Page 50 of The Lyon Returns
“I thought I should prepare you for your audience with the dukeand duchess.” He huffed out a laugh. “You should have some idea of what you’ve signed on for.”
“A wise call, no doubt.”
“My father is…” he broke off, an irrepressible grin tugging at his mouth, “the consummate duke. Be prepared for him to say whatever he wishes, whenever he wishes.”
She nodded her understanding, a small, answering smile playing at her lips. As opposed to last evening when she’d opted to sit ramrod straight on the edge of the armchair, tonight, she sank back, resting her head against the seat cushion as her gaze drifted to the dancing flames in the grate.
Against his better judgment, he took the moment to study her, unobserved. She was sodamnedarresting. What was it about her? That long, golden hair he’d made the mistake of touching so now his fingers constantly itched to sift through it? Her delicate face and porcelain skin that could as well belong to a mythical fairy as a mere human? Those cupid-bow shaped lips that he’d suspected, and now knew beyond a shadow of doubt, were lush and sweet as ripe berries.
All of those things, added together, would set her apart from the crowd.
But her eyes truly captivated him.
Her wide-set, blue-as-the-sky eyes, framed with thick, curling lashes demanded his attention, whether sparkling with interest, shining with undisguised intelligence, or gleaming with humor.
She cleared her throat.
Bloody hell. Caught staring like a pauper eyeing the baker’s cart.
He shoved up from his chair and made for his antechamber, returning with two goblets of Madeira. “My apologies. I nearly deprived you of your ritual nightcap.”
She cradled the goblet with one elegant hand, and drew it to her lips. Watching her, he had the sudden fierce desire to feel her palm, pressed against his nape, her fingers, tangled in his hair.
With a low groan, he lowered onto his chair, reminding himself she wasnothis mistress.
She slanted him a speculative glance. “If you are tired, Gideon, tomorrow is soon enough for you to tutor me on your family dynamics.”
“Exactly when tomorrow?” he demanded in a too-curt tone, for no good reason.
She did not look the least fazed. If anything, the look she gave him seemed to say, “I told you so,” as if his brusqueness owed to fatigue.
It did not. It owed to his increasing fixation on her. With effort, he spoke in a civil manner. “I am not tired. Thank you.”
She inclined her head. “As you say.”
A thought, brewing in the back of his mind, pushed to the fore. They were two consenting adults. A widow and a widower, neither in search of a replacement spouse. There was no reason they could not conduct an affair.
True, on the surface, entering into physical relationship at this juncture seemed like a terrible idea thanks to the inherent potential for mayhem and confusion on the female’s part which he had, unfortunately, suffered through on more than one occasion. But, in this case, the merit outweighed the risk.
He wanted her, certainly, and was almost certain she returned the sentiment. Almost.
Too, nothing could be more convenient. As a fake married couple, they shared a home and adjoining rooms, and would, for the foreseeable future. Finally, at the affair’s conclusion, assuming he was not for the gallows, one of them—as yet undecided—would depart London, making for an easy, amicable split. What could be simpler?
“You were saying, about your father?” Gwen prodded, her words tinged with impatience.
He contemplated her another moment, inwardly wrestling over whether to broach the subject of an affair or not.
Gwen continued to stare, all bluestocking, zero coquette.
He suddenly felt like a dirty lecher drooling over an innocent debutante. He could swear he’d read sexual interest in her gaze on more than one occasion. Or was that all wishful thinking on his part?
Bloody hell. The woman might drive him insane before the end of this.
He shoved thoughts of a liaison from his mind. “The duke, for all his arrogance and inherent certainty that the world should dance to his tune, is a fine man, worthy of all due respect. I regret having to mislead him concerning our situation. Still, I’d rather that than have the truth come out and implicate him in any way.”
Never embarrass your father. You owe him that much.
Her eyes gleamed with understanding.
