Page 52 of The Lyon Returns
He snorted. “Sorry, darling, the tale does not have a happy ending. She turned him down, flat. Told him to marry an Englishwoman who could make him a proper duchess, not a mixed-race heiress who would never leave her beloved India.”
Gwen blinked, clearly fighting tears.
“If you are going to turn into a watering pot, madam—”
“No, no, I merely got a bit of smoke in my eye, from the fire. Someone must have added damp wood to the pile. Do go on,” she insisted.
He slanted her a dubious look.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a stalwart, unblinking stare.
With a grunt, he proceeded. “He left, angry, returning to England. In his absence, his family had chosen a bride for him, their response to his declaration of love for an ‘unsuitable’ woman. This woman was from fine bloodstock. Whether because he felt he had no choice, or to spite my mother for her rejection, he married her immediately.
“And then, a year and some months later he received a summons from my mother, calling him to return to India.
“He went without hesitation, leaving his wife of one-and-a-half years behind. When he arrived in Calcutta, he discovered my mother had contracted a lung ailment and hadn’t long to live. In fact, she died soon after his arrival. Father maintains she held on until she could see him again.”
Gwen sniffled.
Gideon decided at this point he may as well finish the tale and refrained from looking at her. “She had delivered a son. Me, if you haven’t already guessed.” A small whimper sounded from Gwen’s vicinity, which he pointedly ignored. “I was not quite two years of age. She told him, in no uncertain terms, he must take me back to England and raise me as his son. He did.”
“The duchess. She…”
“Had no choice in the matter. My father did not give her one. To her credit, she did right by me.”
“She accepted you? Treated you with love?”
He could not miss her dubious tone. “She raised me in her household. She acknowledged me as my father’s eldest son. She allowed me to call her son brother.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen stiffen. “Heisyour brother.”
Spoken like a true progressive. If he’d had any doubts before, he nolonger did. “Grayson is, indeed, my brother. We grew up together, shared the same tutors, lived similar lives. But there has never been a question that he is the heir and I am the bastard.”
“I see.” She set her glass beside his. “Does that bother you?”
“No.” It had never occurred to him to covet the title. Of course, throughout his impressionable years, the duchess made sure he knew his place.
Gideon eyed the dying flames. “I do regret not having had more time with my mother.” He rose and stoked the coals into renewed life, using more force than required. From where had that admission sprung? He had not intended to share anything so personal.
“Of course you do,” she said, her gentle response a balm to the raw emotions she’d unearthed.
“I have heard stories of her over the years, from family members, and one man in particular—the family friend I mentioned who became known to me when I moved to India to found my business. His name is Dirk Kennedy. He is—was—the lead captain of my fleet.”
“Mr. Kennedy?” Gwen asked, sounding shocked. “Was? What do you mean? Are you saying he died? Oh, Gideon, I am so very sorry.”
He shot her a sharp glance. “I am saying no such thing. The truth is, I do not know. What I do know, madam, is that this is the second time tonight you have spoken to me about some private aspect of my life, the details of which you should have no knowledge.”
She pressed her lips together and averted her gaze.
He would not be deterred, by God. “That snippet about Brice, earlier, and now Dirk. Kindly do not attempt to fob me off with a denial which I will not credit, I promise you.”
She drew her gaze to meet his, her expression both anxious and resolved. “You are quite correct, sir. I found, and read, your collection of journals.”
Chapter Fourteen
She had enteredhis chambers tonight knowing this moment would come. After spouting off about his childhood antics and claiming he had confided them to her, when they both knew he had not, she had no doubt but the truth must come out.
His already swarthy complexion darkened, made all the more ominous by the amber-and-golden flames alight in the hearth. “You. What?” he asked, annunciating each word.
