The Widow Wager by Jess Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A

lips at his singular mindset. “I know of him. Everyone knows of him. But no, we never met.”
    “I thought your husband was a…” He shook his head and she could see he was searching for the information in the foggy catalogue of his mind. “A…”
    “An earl,” she provided for him with a frown. She tried not to think about Laurelcross when she didn’t have to do so. It was too painful. “But he wasn’t—he didn’t—we weren’t very active in Society. At any rate, he died close to the time your brother took over the dukedom, so we wouldn’t have met regardless.”
    “Why?” Crispin straightened up even further now that he had a bone to nibble.
    She stiffened. “Why did he die?” she squeaked out.
    He shook his head. “Why weren’t you active in Society?”
    Relief flooded her. That was a topic she could discuss. It wasn’t that she wanted to share her deep, personal issues with this man she didn’t know, but being petulant and withdrawing wasn’t going to help her.
    “He was much older than I was,” she began. “And he didn’t care for that sort of thing. He was more interested in heirs.”
    The moment she said the words, heard them in the air around her, she clapped a hand over her mouth. She understood perfectly the implications of those words, and if Crispin’s widening eyes were any indication, so did he. His gaze flitted over her and she saw desire light up in his stare.
    A desire her body answered automatically, despite the tenuous situation they were in, despite the fact that she didn’t know this person. Despite everything.
    She felt blood heating her cheeks, felt her hands shaking with both humiliation and need. Felt everything in her want to shift toward Crispin Flynn and see if the rumors she had not dared discuss with him at breakfast were true.
    Was he really the best lover in London?
    The words rang in her head even though she hadn’t spoken them out loud, and she turned her face. Thankfully, they were just pulling into the drive at the duke’s home, and the moment a footman came to open the door, she hurtled herself from the vehicle as if the hounds of hell were behind her.
    In a way, she felt they were. Crispin Flynn was the embodiment of every sin she had ever committed. Perhaps he was her punishment.
    The door to the house opened and a butler with a surprisingly tired appearance stepped out to greet them. His gaze passed her and fell on Crispin and his eyes widened.
    “Mr. Crispin, you are…you are here!” he said.
    Crispin grinned as he strode up the steps with every confidence and slapped the butler hard on the upper arm. “Latham, you old crow, you look well.”
    The butler’s lips pursed, but Gemma thought his eyes also danced. It seemed there was a great amount of affection between Crispin and this household. “Thank you, sir.”
    “And my brother is in residence, I hope?” Crispin asked, and there Gemma heard just a hint of desperation in his voice.
    Latham’s eyes widened further. “Then you have not heard?”
    “Heard?”
    “Of course your brother is in residence, Mr. Flynn. He is upstairs at present with the duchess and…and the new baby.”
    Crispin took a step back and staggered as he slipped down several steps before he righted himself. His face was suddenly pale and his hands flexed at his sides.
    “The—the baby?” he repeated, his voice as raw as his expression. There was pain and joy in every line of his face and it took everything in Gemma not to step up beside him to offer him some form of comfort.
    Latham’s expression softened slightly. “Yes, sir. The child was born just last night.”
    Crispin was nodding, but it seemed to be a reflexive motion, as was the way he swallowed very hard before he spoke. “I would very much like to see my brother, if…if he will see me.”
    “Come in,” Latham urged, stepping back to allow them entry. But as Gemma passed him, he sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I am so distracted, I admit I