a formal parlor and not in the empty corridors of the duke’s largely slumbering household, Beatrice curtsied. “Lord Smithfield, may I steal Gemma away?”

He studied Beatrice through suspicious eyes a moment and with a slow nod, took a step back. “Of course. Please, do not let me interfere with your enjoyments.”

Fighting a wave of guilt, Gemma leaned up on tiptoe and pecked her brother on the cheek. “Goodnight, Emery.” Then, sliding her arm through Beatrice’s, she allowed her friend to lead her onward.

“Gemma?” Her brother called out, bringing the ladies back around. Gemma stared questioningly at him. “Behave.”

A guilty heat slapped her cheeks and she mustered a smile. “Don’t I always?”

“No,” he said automatically, swiftly killing her false grin. “You do not.” He touched the brim of an imagined hat. “Lady Beatrice.”

The ladies waited a moment and then resumed their path in the opposite direction.

“That was close,” Beatrice muttered under her breath, stealing a look over her shoulder. “You must take greater care.”

Again, the duke’s steward slipped into Gemma’s thoughts and her lips tingled with the remembered feel of his mouth on hers. At the peculiar look Beatrice shot her, Gemma forced a response. “I know.”

Giving a pleased nod, Beatrice marched them with military-like precision and purpose through her father’s sprawling home. They descended the stairs and reached the main landing. Then, all hint of flawless, too-proper miss thrown aside, Beatrice grabbed Gemma by the hand and tugged her along. “You do not have much time,” she whispered. “Robert is alone in the billiards room.”

Gemma furrowed her brow. Generally, gentlemen retired for drinks with the other men, desiring an escape from polite company. Or, that had been her observation as a younger sister, anyway. It was as though there was some unspoken, unwritten masculine pact among those titled lords to avoid marriage-minded ladies. “Are you certain he’s alone?”

“Quite.” Glossing over the skepticism in Gemma’s question, Beatrice continued. “He takes drinks there by himself. More so since P-Papa…” She coughed into her palm.

Pain tugged at Gemma’s heart and she captured her friend’s fingers, giving them a slight squeeze. The words “I am sorry” were so absolutely futile and useless when presented with the unspoken sadness blanketing this house.

“Come, none of that,” Beatrice said, and winked. “I’d focus on happy things like rainbows and rides through the countryside at midnight and your pursuit of Robert.”

A strangled laugh lodged in Gemma’s throat. What sorry days, indeed, when a lady was the one to bring a gentleman up to scratch. She wrinkled her nose. Though, in truth, there was something empowering in seizing control of one’s destiny.

Gripping her by the forearms, Beatrice steered Gemma forward. She gave her a slight nudge between the shoulder blades. “Off you go. Third door down the corridor, on the right. Make him see reason.”

Gemma frowned. Make him see reason? Wasn’t love about illogical thought and maddening passion? The manner of dizzying desire that had gripped her in a stranger’s arms. She turned to ask her friend as much, but like a slip of fog rolled back by the morning light, Beatrice disappeared. With a sigh, Gemma forced her legs to move.

If Mother knew Gemma even now crept down the silent, candlelit corridors, seeking out the company of a gentleman… Alone. Unchaperoned. Which, in thinking, really was quite redundant, the whole alone and unchaperoned business… Gemma gave her head a clearing shake. Even nervous in her silent musings.

She paused at the end of the hall. Third door down the corridor, on the right. Third door, on the right. Gemma stole one more glance backward. After all, a person could never be too certain there weren’t servants about. Or in the case of the early evening…stewards about. Stewards with firm lips and thick, chestnut hair and wicked, if mocking, grins. Her skin heated as she thrust thoughts of the duke’s steward aside and fixated on the task at hand. More importantly, avoiding discovery so she might profess her love, at last.

Holding her breath, Gemma continued on to the billiards room. She would have explaining to do if it were say, Mama and not Emery, who’d found she’d snuck off in the dead of night. “And what would she say if she knew it was all an attempt to see a gentleman—alone?” she mumbled to herself. The dashing, charming brother of her dearest friend but still, a clandestine meeting was a clandestine meeting, and one that were she to be discovered would no doubt find Gemma packed off to an abbey.