Page 63 of The Lyon Returns
“Gideon, at last,” the duke intoned with considerably more warmth than his wife. He crossed the room with ground-eating strides. “Thought you’d never arrive.”
Gideon’s mouth twitched as he led Gwen toward his father. “I beg your pardon, sir. I could’ve sworn you bid me arrive promptly at half-past seven. It’s only twenty past the hour now.”
As Gwen noted earlier, Gideon’s coloring differed dramatically from that of his father and brother. Where they were fair skinned, his complexion boasted a rich olive undertone. They each had an abundance of straight, sandy-brown hair, he had a thick head of wavy brown hair, interspersed with streaks from the sun.
Seeing Gideon and his father together, however, the family resemblance struck her. They had the same strong forehead, same broad cheekbones, same obstinate, squared jaws. Even more telling was the vivid green-gold of their eyes.
Lord Ashwood spared his wife a glance, one brow arching, before shifting the entirety of his attention to Gwen. “Always such a stickler for details, is my son.”
The duchess glided into position at the duke’s side. She wore an elegant gown fashioned of silk in subdued hues. Her hair, bound in a tight, intricate weave atop her crown, emphasized her angular bone structure and sharp jawline. She fixed Gideon with a cool smile.
Gideon gave no indication of having noticed the chilly reception by his stepmother. “Your Graces, allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Gwendolyn Devereux.”
Gwen lowered into a deep curtsy.
“A pleasure to meet you, at last,” the duke said, clasping one of her hands between both of his as she straightened. Warmth and welcome radiated from his brilliant eyes.
Then, something caused his breath to hitch. The ring, Gwen realized. He stared, momentarily transfixed. He looked toward Gideon, his expression a conflagration of joy and sentimentality, relief and,oddly, satisfaction. He nodded once at his eldest son, and Gideon acknowledged the gesture with a small smile.
Gwen’s stomach promptly pitched.Blood of the Saints. In displaying his mother’s ring on her finger, Gideon had indeed lent credence to their farce. But he’d also raised the bar of expectation concerning their union to an untenable height. Clearly the duke saw Gideon’s gift as a sign that his son’s commitment to Gwen far surpassed the usual business-arrangement basis for marriage amongst the upper crust.
How would he feel when he learned he’d been misled? Panic threatened to overwhelm her.
No.She did not have the luxury to indulge in a fit of the vapors. With an effort of will, she reminded herself the priority here was keeping Gideon’s neck from the hangman’s noose, and that meant portraying a convincing couple.
“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” she said. “I have heard so much about you and the duchess.”
“Have you?” The duchess’s question held a trace of sardonic amusement. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Devereux,” she added, her tone reminiscent of one used by polite strangers making each other’s acquaintance.
Without awaiting a reply, Lady Ashwood’s gaze slid to Gideon. “It is good to seeyou, Gideon. Your father and Grayson have been beside themselves with worry these last months with your extended absence.”
“As you can see, I had an excellent reason for my delay,” Gideon said, his expression unreadable, save for the tick of a muscle in his jaw.
“So it would seem.”
Grayson joined their party, hands clasped behind him. “Gideon.” He sent his older brother a polite smile before shifting his attention to Gwen. To her, he nodded politely, almost abashedly. “Mrs. Devereux, we meet again.”
She smiled, gratified the outright suspicion with which he hadviewed her to date no longer burned in his caramel eyes. “Good evening, Lord Ashwood.”
“Come. Let us sit and get acquainted,” the duke suggested, gesturing in a wide sweep toward a large seating area.
As everyone settled into his or her respective seat, the duke’s eyes shifted briefly toward the open door. A moment later, an older footman appeared, carrying a silver salver topped with five filled crystal champagne flutes.
The footman distributing the champagne sent Gideon a fond grin when out of sight of the duchess. It seemed Gideon was universally loved by both his staff and his father’s. She was not surprised.
Gideon’s father lifted his glass. “To my eldest son and his lovely bride. May the two of you have many happy years together.”
Everyone drank. Gwen forced a smile, tamping down hard on the guilt trying once again to emerge.
“Grayson tells me you met my son aboard one of his ships bound for Calcutta,” the duke said.
“That is correct, Your Grace. My late father, Mr. Thomas Wolsey, and I traveled there on business.”
“I see. I understand he passed recently. My condolences.”
“Thank you,” she said, as a sharp stab of grief pierced her.
“Wolsey, you say? Any relation to Lord Wolsey of Cheshire County?”
