Page 45 of The Lyon Returns
Brice knew him. His rich chestnut brows furrowed. “Thought you ought to know. Forewarned, and all that.”
“I can handle my brother.”
He sent Gideon a speaking look. “No doubt. Tell me about her, then. She must be something quite rare to have induced you to change your stance on marriage.”
“We came together at the right time and right place. What’s more, the duke has been pressuring me to take a wife.” Not true, but Brice would have no way of knowing that. “And I had no stance on marriage.”
“Sure, sure. So?”
“She’s…” His ears pricked up at sounds coming from the front hall. Gideon eyed the door, a sense of impending disaster settling over him. He should have instructed Higgins to see that no one, including his wife, disturb them.
It wasn’t that he didn’t wish to see her. He more felt an odd measure of protectiveness.
Not that Brice tended towards pomposity. He moved among the elite only thanks to his choice of vocation—and his ties to the Duke of Ashwood’s sons.
Still. Gwen, though inherently sharp-witted and long out of the school room, did not appear to have developed the hardened veneer most Londoners achieved by the time they reached adulthood.
She burst through the door on a cloud of energy and light. She still wore the unfortunate gray dress. Her hair, however, was no longer restrained in the severe knot she favored.
He straightened to greet her.
“Good afternoon, Gideon.” She closed the door and hurried toward him wearing a jaunty grin.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Brice unfold from the sofa.
“You may rest assured, sir, I have dealt with the—oh.” She jammed to a halt, a span short of the seating area. “You have a guest. I should…” She waggled her fingers in the direction of the closed door.
“On the contrary, Gwen. I wish to introduce you to someone.”
“Very well.” She continued forward, her gaze shifting to Brice.
“I believe I’ve mentioned him to you—Mr. Brice Tyrell, Parliament’s rising star. He and I grew up together. Brice, meet Mrs. Gwendolyn Devereux, my wife.”
Brice gave Gwen a bow and probably would have kissed her knuckles, had Gwen offered her hand. But she didn’t, a fact that pleased Gideon for some reason.
“An honor to meet you, madam. Gideon was just telling me about how you met—aboard his ship? Have I got that right?”
Gideon glanced sharply at Brice, wondering exactly where he’dpicked up his facts. Probably Grayson.
“Indeed,” she murmured. A pink flush over her porcelain cheeks accompanied her words, as usual. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I haven’t had the opportunity to meet many of Gideon’s close associates.”
Brice snorted. “That goes without saying. He hasn’t many—close associates, that is. For some odd reason, he doesn’t trust easily.”
Gwen gave a graceful, one-shouldered shrug. Even in that unfortunate dress, she managed to make the gesture appear elegant. “‘Choose your friends as you would your books—few but choice.’”
Brice blinked.
Her intriguing dimple winked in and out of view. “Samuel Johnson, circa 1760 by most estimations.”
A tinge of admiration shone in Brice’s dark gaze. “The same Samuel Johnson who publishedA Dictionary of the English Language?”
Her glance shifted between Gideon and Brice. “Why, yes. He’s a favorite of mine.”
The look he shot Gideon said he found her off-hand knowledge impressive. “You’ll have to stay on your toes if you want to keep up with this one, Gid.”
“I’m aware,” he said.
Brice crossed his arms over his chest. His gaze drifted over Gwen as if rethinking his first impression.
