Page 11 of The Lyon Returns
He started at that. She might not be his usual sort, but she was hardly fodder for the fire—quite the opposite. Fined-boned face, lithe, willowy frame, utterly feminine. The worst thing he could say about her was that she did not have the best taste in clothing. Her navy dress seemed to go out of its way to mute her obvious charms.
“…There’s the money I’m out in payment to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. And now, I must make another move to God-knows-where—unless you mean to have me tossed into Newgate.” She ceased her frenetic moving and fixed him with a watchful eye. “Do you?” She bit her lower lip.
He could not take his gaze off her mouth. No bluestocking should have a lush lower lip like that of Mrs. Gwendolyn Barnes.
“By the saints. You do.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
He replayed her last question. “No,” he answered.
She dropped her hands. “Truly?” She glided toward him. “I can make arrangements to stay with friends tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll see about moving my things. I’m terribly sorry, but…” She gave him an apologetic smile.
He could hardly wait. “What, now?”
“I’m afraid I’ve quite taken over your bedchamber.”
“Mine?” he demanded with a snort. “Not the adjoining one reserved for my wife?”
She dimpled and opened her arms wide. “I rather prefer the larger bed.”
Lightning fast, an image flashed before his eyes. The prim editor, gleaming hair unpinned and spilling over her shoulders. Her body, naked and languorous, atop the bedcovers. Based on the enticing, raspberry-pink of her lips, he imagined the crests of her breasts would be every bit as mouthwatering.
His groin tightened.Bloody hell.This was no time to indulge in illicit fantasies involving his fake wife. He needed her to secure his freedom, not warm his bed.
“I can have the housekeeper change the bedding,” she offered as if she, and not he, owned the home.
“Thank you,” he drawled. “Before you go further down that road, I have an alternate proposition.”
“Proposition?” Suspicion laced her tone in an instant. “What sort of proposition, Mr. Devereux?”
“Gideon.”
She said nothing, just stared at him with those bottomless blue eyes.
“Think of it as a way you can make amends.”
“I still haven’t heard whatitis. If it’s money you seek, I’m happy to pay. Please be advised, however, that while I have ample funds, they’re not unlimited.”
He laughed aloud. He couldn’t help himself. The gall of this woman. She had moved into his home, claimed him as her husband, stolen his bedchamber, and now sought to bargain with him?
“As it happens, I have quite enough money of my own.”
Her gaze grew decidedly more wary. “I see.”
“My request is simple. Continue in the role you created for yourself.”
She blinked several times. “You mean, continue on as your wife?”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
“Sir, in reality, I do not wish to be married.”
He eyed the ceiling. “I am not asking you tobemy wife. I’m asking for you to continueactingas my wife. For the time being.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For how long?”
Bemused, he asked, “Do you have somewhere you need to be? Or perhaps there’s someone else whose wife you wish to impersonate?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Perhaps you would be so good as to cease hedging and simply answer my question.”
