Page 70 of The Lyon Returns
Gideon’s gaze snapped in her direction as shock reverberated through him. It couldn’t be.
“I had made a mull of it.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said.
She shook her head, laughing softly, and smoothed her skirts. “It does not signify.”
He stared at her a long moment.
She was referring to her casual mention of Emily’s name in his father’s library, of that, he had no doubt. At the time, the room hadgone understandably silent, and it had seemed she realized she’d said something amiss, but had no notion as to what.
Now, if she were to be believed, something had led her to conclude she’d said nothing untoward.
Unless the whole thing was an act, staged by her, to draw out a confession from him, followed by his groveling proposition that she take Emily’s place.
He had no way of knowing, damn his eyes, not without commencing an open discussion about his mistress—Oh, who was he kidding? Hisex-mistress. Unfortunately, there was only one woman he wanted in his bed, and she was either proving herself now to be a master manipulator or incredibly naive. As the latter made no sense, he was betting on the former.
“Oh. Here.” Gwen slipped his mother’s ring off of her finger and reached across the aisle to hand it to him.
He accepted it without a word. In truth, he had not intended for her to return it until their pretend marriage was at an end.
“I think your idea to have me wear it tonight was very clever, indeed.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
A moment later, the carriage stopped in front of number 22 Portman Square. Gideon helped Gwen down the carriage steps, escorted her into the manse, led her up the flight of stairs. All the while, an invitation to his chamber for a glass of Madeira hovered on the tip of his tongue. But he’d told himself she would come to him, and caving now would be tantamount to begging her. He did not beg.
He’d wait. He’d bloody well wait her out.
He halted at her bedroom door.
Gwen, still on his arm, glanced toward his bedchamber, then back at him with wide eyes. Everything in him tightened.
Then, with a look of what he interpreted as regret, she turned toward her door and bid him good night.
Chapter Nineteen
Tonight marked thesixth night since their visit to the duke, not that he was counting.
“Would you care to join me for a game of chess, madam?” Gideon asked after the footman cleared their dinner plates.
She eyed him, rubbing one temple with her long, elegant fingers. “Perhaps just an after-dinner drink, as we leave in the morning for Surrey and I’d rather not arrive looking like I’m half dead.”
He leaned back in his chair, and allowed his gaze to roam over her. She was in no danger of shocking anyone with a paucity of winsomeness.
For one thing, she’d ceased donning the hideous dresses with which she’d arrived. Tonight’s gown of deep green had a demure, velvet-trimmed bodice which showed her creamy skin and the tantalizing swell of her breasts to advantage. The rich color of the fabric seemed to darken the sky-blue of her eyes ’til they resembled twin pools the color of a storm-tossed sea.
She wore no jewelry, as usual, and had bound her blonde hair in a simple braid that fell over one shoulder, exactly as he’d seen it at breakfast, and then again when he visited her in her commandeeredbedchamber-turned-atelier late that morning to ask if she’d like to join him for luncheon.
She had.
He’d never known a woman who kept herself so infernally busy. He’d glimpsed her, practicing what she referred to as hercraftseveral times now, unobserved, before she came up for air to note his presence in the doorway. He rather enjoyed the sight of her, pouring over manuscripts, making notes in the margin, scratching out lines, surrounded by an abundance of newspapers, atlases, scientific journals, and any and all type of reading materials she could get her hands on.
Her expressive face told him all he needed to know about her thoughts on a particular work. He’d catch her smiling in approval, rolling her eyes in disdain, or, occasionally, scowling. Sometimes he’d pass by her closed door and hear her laughing aloud.
“Do I have another ink stain, sir?” she asked, fingering the skin above her upper lip.
The gesture drew his gaze to her mouth. It took a moment for him to shake his focus off of her pink lips to replay her question in his mind.
