Page 134 of The Lyon Returns
He paused, but did not turn to look at her. “Yes. I mean to call on the man I mentioned, the stakeholder whom I believe is responsible for creating the mayhem surrounding your purchase. I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to procure your precious publishing house, Gwen, whether that be by carrot or stick—though I assume the duke’s name and my money will suffice.” He’d nearly made it to the door when her voice stopped him.
“Gideon, wait. Please. I have one more question for you.Please,” she said again.
Everything in him warned him not to turn around, not to allow her to ask her “one question.” Calling on all his courage, he pivoted to face her.
She never could hide her thoughts. Hope and fear mingled on Gwen’s delicate face, and something else, something he ached for her to voice, and dreaded hearing.
He wanted to go to her, to kiss her into silence, to touch her, taste her, take her ’til she couldn’t think, damn his eyes, and damn her for being so bloody insightful.
“Why?” she choked. “Why would you do any of this for me?”
His jaw felt locked shut. With effort, he unclenched his teeth. “You are my wife, and it is in my power to assist you. I told you I would always protect you.”Leave, now,everything in him screamed. But he could not move to save his life.
“Why?” she whispered, starting toward him, her steps jerky and hesitant as if she sensed any quick move would send him fleeing.
“I just told you why.”
She reached him, cupped his cheeks and a shiver coursed through him. “No you didn’t. Gideon, do you love me?”
Blood rushed in his ears and a thousand thoughts crashed through his mind. Love? Love was for poets and fools, and not for one such as him. How could he love her? If he did, he’d surely need her love in return and why would she deign to bestow such a precious gift on him, the mixed-breed bastard son of a duke?
He could not hope to keep her with flowery words. He could not hope to keep her, period, though he’d kill anyone who tried to take her from him. He could, however, entice her with his body, his mouth, his hands, and when that faded, as it surely must, he could tempt her with money and properties and by procuring her the publishing house as the one thing sure to satisfy her over the years.
“I want you, Gwen. I want you as my wife, always.”
Her delicate chin trembled then firmed. “But, do you love me?” she asked, her voice strong and unwavering.
He sent her a sardonic grin that felt very much like a grimace. “Why are we talking about this? Are you going to say you believe yourself in love with me? Save it, please. I’ve heard the words before, every time one of my liaisons ended. Suddenly she loves me, and can’t live without me.” He uttered a harsh laugh. “Each and every one of them recovered in time and realized the folly of her words.”
“Each and every one, hm? So I’m just another of your paramours? A temporary entertainment with whom you can pass the time until you grow bored?”
“I did not say that.” He articulated out each word. “Damnit, Gwen. I told you, you are my wife, and I will not—” He broke off.I will not let you go,he’d nearly said. When next he spoke, he was once again in control. “You are my wife, period. You do not love me, Gwen. What you feel is lust. I should know.”
She looked so unbearably sad, he wanted to howl. To shake her. To demand she never broach the subject again. He wanted to holdher. To rock her, kiss her cheeks, and assure her all would be well in time.
Her expression didn’t alter, but her shoulders squared, brave little bluestocking. “I know the difference between love and lust,” she said with quiet dignity. “And I don’t care what any woman before me professed. I don’t care if one or all of them loved you and pines for you to this day. I don’t even care if you loved one before me—”
“I didn’t,” he stated too quickly, his voice ragged with feeling.
A small smile flickered at her mouth. “I know what I feel. I love you, Gideon. I love you.”
He jammed one shaking hand through his hair. “You don’t…You can’t…” He cursed and raced for the door like a lifeline. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what? Love me? Isn’t that really what you’re saying? What a fool I’ve been.” A small sob escaped her, and everything in him clenched.
Dreading what he’d find, he turned and pressed his back to the cold wood door. “Can’t it be enough? What we have? For as long as it lasts?”
“As long as it lasts,” she said as if to herself, then huffed out a laugh that held no humor and shook her head. “No. I won’t settle. Not again.”
A fist of ice clamped around his chest, making it hard to breathe. “It’s too late to decide that. You are my wife. We’ve already established this. To say otherwise would be to court scandal. Nothing more need be said on the matter.”
She met his gaze. Instead of the anger he would’ve preferred, he read hopelessness. “Nothing says we must continue living under the same roof. If I’ve lost my publishing house, I may as well travel. My father always wanted me to travel. I have the money. I can do a world tour.”
“As I’ve already stated,” he began, annunciating each word, “youwill not lose your bloody publishing house.” He turned and gripped the cold brass door lever.
He could not resist one last glance at her over his shoulder.
She looked so beautiful, standing stock still in the center of the room, hair hanging slightly askew, wearing one of her new gowns that fit her to perfection—gowns which he had purchased for her. He would purchase a hundred more. He would acquire every publishing house in London. He would give her whatever she wished to make certain she never regretted her decision to marry him. “I will see you tonight.”
