Page 61 of The Lyon Returns
This afternoon, when he’d glimpsed her standing before a three-fold mirror, a seamstress pinning her into a butter-cream gown, he’d gone momentarily daft, unable to remember why he’d knocked at her door in the first place. But now, at the sight of Gwen dressed in her silk evening gown, bathed in the waning light, the effect was ten-fold.
Thanks to this game she’d decided to play with him, however, he would keep his own counsel on that score rather than lose the ground he’d gained last night. He knew her ploy, of course. He’d dallied with more than one society lady who wished to enact the role of virginal debutante. For some reason, he just hadn’t expected such a contrivance from Gwen.
She wanted to tangle with him?Fine.Let her think he meant to walk away, to leave the fruit on the table. She’d come to him, by word or deed, tomorrow, or perhaps a matter of days. They always did.
However long it took, he could wait her out. In the meantime, perhaps he should resume relations with Emily.
Belatedly, he realized Gwen had not responded with the alacrity of a practiced game master. No quip, no rejoinder to pry a compliment from him. She merely eyed the tips of her slippers as a pink stain crawled up her neck, even tinging her delicate ear lobes. Confounding woman.
He closed his eyes briefly, as her disquieting blend of innocence and self-consciousness left him feeling more like a horse’s arse than an accomplished contender in a game of wits. “I was merely surprised by your punctuality.”
A mollified smile tugged at her lips. “I do have a tendency to be overly prompt. It can be off-putting, I’m told.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and joined her at the window, the evidence of her humility acting like a cattle prod on his tongue. “Nothing wrong with a person keeping to a schedule. May I say how well that shade of blue suits you?” he said, despite his intention not to.
Her face lit with unabashed pleasure. “Thank you. I thought perhaps you did not care for the gown.”
He watched her gloved fingers trace the drape of her skirts with unpracticed awe.
“Quite the opposite,” he admitted. “In fact, I’d say it was the sight of you, garbed in something other than a dreary—”
She held her hand toward him, palm out, her expression instantly pained. “Say no more. Please.”
He grinned. “The glimpse I had into youratelierthis afternoon tells me your shopping foray has cost me a pretty penny.”
Her gaze met his, blue eyes unapologetic and dancing with merriment. “Very astute, sir. I remind you, you have only yourself to blame.”
The moment stretched, shifting from teasing to charged in a matter of seconds.
Hell and damnation, but he wanted to kiss her, to pull her close and run his hands over the thin silk, to memorize every hollow and curve concealed beneath the shimmering folds of fabric.
He inhaled long and deep, cursing his pertinacious desire for the woman. “No doubt the groom will have the carriage ready, awaiting us at the curb. Shall we be on our way?”
She nodded.
“Oh, before we go…” He broke off and fished in the pocket of his waistcoat for the small leather box which, on impulse, he’d removed from the safe located in his bedchamber before exiting his rooms.
He placed the box on his palm, popped the clasp, and peeled it open to reveal the ring inside, featuring a lustrous ruby encircled with diamonds.
Gwen gasped in evident shock.
“It was my mother’s.”
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Her sky-blue eyes never wavered from the gemstone.
Little wonder. It was a magnificent piece. The quality and cut of the ruby were such that it captured any surrounding light, seeming to glow from within.
One corner of his mouth crooked upward as pleasure from her reaction coursed through him. As she made no move to take it, he removed the ring from its velvet cradle and reached for her gloved hand. The ring slid easily over her finger as if made for her. “Consider it a costume of sorts.”
She found her tongue. “But it’s a priceless heirloom, Gideon. Your mother’s. I hardly feel it appropriate for me, a virtual stranger—”
He held one finger to her soft lips and a jolt of awareness tightened his insides. “Not quite a stranger. You’re living in my house. You stand between myself and the gallows. Besides, I think it will take something of this magnitude to convince my father we are truly married.”
Her expression softened. She placed her fingertips on his forearm. “He gave her the ring, did he not?”
“You figured that out on your own.” Of course she had.
She arched a quizzical brow as if uncomprehending of his meaning.
