Page 5 of The Lyon Returns
Her instant compliance annoyed her—with herself. In her defense, the man had an air of absolute authority about him which Gwen did not often encounter.Make that never.
He started toward her with a prowling gait, and she had the distinct urge to flee to safety behind the big desk.
She did not, of course. She refused to be cowed. She lifted her chin and held her ground.
“What’s this?” the man asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “No kiss? No open arms? I expected a much warmer reception after six months apart, Mrs. Devereux. Or should I say, madamwife?”
Gwen was not given to swooning, thank goodness, or she undoubtedly would have fainted on the spot. Her legs did wobble a bit, however.
Reaching blindly behind her, she grasped the edge of the desk, then leaned onto it for support. “Are you saying…” She broke off, aghast at the breathless quality of her voice. Clearing her throat, she started again, this time speaking in an admirably normal tone. “Are you claiming to be—”
“Gideon Devereux, at your service.” He clipped a debonair bow.
The playful aspect of his behavior did not match the coolness in his stunning gaze. To be sure, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had sadly misinformed her of his eye color.
Her second was less a thought and more a rush of unadulterated pleasure. She sent him a tremulous smile. “It is very good to see you, sir. May I say how happy I am you’re alive?”
His expression went perfectly blank. A moment later, he erupted with laughter. “Are you indeed?” he managed, before more laughter spilled from his lips.
She couldn’t imagine what he found so funny. Meanwhile the reality of her situation began to sink in, like a rock crumbling under her feet on a cliff’s edge. Glad though she was he lived, Devereux’s return meant an ocean of trouble for her that encompassed far morethan simply foiling her plans.
On the premise the man had died, she had moved all of her earthly belongings into his opulent town house. Now she would have to move. More pressing, yet, she had spent a large chunk of her savings acquiring an apparently meaningless marriage certificate to a manalmost-certainly deadwho certainly wasnotdead and who might—likely would—likelyhadcalled the authorities on her.
Dear Heaven.Might she wind up in Newgate for this? She hadn’t any knowledge of how the courts dealt with fraud. She’d never committed a crime in her life.
She nibbled her fingertip and wondered if the gambling hell proprietress might consider giving her a refund. She would need money to stave off prison, especially if Lord Ashwood got involved.
She glanced up to see the amusement in Devereux’s eyes had faded. He studied her with blatant suspicion.
She could not blame the man. He’d come home to find a perfect stranger living in his home, posing as his wife.
“If you would be so kind as to answer a few questions?” he asked coolly.
“Certainly,” she agreed, and sent him her most genial smile.
He blinked as if taken aback by her apparent acquiescence. A moment later, his cool expression reasserted itself. “Who are you, why have you chosen to embark on this masquerade, and, more importantly, as I’m certain I have never met you, who put you up to it?”
“Put me up to it? No one. You simply satisfied a need, or, more to the point, the probability you’d died made you an ideal candidate.”
She replayed her last words. That had not come out right. “I must reiterate how happy I am to learn you did not perish in some mysterious manner.”
He looked supremely unimpressed. “As opposed to a non-mysterious death?”
Her cheeks throbbed. Her face was probably beet red. What waswrong with her? She was normally so adept at choosing her words.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have been a long time from home, and this promises to be a more complicated discussion than even I could have anticipated. I may as well fortify myself with a drink.”
Gait confident and graceful, like, she imagined, that of a large cat, he moved to the credenza. He unearthed the bottle of cognac she had discovered her first night here and paused in the act of uncorking it to hold it up against the backdrop of light pouring in from an adjacent oriel window. After a long survey of its contents, his gaze slid to her. He arched a single, thick brow.
She cleared her throat, clasping her hands behind her back. “You have excellent taste in liquor, sir.”
One corner of his broad mouth quirked upward. “Glad you approve. Perhaps you’d care to join me?”
She sniffed, deciding his blatant sarcasm did not merit a reply.
Evidently he agreed, as he splashed a liberal amount of the amber liquid into two crystal snifters. Scooping the glass stems between the fingers of one large hand, he strode ’round his desk and pulled out his chair.
She smiled, despite her dire circumstances. He would look exactly right sitting in the large, ornately carved chair, just as she’d predicted. Indeed, he matched her conjured image to aT. Tall, broad shouldered, thick, sun-kissed brown hair, and emanating an innate self-assurance.
