Page 133 of The Lyon Returns
“I intend to.” She twined and untwined her fingers. “The thing is, I do not believe that will change anything, and I cannot possibly agree to this stipulation.”
He folded the letter and tucked it in his waistcoat.
Her incredibly blue eyes met his. “Gideon, what I’m trying to say is, if I am not able to purchase my publishing house, one of the reasons for me being here no longer exists.”
Ice danced up his spine. Their conversation had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn. “Your purchase will go through, Gwen. I will speak to the stakeholders myself and make them see reason, solicitors be damned.”
He stalked toward the door.
Gwen followed. “Gideon, you’re not listening. For one thing, it will take time to uncover the men’s identities.”
He turned to regard her, weighing the merits of sharing what he knew. “As it happens, I know precisely who they are. They number four. Three of them have such limited scope as to render their authority inconsequential. The fourth, I believe, is the man responsible for all of the obstacles that have been placed before you.”
She gaped at him. “How did you learn their identities? When? You never mentioned this to me.”
And now he was questioning the wisdom of having done so. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “The last time they attempted to serve you a shabby trick, I made a point of discovering their names and whereabouts.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which was…?”
“When they wrote to inform you of the astronomical profit theyinsisted you make in the first three months of your taking ownership.”
A great stillness came over her. “I never shared that with you.”
“No, you did not. I took it upon myself to learn the scope of your so-called miscommunication. Bullies never quit, Gwen, and for some reason, these men are intent on stymieing your efforts. I wanted to be prepared when they struck next.”
“You helped yourself to my correspondence, without permission.”
Annoyance sparked through him. “I do not need your permission.”
Aggrieved color splashed over her cheekbones. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are my wife,” he clipped out, his tone unyielding even to his own ears. He was not annoyed with her, just anxious to leave this room and end this conversation.
Her eyes widened with shock and unmistakable hurt. “Only by a technicality, and that is the point I wish to make.”
The ice along his spine grew tentacles, and spread through his insides. “I beg to differ. Nevertheless, I apologize for my harsh tone, Gwen.”
She lifted her chin. “Why bother? You spoke the truth, did you not? According to codified law, I am your property, and my property is also your property.”
It was too much. “Gwen,” he began and started toward her.
She almost tripped over her skirts in her effort to keep distance between him. “Oh, no, sir. Not this time.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She met his gaze, her expression gentling. “Do you think I have not noticed?”
“Noticed?”
“How, whenever the conversation turns to a topic you do not wish to discuss, you distract me with your lovemaking.”
Her meaning struck him by degrees. Then words erupted out of him. “What utter rubbish.” His pulse raced with…he’d call itfearif hedidn’t know better.
“Is it?” Her soft voice held no malice.
Everything in him went taut. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and proving her right. “This is ridiculous,” he bit out, then started for the door.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, alarm evident in her tone.
