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

didn’t notice you there.”
    Crispin stopped in the foyer, turning toward them but not looking at either her or the butler. “It is I who should be sorry, Latham. I should have said something sooner. This is—this is—er—this is my—my wife?”
    Now it was Latham’s turn to stagger a bit as his stare spun again to Gemma. She could read nothing on his expression, as was the way with the very best servants, but his voice shook slightly as he said, “Why don’t you retire to your usual sitting room, Mr. Flynn? I will fetch the duke immediately.”
    Crispin nodded, motioning her toward a door down the long hall past the foyer. Her hands shook, but she said nothing until he had closed the door behind them. Immediately, he moved toward a line of liquor bottles on the sideboard across the room. She followed him toward them.
    “Isn’t it too early for that?” she asked as his hand touched one.
    He looked toward her and his frown deepened. “Likely so.”
    “And I would think you’d want to have a clear head for this conversation,” she continued.
    He flinched. “Actually, I’d like to be drunk for this conversation so I won’t remember it later.”
    She tilted her head at his candor, then gently slipped the bottle from his hands and put it back in its place. “Why did you tell Latham that I was your wife?”
    He turned away slightly, but she could see his face and pain was written plainly on each and every line. “I don’t know.”
    The broken quality of his voice erased any upset she felt for her own part. Slowly, she reached out, her hand moving toward his arm. She saw him watching it, too, from the corner of her eye, both of them seemingly mesmerized by the touch about to come.
    When it did, she jolted a little, moved as she had been at breakfast by their bodies touching in any way. His arm was very strong, and as her fingers closed over it, the muscle flexed.
    “It’s all right,” she whispered, making her tone soothing just as she sometimes did when Mary had nightmares. “It will be all right.”
    He shook his head. “I didn’t know Serafina had the baby,” he said, his voice almost imperceptibly soft.
    “And now you do.”
    He turned his face so she could no longer see the emotion written there. “Yes. And now I get to tell him—”
    “What?” she asked when he cut himself off.
    He shook his head and pulled away from her. She watched him walk across the room and was filled with a desire to help him. A desire she needed to turn off right away because their situation was far from settled and she had to be ready to fight for herself.
     

     
    Crispin could still feel the warmth of Gemma’s fingers around his arm, as if she had branded or burned him with that touch. He stood at the fireplace, his back to her, trying to measure his breathing. He couldn’t be wrapped up in her. Not when he was about to face—
    He hadn’t even finished the thought when the door behind him opened. He turned to watch his brother, Rafe, enter, followed by their friend Marcus Rivers, who had married their sister just a few months before.
    Crispin was hit by so many feelings, seeing these men who he had been avoiding. The first feeling was joy, wild and unfettered. Rafe had always been his best friend, and despite the scandalous circumstances surrounding Marcus’s marriage to Annabelle, Crispin liked him too. He hadn’t been around people he loved and trusted for a very long time.
    But the second and the more powerful reaction was shame. He had once again brought destruction and pain down around him. Just as he had so many times before. And he had to come here, like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs, and ask the great and glorious duke for help.
    His brother stared at him for a brief second, then crossed the room. His arms were outstretched and to Crispin’s surprise Rafe enveloped him in a hard, long hug.
    “You’re here,” he whispered, close to Crispin’s ear. “You came.”
    As Rafe pulled back,