Page 25 of The Lyon Returns
“Ourfakemarriage,” he said.
“Of course.” She was impatient to know the rest now. “Go on, sir.”
He turned to stare into the flames. “I did not commit treason, but the end result is, what happened was my fault.”
Chapter Seven
Gwen frowned athim with incredulity. “Your fault? I find that extremely difficult to believe.”
Conviction radiated off of her. For some odd reason, the evidence of her staunch belief in his innocence warmed him. “Is that so?”
In his dimly lit bedchamber, despite her medium height of five feet and, he’d guess, six or seven inches, she looked small and delicate sitting atop the sturdy armchair before his hearth—at first glance.
The effortless elegance with which she moved said she was anything but fragile. Her body was thin, yes, but not skeletal. Lithe and supple and sweetly curved, not sacrificing a drop of femininity.
He knew this, and could not nowunknow this, thanks entirely to the ill-fitting gown of gray linen she’d seen fit to wear into his bedchamber tonight—and not a scrap of clothing more.
“Perhaps you ought to explain,” she said, and eased back in the chair-well, curling into it rather than continuing to perch like a bird on the edge of the cushion, prepared to take flight at any moment.
She bent her knees, tucking her slipper-covered feet under the skirts of her ugly dress as if settling in for a long story.
“I always make a point of overseeing the loading of goods with thepotential to be dangerous.”
“Such as arms and ammunition?”
“Precisely. Only this time, an issue in my India-based enterprise required my attention.”
“So you sailed for Calcutta. Or should I saywesailed for Calcutta.” She sent him a wry grin, her dimple flashing, then shifted in the seat as if seeking a more comfortable position.
He caught the outline of her knees, poking through the thin linen skirt, glimpsed the tops of her feet, trim ankles, and a hint of shins. More proof she had nothing on under that dress. Not that he needed it.
He downed the remainder of his glass, tossed off the blanket he’d employed as a means of hiding his intermittent, inconvenient arousal, and rose. “I need a refill.”
He strode to his antechamber, unerringly locating the decanter in the dark, grabbed it by its neck, and started back.
There was nothing provocative about Gwen’s gown. It didn’t hug her curves, didn’t emphasize her bosom, didn’t bring out the blue of her eyes.
When she’d positioned herself before the glowing flames in the grate as she had upon entering his chamber, however, the firelight had burned through the thin material to silhouette her body perfectly. He could see, plain as day, she wore no undergarments.
He paused before crossing the threshold to glare at her from the shadows, remembering how she’d stood there, her body essentially bared to him, her long, blonde hair flowing over her shoulders like she was some mythical fae come to life, all the while seemingly oblivious of the erotic vision she made.
Seeminglyoblivious. He’d learned long ago how manipulative women could be when they had a mind to make a sexual conquest. So common a practice was it, he was inured to such wiles unless he chose not to be—always—or so he’d thought.
He’d repeatedly chosen not to notice the chit’s arresting appeal making his skin thrum and his blood heat. For some reason, he could not obey his own edict with Gwen.
Bracing himself against the palpable attraction he felt for her, he rejoined her. “Would you care for more?” he asked, splashing a large portion of the ruby liquid into his empty goblet.
She considered the decanter briefly. “Thank you. It’s quite good, but, no. I’ve found more than one glass tends to interfere with my sleep.”
He grinned despite his agitation. She had no compunction admitting to having helped herself to his private stock in his absence.
In fairness, she had thought him dead.
“What was it that required your attention in Calcutta, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He dropped into the armchair, and eyed the blanket with disdain. He’d leave it for now. He had grown overly warm under its weight.
“I have a warehouse in Calcutta where I stockpile goods prior to their export. I have an overseer who manages things in my absence.” He glanced at her, expecting to see her eyes glazed over with boredom.
