Page 124 of The Lyon Returns
“I’d say he did the deed this afternoon.” He unfolded from his chair and leaned back on the mantle. “Why?”
She joined him there. “The timing is odd, is it not? The very same day you set out to find him, to speak with him, he decides to…do what he did?”
“What are you getting at, Gwen?”
“I’d say, at the very least, someone told him of your interest in speaking with him.”
“Someone like who?” he asked.
“It may have been one of his colleagues.”
Gideon said nothing, merely watched her as if he knew what she would say next.
“Or Mr. Tyrell.”
His mouth twitched. “Poor Brice. He’s really made a cake of himself with you, somehow.”
“I’m only saying,hemight have warned the man. He had time,”
A derisive scoff sounded in his throat. “First you imply he brained me years ago and shoved me into the river, unconscious, before rushing in after me to then save me, now you suppose he warned Rory, then accompanied me to his house to accuse him.”
She slanted him a peeved look. “You must admit the timing is odd.However, I shall not press the issue. The important thing is that the affair seems to be settled for you. You know who set you up and who induced Dirk’s unfortunate actions—not to mention the Home Office will surely conclude your innocence in light of Mr. Rory’s confession, if they haven’t already.”
He rolled the wine glass’s crystal stem between his fingers and stared into the liquid. “The timing is odd. Perhaps, as you said, someone tipped him off that I visited the customs hall and asked after him today. He may have feared his misdeeds would soon come to light. In any case, Rory’s confessiondoesseem to conclude matters. It does not lessen the sting.”
“Oh, Gideon,” she said. “I am so very sorry.”
He nodded once in acknowledgment and changed the subject. “How was your Literary Society meeting today? Did you and your friends come up with a solution to manage the so-called miscommunication?”
“The miscommunication is of no consequence, as I already told you. However, I do have exciting news to share. One of my much-lauded authors has written a short story, a prequel, if you will, to an upcoming release. I shall print and sell the story at Mrs. Margaret Sheridan’s bookshop in little over one week’s time. To promote the event, I’ve taken an ad out inThe Times.The booklets shall be autographed by the author and available exclusively at the one-day event. I expect demand will be quite high. Additionally, the fanfare surrounding the event will certainly heighten excitement for the author’s upcoming release.”
“My wife. So very clever.” His praise, combined with the look of admiration he sent her, warmed her to her toes.
In a meandering stroll, he crossed the chamber toward his big bed. “I shall make a point to attend. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“That is most kind of you, sir. I cannot think of any better way to show your support than by attending.”
“The offer stands should you think of anything else.” He eased a hip onto the side of the mattress.
Her glass was nearly empty. And their conversation had reached its natural conclusion. She did have one last topic she wished to broach, however. With a toss of her head, she finished her wine and set the goblet on the side table near her vacated armchair.
“Gideon,” she began. “I’ve been thinking quite a lot about what occurred at your father’s estate. Do you think we ought to discuss how our arrangement, assuming we continue, ought to—”
“Gwen, would you come over here?”
At the low rumble of his voice, her nerve endings shivered. She would not become distracted, she told herself.
“Over there?”
The dying glow from the hearth illuminated his large, still frame. He studied her with an unreadable expression. He did not answer.
Moving on legs that felt suddenly unsteady, she inched toward him.
“Sit,” he urged when she neared him.
Butterflies erupted within her. She perched on the mattress and tried to think over the rush of sensations storming through her.
Gideon shifted closer. He scooped one hot palm around her nape and wrapped his other hand around the curve of her waist. Lowering his head, he nuzzled the underside of her jaw, brushing feather-light kisses down the column of her neck.
