Page 29 of The Lyon Returns
“Forget it, Gwen,” he said, his voice rough. “We are both on edge. We do have more to discuss, but that conversation will have to keep. There is one thing I must know tonight, however.”
Her shadowed gaze drifted up to search his. “Go on.”
“Will you continue on with our ruse, knowing what you now know of this affair?”
Her chin came up. “I would not dream of abandoning you, sir. That would almost certainly spell disaster for you. I could not live with myself.”
She meant it. She would put her own safety on the line—for him. “I owe you my sincere thanks, Gwen. In truth I do not know how I will ever repay you.”
“It is not such a big thing I’m doing. After all, you are innocent of the crime.”
He could only stare at her. Then his gaze dipped to her mouth. By God, he wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her all night. One kiss—to seal their arrangement.
“Well, then,” she said, uttering a small, self-conscious laugh, almost as if she’d discerned his intent. “I bid you goodnight.” She turned and hurried toward the adjoining door.
He followed. Now that he’d decided to kiss her, everything in him railed at the notion of letting her go before he accomplished his goal.
Oblivious, she crossed the threshold. “There is one thing more I wanted to mention,” she said, pivoting to face him. “Oh,” she said, apparently startled to see him standing so close.
He raised one arm, pressing his forearm into the doorjamb and his forehead into his forearm. “Funny, I had something to add, as well.”
“Oh? Go on.”
“Ladies first.”
She licked her lips. “Hardly worth mentioning, of course. Perhaps, tomorrow—”
“I insist.” And afterward, he would kiss her goodnight. Thoroughly. Perhaps she would invite him into her chamber.
She lowered her voice. “It goes without saying, certainly, but just to be one hundred percent certain we are of the same mind: the marriage will be in name only.”
His insides clenched. He straightened away from the doorjamb and blanked his expression—he hoped. “Of course,” he agreed.
“What was it you wanted to say?”
He searched his mind and finally landed on something viable. “It’s along those lines. The marriage will be in name only—so long as you understand we must make a good showing.”
“A…good showing?”
“When we are in view of others—such as when we move in society.”
“Oh.” The smile she sent him was almost smug. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I do not move in society.”
He took a perverse pleasure in returning her smile. “You do now, Mrs. Devereux.” Before she could reply, he closed the door, very deliberately, in her face.
Chapter Eight
The following morning,Gideon trotted down the steps and made for the breakfast hall—late. Half-past nine. He tended to arise and take his breakfast unfashionably early as he considered sleeping in a waste of the day. However, he had lain awake until the wee hours of the morning, thanks to Gwen and their thought-provoking conversation. And that hideous, yet somehow utterly provocative, gown.
He stepped into the room, greeted by the rich scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked bread, and the sight of a blonde-haired woman seated at his table, holding a china cup aloft as she perused the morning paper.
Hismorning paper.
An odd sense of satisfaction lanced through him.
She glanced up, arching a wispy brow as she spotted him hovering in the doorway. “Good morning, Gideon.”
He strode toward the sideboard. “Good morning. I see you availed yourself of my copy ofThe Times.Anything interesting?” He filled his plate before taking a seat at the head of the table.
