Tempting Gemma 8 Read online

  “That,” Gemma said slowly, “explains a great deal.” The vast wealth; the ability to survive century after century of war, revolution--the peasants did get uppity every once in a while--and the like; not to mention those men from Whitehall leaping to be of service to her husband.

  Charles shrugged modestly. “Good banking has a great deal to do with managing perception. I seem to have a knack for it.”

  “I should say so,” his wife agreed, thinking how guileless he looked even then. “I shall have to stay on my toes around you.”

  Her husband grinned wolfishly. “I can think of a variety of other positions I’d prefer but we can try it that way if you’d like.”

  She laughed and pretended to swat him but secretly she was pleased. A bubble of warmth was taking flight inside her. She had stepped from the bath dreading the evening ahead. Now, thanks to her surprising husband, she was almost looking forward to it.

  Chapter Three

  At the first sight of her alma mater, Gemma blinked in disbelief. The main courtyard, where the pillory and other instruments of public punishment had stood, was empty save for large pots of ornamental plants, fairy lights and arriving guests.

  Dame Aurelia’s favorites were darting about welcoming the visitors, valet parking their cars--they were driving!--and in general looking in the full bloom of wholesome loveliness with just a bit of the naughty to make things interesting.

  Taking it all in, Gemma felt a moment of disorientation. Where was she? Surely, this wasn’t the Mary Magdalene that she had known--that cold, cruel place intended to produce young women who would never dare to challenge their lot in life.

  Even now, those among the arriving guests whom she recognized as classmates looked resigned to doing exactly as they were told. With the sole exception of herself, they were all in their uniforms. Those who sported wedding rings affected a disdainful air toward the rest, many of whom, Gemma could not help noticing, were accompanying gentlemen far older than themselves.

  At the top of the stone steps, greeting each guest by name, stood Dame Aurelia Ratwitz herself. She was a tall woman of indeterminate years; somewhere between forty and forever. Her features could not be called attractive consisting as they did of small, shrewd eyes of watery gray, a blade of a nose that look carved from wood and a chin with a natural inclination to jut.

  Even so, she was what the French may--or may not, the matter is in dispute--refer to as une belle laide, a woman whose lack of conventional appeal, her “ugliness”, is transformed through the force of her nature into its own kind of beauty.

  Personally, Gemma did not see it. But she could not deny that the visitors were flocking around the headmistress in her long, elegant robe that managed to resemble both a cardinal’s regalia and a high-end designer creation. They were laughing, smiling and in general making their allegiance clear.

  The confidence she had felt earlier slipped several notches as she mounted the stone steps with Charles. He had her arm tucked into the crook of his own. One big, hard hand rested on hers. In his bespoke formal attire, he was the personification of masculine elegance and power. His nearness comforted her but it was her own strength that she needed.

  Particularly once she came face to face with her Nemesis.

  Dame Aurelia broke off her conversation with a portly gentleman and inclined her head graciously to the Marquess of Ardsley.

  “My lord,” she said, “how delightful to see you again. I trust you’re finding our quaint little village satisfactory.”

  He beamed her a smile so chilling that the summer air took on a wintery nip.

  “More than that, madam, it’s positively enlightening.” Turning to Gemma, he said, “You remember my wife?”

  “Of course, dear Gemma!” Pale gray eyes moved over her remorselessly. Dame Aurelia affected a look of puzzlement. “Dear child, did you misplace your uniform?”

  Before she could reply, Charles said smoothly, “Gemma is no longer a school girl. She is my wife and the Marchioness of Ardsley. She will dress as I please.”

  For the first time ever, Gemma witnessed the deeply satisfying spectacle of Dame Aurelia becoming flustered. It only lasted for a moment but in the estimation of the Marchioness of Ardsley, it alone was worth the trip.

  “And doesn’t she look lovely,” Dame Aurelia cooed. “So elegant, so sophisticated.”

  Her gaze scanned the deceptively simple gown that Gemma had rolled up and tucked into her bag. By itself, it appeared to be little more than a tube of black silk jersey extending from neck to ankle. But once on, the garment clung to the contours of her body, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and hips, her narrow waist and her long legs. Only her arms and shoulders were left bare, the dark sheen of the fabric contrasting with the pearly glow of her skin.

  But it was Charles’ most recent gift that was the inevitable focus of attention. A dozen rows of diamonds set in a platinum lattice snugly encircled her throat. Of necessity, her chin was elevated, giving her an air of aloofness as though she was passing through the scene without deigning to be truly a part of it. Yet the collar itself hinted at a different reality, one of submission to the powerful man at her side.

  The gazes focused on her were both envious and knowing, Dame Aurelia’s being no exception.

  “You no doubt are aware, your lordship,” she said, “that here at Mary Magdalene, we have the highest expectations for all our girls. I hope you can agree that we at the very least meet, if not exceed them?”

  “By all means,” Charles said, still with that chilling smile. “I have no doubt that without her time here at Mary Magdalene, Gemma would not be the woman she is today.”

  Although his words were a testament to his wife’s inner strength and fortitude, they went entirely over Dame Aurelia’s head. She preened with misplaced delight as the couple continued on into the main hall.

  There the transformation was even more complete. Gemma knew it as the drafty, cavernous space where she and her fellow students had been forced to strip bare shortly after their arrival at the school. She vividly remembered wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to protect some portion of her modesty and hold off hypothermia.

  Yet now it had been transformed. Round tables covered in fine linen, gold-edged china, leaded crystal and gleaming silver were all set beneath glowing chandeliers. Baskets of pink and white heather lent a delightful note of color. A string quartet accompanied by a harpist played a lilting tune. Everywhere she looked, Gemma saw only genteel elegance.

  Shaking her head in bewilderment, she murmured, “I don’t understand…”

  Quietly, her husband said, “Powerful, wealthy people expect to be catered to. Ratwitz is giving them what they want in a way they can feel good about.”

  “But they must know what really goes on here,” she protested. “The women certainly do, they experienced it for themselves. As for the men--”

  “To most of the peerage, Mary Magdalene is known as a school that upholds traditional values. That’s all I’d heard about it when I came here to meet you and I like to think that I’m fairly well informed.” Glancing around at the men who were in attendance, he said, “It seems these chaps knew a lot more.”

  “It’s like some secret cabal whispering the truth from ear to ear,” Gemma muttered.

  They had taken their seats by then at a table with three other couples. Charles engaged the gentlemen in pleasant conversation; along with the other women, Gemma remained silent.

  Dinner was superb and only added to her distress. She remembered the hunger, the scavenging for food, trying to grow vegetables in the sparse soil of the moors. Pushing her plate away having scarcely touched it, Gemma took a sip of wine. It, too, was excellent.

  The collar felt as though it was choking her. She debated taking it off. What was the point of trying to do what was right? All these smug, powerful men who wanted what they wanted and didn’t care how they got it. How could she ever hope to change that?

  And what of Charles?
Did he really believe her? He said that he had known nothing of consequence about the school. But was that the truth? Could she believe him? Would he believe her?

  The pain behind her eyes sprang into being with the sharpness of an ax. She closed her eyes and tried to will it away. When she opened them again a chocolate trifle had appeared in front of her.

  It took her a moment to realize that they had come to dessert. Relief flooded Gemma at the thought that the dinner was almost over.

  Sadly, she was mistaken. The real business of the evening was about to begin.

  Chapter Four

  Are you all right?” Charles asked.

  His wife looked so downcast that he couldn’t help but be worried. He’d known that returning to Mary Magdalene wouldn’t be easy for her but she had seemed to be handling it well enough. Not any longer. If the pallor of her skin and the dark shadows behind her eyes were any indication, they should be leaving.

  Yet he would be damned if he’d let her walk out of there defeated.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured. “The food’s just a bit rich.”

  “You didn’t eat any of it,” he pointed out.

  “I can’t.” Leaning closer in the hope that anyone watching would assume they were having an intimate little chat, she murmured, “I want to run amok and smash everything. Pull down those damn chandeliers. Pitch the string quartet out on its collective ear. As for Aurelia Rat’s Ass--”

  “Tell me all the terrible things you’d like to do to her,” Charles urged.

  Before she could do so, they were interrupted by the chime of a knife against glass and the tinny ping of a microphone.

  “Dear friends,” Dame Aurelia said as heads swerved toward her, “I am so very happy that we are gathered together once again to celebrate our mutual achievements here at dear old Mary Magdalene. I say ‘our’ because it is thanks to your generous support that we are able to uphold the highest standards of this school and carry our banner proudly into the future!”

  As she spoke, a color guard of six nubile young woman, favorites all, marched out onto the stage. Knees high, ponytails bouncing, they waved the school flag---blue and white with unicorn and virgin rampant on field of gold--in energetic unison.

  The audience cheered this display of school spirit heartily or at least the men did with the exception of Charles. He merely sat back and watched with a sardonic expression on his handsome face.

  Having done their bit, the favorites lined up behind Dame Aurelia. Shoulders back, breasts thrust forward, they stared out over the audience with fixed smiles.

  “Such fine young ladies,” Dame Aurelia said, acknowledging them with a wave of her hand. “Tomorrow, they and a select group of other students will be demonstrating some of the skills they’ve been learning here at dear old MM. I know you’ll all want to see that.”

  Leaning closer to his wife once again, Charles whispered. “Seriously? What’s that going to consist of?”

  “I have no idea,” she hissed back. “I’ve never been to one of these before. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if dildos are involved.”

  “Good lord,” her husband murmured. The thought of earnest school girls demonstrating their deep throating skills was almost more than he could envision. Almost.

  “Now, without further ado,” Dame Aurelia continued, “let us proceed to the main event of the evening, the auction. How generous you have all been with your donations to this vital event that contributes so much to our fund raising.” Coyly, she added, “I’m confident this will be our most successful year yet!”

  How could it not be, Gemma thought a short time later, what with such prizes on offer as: Three days at a clinic in Switzerland specializing in male rejuvenation. An all-expense paid stay at a gentlemen’s club in Bangkok. (There were good natured suggestions that the same lucky fellow should win both.) Ten private consultations with a certain Madam X who, judging by the response was a great favorite, and much more along similar lines.

  Among the more mundane items was a case of Macallan Sherry Oak 25-year-old single malt, which the wits in the audience pointed out was older than anyone’s wife or mistress. Jolly good, har, har!

  Charles bid high for the scotch and won. He assured Gemma that he had done so merely to avoid rousing suspicion. That it happened to be one of his favorite labels was sheer serendipity.

  Finally, as in keeping with such events, the favors were distributed. A neutral observer could have been pardoned for believing that the participants were starved for any little luxury so avidly did they fall upon them.

  Gemma was all for leaving theirs but Charles scooped the bag up. “Let’s see what Dame Aurelia thinks are appropriate rewards for our generous support,” he said as they joined the others filing out of the hall.

  They had a brief wait for the MG but it arrived in good order, driven by a blonde with especially perky tits who gave Charles an inviting smile before expressing her hope that his lordship would have an awesome night.

  “Hussy,” Gemma murmured as they sped through the gates and out onto the road to Upper Prickbottom.

  “Who?” Charles asked.

  “The blonde.”

  “There was a blonde? I didn’t notice.”

  She didn’t believe him for a moment but he got top marks for spousal management.

  Once back in their suite, she found herself unable to shuck off the sense of helpless rage and futility that had plagued her all evening. Pacing the room, she kept an eye on her husband who had removed his dinner jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt even as she tried without effect to calm herself.

  “What’s troubling you?” Charles asked as he tossed the shirt aside and began undoing his belt.

  “Nothing…everything.” Even as she denied the obvious, Gemma admitted to herself that she was out-of-sorts, grumpy and…hungry. Yes, that was it. She’d eaten scarcely anything all day.

  True to its rustic nature, The Strutting Cock did not provide 24-hour room service. She would have to make do. But how?

  Rooting in the favors bag, her hand fell on the perfect solution, a chocolate lollipop in the shape of a heart wrapped in red cellophane. Without thinking twice, she yanked the wrapping off and took a bite.

  Chapter Five

  Bliss. Somewhere she’d read that chocolate induced an upsurge in endorphins. The lollipop was doing that and more. At once, all the stress and anxiety of the past few hours fell away. Gemma moaned with delight and took another bite.

  “Uh…sweetheart?”

  Swiveling her head, she cast her husband a baleful glance. If he thought he was getting any of her treat…

  “Did you happen to read the label before you bit into that?”

  Why in heavens’ name would the lollipop need a label? It was chocolate. “Duh, no.”

  “I thought not. How are you feeling?”

  With a little wiggle of her hips, she said, “Better actually. Much, much better.”

  “That’s good…I think.”

  “This is amazing chocolate.” Feeling suddenly generous, she added, “You should have some.”

  Charles backed away hastily. “No, thank you.” He looked unaccountably amused.

  She watched, unable to tear her eyes away as he removed the rest of his clothing and stretched out on the bed with a pillow propped up behind his head. He’d pulled the covers back and left them bunched near the footboard. There was nothing between her avid gaze and those broad shoulders, long torso, sculpted muscles, powerful limbs and… A small drop of drool appeared in one corner of her mouth.

  Grinning, her husband said, “I’ll just wait here.”

  “For what?”

  “The inevitable result of consuming chocolate laced with a combination of cannabis and cantharides. At least, that’s what the label says it contains.”

  “Oh…” There was something about that she should be aware of but she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around it. All her attention remained focused on her husband.

  Sweet lord,
he was gorgeous! Michelangelo would have wept to see him; he’d have had to smash his David and start over.

  And that cock. Dear, dear Brad! How much simpler her life would be if she was just married to him. But no, that wasn’t fair to Charles, who was proving to be a much better husband than she could ever have hoped for.

  “I think I’ll just come over there,” she said.

  “By all means, sweetheart. Whatever you’d like. Why don’t you get undressed first?”