Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(22)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

She had not rejected him.

But that still did not explain…

This letter was a far cry from the letters he had received. Letters that spurned him and bid him to forget she existed, to think not on her again. Letters that demanded he wipe the memory of kissing her from his mind forever.

Why had he not received this letter? Colin stooped to retrieve the letter. He opened it and scanned the contents again. Its lilac scent permeated his senses.

The other letters had smelled of rose. And the script was different. There was no flourish on the G of Gemma’s signature.

He grabbed another letter from the stack and opened it. Same writing as the first. Letter after letter, the same.

Perhaps if he had not received her true letters, she did not—

Of course.

He was a fool.

He grabbed all the letters, bundled them together, and slipped them into his coat pocket. With a grin and not so much as a word to the butler, he quit the house and walked purposefully toward Gemma’s.

****

She wasn’t home.

Nor was she at the park.

Or down the street.

Or at Gunther’s. Colin would know. He checked. An hour later, he was still wondering where the blazes she was, but he could not be late for that evening’s soiree hosted by Lady Edengreen. She would be furious if he did not show. After all, she was his great aunt and prone to throwing a great fuss if her nephew was not present at her events.

Dejected, he went home to change into his evening attire. The minute he stepped into his townhome, his butler, Godfrey, handed him a letter from his solicitor.

It would have to wait.

“Apologies, Godfrey, I will be out all evening. I shall check my correspondence in the morning.”

“But sir, this is the fourth letter and—”

Colin held up his hand and shook his head. He felt a headache coming on. “I said, not now.”

“Very well, sir.” Godfrey bowed and quit the hall.

Colin took the stairs two at a time and called for his valet. Tonight was the night he would get answers. After greeting his aunt, he would find Gemma. He would locate her, and he would… What would he do? Apologize? Grovel? No, no. He was going to kiss her. Yes, that would be his first move.

He grinned at his reflection in the mirror as the image of what he planned to do unfolded in his mind.

Chapter Thirteen

A rake must always be cautious with his first move. If he is too hasty in his advances, the woman may shy away like a timid lamb. If he is not hasty enough, then she shall laugh in his face. Gentlemen, if you do not understand the art of perfect timing when it comes to your first seduction, perhaps you should find a watch. Or a different dream. –The Private Journal of Viscount Maddox

Gemma’s heart pounded as she took her seat at the pianoforte. The last time she had performed at an event, Colin had been there, smiling at her from the front row. She glanced around the room, searching the expectant faces.

He was nowhere to be seen.

She tried to swallow the bitter disappointment. Though she had no reason to believe he would have stayed to listen to her play, Gemma couldn’t help but pine for him.

Instead, in the same seat Colin had occupied last Season, her brother sat with his fiancée, wearing a triumphant smirk. And of course, he was surrounded by his horrid friends. The gentlemen he had been pushing on her since her return to Town — the oppressive Mr. Percival, and the foolish Mr. Sumner, closely attended by Lady Judith.

Taking a deep breath, she set to playing a beautiful sonata, one she had practiced during the months of her seclusion at Brookshire. Over and over she had played it. A sad, mournful piece she had chosen specifically because it matched the music her heart played when she thought of Colin. She had missed him so much when she’d been away, and now it felt as if he was lost to her forever.

It was a long piece, and she easily lost herself in the somber melody drifting from the keys as she played. Gemma closed her eyes and felt her way through the song, forgetting where she was for the time being. She imagined Colin holding her as he had that day in Bridget’s morning room.

The renewed sense of her loss brought thick emotion to her throat. Uninvited tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks, but she pressed on to the final note, only then allowing a single tear to leave a moist trail down her face.

There was complete silence when she struck the final key. Gemma opened her eyes slowly and lifted her gaze to the audience.

Every person in the room sat staring at her. The ladies had their hands over their hearts, and not an eye was dry, including the frosty Lady Judith, who Gemma was certain had no heart, nor a taste for artistic beauty. Even the gentlemen sat in silent reverence.

Gemma meant to rise, curtsy, and find her seat next to Bridget again, but when her eye caught a glimpse of a form leaning against a column near the entrance, she froze.

Colin was there.

He had heard her heart’s misery. And now he stood gazing at her with an inscrutable expression.

Refusing to even breathe, Gemma waited for him to blink first.

****

He blinked. Of course, he blinked. He had to be sure she was truly there. Truly sitting at the piano. The music she’d played was flawless; everything about her was as if conjured from a dream.

Her eyes stayed trained on his.

Colin offered a smile and then beckoned her with his hand.

She turned around.

Was she ignoring him?

When her face returned to his it was stained with tears. Slowly, she rose from her seat and made her way across the room. Another young debutante settled at the piano, quickly gaining everyone’s attention, making it possible for him to stare at the beautiful sway of her hips as she made her way toward him.

He counted the seconds as they slowly trickled by. Each second brought her closer to him, so he was not angry that time was sluggishly inching forward, but truly if she dallied any longer he was going to toss her over his shoulder and barge out the front door.

After what seemed like an eternity, she was before him. Head lowered, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Is it more interesting, sweetheart?”

“Is what more interesting?”

“The marble, what else?”

At that her head jerked up. “No, I mean, well, I—”

“You play beautifully.” He offered his arm and promptly changed the subject. She blushed and placed her hand across his sleeve.

“Thank you.”

“Practice always makes perfect, they say. Tell me, Gemma, do you practice… often?”

“Yes.”

She refused to look at him, which was fine. He would simply rake it out of her. Rake. Odd it was now becoming a verb. To be honest, he was too nervous to act himself; therefore, he pretended this was not the love of his life. It was not the woman who had the power to kill him with her rejection. She was simply a lady, a lady with whom he desired to share a moonlight kiss.