Page 21 of The Lyon Returns
“How long were you married?”
“Roughly six years.”
A mere six years, and now she claimed she did not want a replacement husband? Then, again, he had been married less than one, and had come to the same decision.
“How old are you?”
“Nine and twenty.”
Closer to his own age of thirty-two than he would have guessed. Innocence, or something akin to it, lurked in those bottomless blue eyes to make her appear younger, he decided.
“I think we ought to move on to more pressing matters, sir.”
“Such as?” He stretched his legs out in front of him and watched her take note. Her gaze skimmed the length, from hip to boot, in a look that could only be interpreted as blatant fascination.
Nothing new there. Women had always found him sexually appealing, and told him so with coy glances, discreet innuendos, and sometimes shameless come-ons.
In Gwen’s case, he could almost swear she was not aware she’d revealed her apparent attraction. That was new for him, as was his reaction to her stare. His loins were tight and getting tighter.
She was not a potential paramour, he reminded himself with increasing irritation. He had one of those whom he intended to visit very soon.
She folded her hands in her lap, the epitome of a true bluestocking pursuing her studies. “I would like to know where you’ve been the past few months.”
“Why’s that?” he demanded, uncertain whether he felt moreimpressed by her pluck or annoyed by her audacity. Where had he been, indeed.
“I’ve been giving the matter some thought. Mrs. Dove-Lyon claimed to believe you’d died because you had not arrived in London at your appointed time—you, a sea merchant. In retrospect, the notion is utter poppycock. I should have seen through it from the start. I suspect she thought you’d died as a result of whatever happened during your absence. Whatever that was, I believe, explains why you need me.”
She’d worked all that out. Mrs. Barnes was sharp. He hoped that did not herald more trouble for him.
“Mr. Devereux, to be clear, I must know these details before making my decision concerning whether or not to proceed.” She met his gaze with a steady eye.
“Madam, so long as you are posing as my wife, I think you should, at least occasionally, refer to me as Gideon.” He softened his suggestion with a small smile.
Her cheeks tinged with pink. “Quite right. I meant to, I just…”
“I understand, Gwen,” he said.
She dimpled at the sound of her name, spoken with such deliberation. Her eyes warmed, and he found himself unable to resist smiling at her in return.
A moment later, he sobered to deliver his edict. “Regarding your specific concerns, I submit we will need another venue for the conversation.”
Her delicate brows furrowed.
“We shall meet in one of our chambers, later tonight.”
Her mouth fell open. She closed it with a snap, squared her shoulders, and sent him a severe frown.
He held out one palm in a staying gesture. “That is the only location where we can be assured of complete privacy.”
Her mouth firmed, and he could practically see the wheels turningin her head as she searched her mind for a viable counter his sound reasoning. By God, it was a wonder anyone had believed her lie concerning their so-called marriage. He could read her every thought, or nearly so.
He went on, making his final, incontrovertible point. “We are newlyweds,darling. If we do not at least stage a tryst in one of our bedchambers tonight, it will look very odd, indeed. If anyone has had any doubt as to the veracity of your claim…” He did not bother to finish the thought.
Her lush mouth curved downward. “Very well,Gideon,” she said, articulating his name.
He snorted.
She slanted him a disapproving glance, or tried to. Her lips quivered with tell-tale amusement. “You may expect my knock later tonight. Your chamber is larger than mine.”
