Page 105 of The Lyon Returns
“Thank me? Whatever for?” The breeze picked up and she swept several tendrils of hair from her face.
“I will be frank, but I caution you, if you repeat anything I am about to say I will deny everything to my last breath.”
“I prefer honest discourse, actually, and you may count upon my discretion.”
He inclined his head. “When I learned my son had married again, and that he’d chosen a perfect English lady, I admit I had my concerns. I had not wished to see him bound to a woman of Lady Frances’s ilk again.”
“Lady Frances’ilk? Whatever do you mean?”
He glanced briefly over his shoulder at his eldest son, who stood conversing with Brice and Grayson on the other side of the terrace. For some reason, Gwen had the distinct impression he’d positionedhimself to keep her and his father in his sight.
“Fannie was the duchess’s darling. She was not meant for one such as Gideon.”
Gwen stiffened. If he was about to echo the duchess’s sentiment that held Fannie socially superior to Gideon, she would not be held accountable for her response, duke or no.
“Your wife said much the same thing upon our first meeting,” Gwen said, her tone crisp.
The duke flashed her a brilliant smile, as if he’d noted her tone and found it vastly refreshing. “Our words may sound similar, Gwen, but I assure you, the meaning behind them is anything but. I did not want him to choose based upon the social strata that constrains men like Grayson and myself, who must marry for the sake of the title. We are not free to choose our life partners based upon anything other than what benefits those under our care. The larger the province, the greater the responsibility.
“I once tried to break out of that mold. I proposed to the woman I loved—Gideon’s mother—and was turned down flat on the basis that she would not make me an appropriate duchess. She was correct and she broke my heart.
“But that is neither here nor there. Fannie was adept at the game. She was a beautiful climber, a master manipulator, and perfect breeding stock for an earl—or duke. Not that I particularly liked her for Grayson, either, but if he’d chosen to wed her, I would have had no qualms. That is what mistresses are for.”
“I, myself, do not care for that notion, my lord.”
“Of course you do not. That is part of what makes you so perfect for Gideon. I cannot see him marrying only to carry on with another. That is not in him to do.”
Gwen smiled, unable to resist the urge. As it happened, she agreed with the duke’s assessment. Gideon had an honorable streak a mile wide.
“I’ll never know why Gideon married Fannie. Did he hope to prove something to the world? To the duchess? I don’t know. I hope not. I rather assumed the chit manipulated him into it somehow, because I know my son did not love her, even if her death did leave a stain I’d begun to wonder if he’d ever wash off.”
He glanced at Gwen’s hand. “I can tell you this, he never gave her his mother’s ring.”
Gwen fisted her hand as if to guard the precious memento.
The duke smiled as if pleased by her reaction, and went on. “Then came you. Another English rose. Another highborn lady who would feel perfectly entitled to take what he has to offer and then turn her nose up at my magnificent, incomparable boy. Except, you were not who I expected. To look at you, you are indeed beautiful, all that is graceful and charming. But, more importantly, you have eyes that see past his trappings—his so-called exotic appeal, his wealth, the low station of his birth—to the incredible person he is inside.” He thumped the center of his chest for emphasis.
Gwen gripped the stem of her champagne flute with such force, she wondered it did not crack as she struggled to contain the maelstrom of emotion heralded by the duke’s powerful words—words she did not deserve. She and Gideon were not married. They had embarked on a journey of deception to achieve their unique goals.
At least Gideon did so because he fought for his life. Gwen had simply wanted to purchase a business and had used Gideon’s name to skirt the stakeholders’ priggish requirements.
Never had she felt like more of a fraud. Her face trembled and threatened to contort as tears burned the backs of her eyes and a hard lump formed in her throat.
Calling on all her will, she pulled herself back from the brink long enough to send the duke a watery smile. “Th-thank you for your kind words, my lord. If you’ll excuse me for a moment?”
She hurried across the terrace, not daring to look left or right.When she reached the parlor she did not hesitate; she hastened through the large chamber, pausing only long enough to deposit her champagne flute. Stepping foot in the marble corridor, she turned left at random, hoping beyond hope the route would lead her to a place where she might compose herself in private. She’d taken no more than a few steps when she heard Gideon’s low voice, directly behind her.
“Gwen.”
She halted and spun on her heel, flinging herself into arms she somehow already knew would be open and ready to catch her.
“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong? Tell me.”
She clung to him as shivers she’d managed to contain wracked her frame. “Oh, Gideon. People are going to get hurt. I never meant…never wanted…”
“Shh,” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “No one is going to be hurt.”
She pulled back enough to search his face. “How can you say that? You didn’t hear your father. You don’t know how much seeing you…”—happy, she’d almost said—“settled means to him.”
