Page 68 of The Lyon Returns
“I thought we’d moved past that,” he chided before turning to Grayson, expression resigned. “We can continue our discussion there, in a more relaxed atmosphere.”
Grayson’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their starch. “I look forward to it, sir.”
Abruptly, Gwen turned to Gideon. “That reminds me, sir. I ran into one of your friends at the modiste’s. I apologize for not mentioning this sooner, but it slipped my mind. She asked me to give you her regards and requested that you call on her soon. What was her name…” She squinted in concentration, finger tapping her chin.
A woman at the modiste shop. Gideon could think of only one woman of his acquaintance who might ask him to call on her. He did not much care for the idea of her approaching his wife—in the world’s eyes at any rate. “It’s not important, Gwen. It grows late. Perhaps we should take our leave.”
“Mrs. Trent!” she said with unmistakable triumph.
Silence greeted her pronouncement.
She glanced around the room, her expression growing discomfited as she seemingly realized she’d said something regrettable.
The duke developed an inordinate concern with the polish on his boots, while Grayson’s study of the portrait of the previous Duke of Ashford hanging over the mantel suggested he was viewing it for the first time.
The duchess, however, smiled her feline smile and addressed the duke. “If she’s a close friend of Gideon’s, my lord, perhaps we should invite her and her husband to our fête.”
Gideon felt a stab of annoyance which he quickly squelched. There was no way the duchess would know of his previous relationship withthe attractive widow. It was hardly as if the duke or Grayson would have broached the subject with her. He racked his brain for a viable reason not to invite the woman other thanshe’s my previous paramour.
“No, I don’t believe that will be possible, unfortunately, Mother,” Grayson said, his tone brooking no argument.
All eyes turned to him.
“Whyever not, dear?” Lady Ashwood asked.
“I ran into Mr. Trent during my ride in the park today,” he answered. “Alas, Mrs. Trent turned her ankle during a cricket match, apparently while trying to best her competition.” He sent Gideon a bland smile.
Gideon’s first thought was that he owed his brother for his quick thinking. His second was to ask himself why, in the privacy of his own thoughts, he kept referring to Emily as someone with whom he no longer associated when he fully intended to call on her at his first opportunity.
“More’s the pity,” Gideon’s father said, sounding anything but sorry. “By the by, Gwen, you mentioned a local modiste? Which one is that?”
All eyes turned to the duke.
He awaited Gwen’s reply, by all appearances uncaring that everyone present found his question odd in the extreme. But then, his father rarely felt the need to explain himself.
“One of my friends from the Ladies’ Literary Society, introduced me to her—Madame Eloise, on Bond Street,” Gwen replied, her manner distant as if she was lost inside her own head mulling over some problem.
His father nodded, seemingly satisfied.
Soon after, the two took their leave.
As the carriagelurched into motion, Gideon lounged back into the cushions to contemplate Gwen. A pensive expression tightened herfeatures, which should have detracted from the esoteric beauty she possessed, that nameless quality about her that caused his gaze to gravitate toward her whenever in her vicinity. It didn’t detract from it, though. Not one iota.
There she sat, posture perfect, her skin glowing with the luminescence of a rare pearl, reflecting the low burning carriage lamps.
“It wasn’t too taxing for you, maintaining the pretense?” he asked once they’d departed the square.
She inclined her head briefly, but did not look at him. “Not at all. Your father, in particular, made me feel quite welcome.”
“Glad to hear it.” Despite her words to the contrary, the tension radiating off her told him something weighed on her. He could wager a guess as to what, but best not to assume.
“My brother, Grayson, treated you with more respect than in your previous interactions, I trust?”
“He was most kind.” She gazed on the passing scenery with rapt attention though the glare of the infrequent streetlights in the thickening night fog would, no doubt, inhibit her view.
“And the duchess?” He tensed inwardly. Lady Ashwood had taken him unaware when she announced her intention to retire from the dining hall with Gwen. Showing a marked interest in him via his wife broke with a pattern years in the making.
Gwen scowled with evident distaste, but waved a dismissive hand.
