Gwen frowned. “I know no Germans,” she said. “Why should this gentleman object to our marriage?”
“That is the shocking part! The German was seen entering your ceremony just before the vows were taken. But he did not appear in order to threaten the viscount. No—he appeared to prove his love!”
It took Gwen a moment to work through this. “Do you mean to say that the viscount . . .”
“He was romantically involved with this man,” Anne hissed. “A foreigner. Yes. And now the German has cleared the viscount’s debts, and together they are fled to the Continent, for fear that here, they will be prosecuted for unnatural behavior!”
“How . . . astounding,” Gwen said. It was so far outside anything she had expected that she barely knew how to react. “I feel very—terrible—for the viscount, I think.” And also—could it be?—the first bit envious. She had no idea of how to understand such love between men, but if Pennington would risk the whole world’s wrath and his own freedom for it, the German could never doubt him now.
“As well you should, I think,” said Lady Anne, surprising her again. “I told you, it was a foreigner who he took up with. Besides, he might have gone through with the marriage and used your wealth to mount his defense in court, should their affair be discovered. But he spared you the infamy, Gwen! So you see, his disinterest in you was not at all personal. He has no feelings of that sort for any woman.”
Gwen’s mouth twitched. She could not help it. No wonder Lady Anne had come running to her. By spreading this story, she also salvaged her own wounded pride.
Her small smile appeared to unnerve Lady Anne, who collected her purse and rose. “Well,” she said, and her tone was more in line with what Gwen remembered of her: starchy and a touch condescending. “I thought it would soothe you, at any rate. But I suppose you have no care now you are safely—if I may say a bit hastily—married.” She glanced around again. “Although I do find it odd that Mr. Ramsey is not here.” Her regard switched back to Gwen, speculative now.
Gwen came to her feet as well. “It was lovely of you to pay a call on me, and to be the first to share these tidings. I will give you even more exciting news to spread, if you like.” Why not? Otherwise she would wait, breathless and nauseated by nerves, for the truth to slip out. She might as well let it slip now herself. “You see, Mr. Ramsey and I aren’t actually married.”
Anne blinked. And then her mouth fell open. “What?”
“It’s true.” She wanted to speak the words boldly, carelessly. But they felt leaden in her mouth, and they dropped her voice to a pitch better suited to gravesides. “Not married. We never were.”
Anne’s eyes unfocused. Her expression grew a little dreamy. No doubt she was beholding her own social celebrity the moment she dropped this truth like a bomb onto London. “Oh, Gwen,” she sighed. “You’re mad, do you know that?”
Gwen hesitated. This remark had not been issued in any of the appropriate veins—she heard no censure, astonishment, disbelief, or sympathy, only a chiding and indulgent note.
A suspicion seized her. What was Lady Anne staring at, somewhere behind her?
The suspicion grew into a cold certainty as Lady Anne’s smile widened, and then fractured into a giggle. Her blue eyes returned to Gwen’s, widening dramatically, as if to say, You naughty girl, you! Telling me such lies!
Hands slipped around Gwen’s eyes. She went rigid. She would know him anywhere, simply by the feel of him. His skin made her skin come alive.
She thought desperately of her landscape. Of transformations. “He is not my husband,” she said stonily.
“That’s right,” he said, very near to her ear. “Sometimes she likes to call me Mr. de Grey. Lovely little game, we play.”
The sound of his voice raised a physical pain in her, a longing so acute that it made her throat clog. This was not fair—that she should feel this way when he was here, when he was next to her, when he was hers for the touching if only she would lift her hands.
His hands gentled slightly. She knew then that he felt the tears rising in her lashes.
“Perhaps,” he said, “you might give us a minute, Lady Anne?”
“Oh yes,” came the girl’s breathless reply. “I’ll just be on my way, then. Gwen, you’re an awful tease. I will write you this very evening.”
Gwen stood still for a very long moment, waiting for Alex to release her.
He slid his hands straight down her face, to her waist. The sunshine poured back over her, but it seemed now out of season. What she wanted were gray clouds to weep with her.