Page 71 of The Lyon Returns
“Ah. No.”
Cheeks flaming pink in the candlelight, she nevertheless gazed a question at him.
As usual, her boldness coaxed a smile from him. “I was studying you for signs of fatigue. Your statement led me to wonder if you’ve been pushing yourself too hard, dearest wife. Perhaps this trip to the country will provide you a much-needed respite from your work, and you’ll return refreshed.”
She looked doubtful.
A vision of the two of them lying in a shared bed at his father’s estate flashed in his mind and he slammed a mental fist on the image to blot it out.
Not for the first time he asked himself if he’d been too hasty inending things with Emily as he had several days ago, then he dismissed the thought. He’d had to. He had no taste for anyone but Gwen.
Not that she had broached the subject of an affair. He had all but concluded she wouldn’t. And he was going out of his ever-loving mind.
“If you’d rather retire early, I can certainly make do on my own for one night.” He awaited her reply like a teenage boy who’d asked the girl of his dreams to dance during etiquette lessons and feared her rejection. Ridiculous how quickly he’d taken to having Gwen around. It wasn’t as if she was truly his wife.
She wasn’t even his lover.
“Oh, no. I doubt I could sleep, even if I tried. I would very much enjoy a glass of your fine brandy, Gideon, and your company. Just not the chess tonight. I don’t think I could give a good showing.”
He grunted in disbelief. She’d beaten him squarely more than once, something no other woman of his acquaintance had ever done. Few men could best him, for that matter.
He pushed back from the table and rose, offering his hand.
They strolled side by side to the drawing room as they had each night since the evening after their visit with the duke.
“Have a seat,” he suggested.
She took her customary armchair before the fire, arranging her skirts as she sent him a slow smile that hit him like a punch to the gut. Precisely why, he couldn’t say. Perhaps it was because he would swear she had no idea of the impact of that smile.
Or perhaps he simply wanted her, and she was not to be had.
He poured two snifters of brandy and joined her, handing her one before taking the armchair adjacent to hers.
She cupped the snifter in her palms, taking time to warm the amber liquid before swallowing her first sip, as usual. He’d learned that Gwen had a particular fondness for his brandy, though she never accepted more than one glass.
“Tell me about your day,” he urged. “What has taxed that brilliant brain of yours?”
She arched her fair brows, her eyes bright with amusement. “I daresay, no one has ever accused me of brilliance.” She tilted her head in thought. “I completed edits on Lady—on one of my author’s latest novels. Afterward, I visited my publishing house.” A satisfied smile played at her mouth.
“Ah. Of course. Your absence this afternoonwouldbe thanks to that, or one of your club meetings.”
When she wasn’t busy with her editing, she spent time at Bell & Company. The sale of the publishing company had evidently gone through. He still didn’t quite understand the contingency aspect of the agreement, but Gwen seemed disinclined to discuss it.
“What is it you actually do there? As far as I can tell, your magical editing happens here.”
She laughed, the sound musical and uncontrived. “My pressman would tell you I grill him mercilessly. But I merely wish to learn the mechanics of the machinery.”
He arched a brow. “You’re hardly a printer’s apprentice. You own the business. You can hire someone for all of that and, no offense intended, but should it come to you running the press, things have deteriorated badly.”
She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I think it’s important to show the employees I want things done properly and that I know what that looks like.”
“I understand.” He did. It reminded him of how he ran his business. He’d always been hands-on. Dirk had been instrumental in instilling the habit.
The thought of his old friend caused his stomach to burn like he’d swallowed acid.
“What is it?” she asked. She reached over the narrow table between them to lay one hand atop his forearm, her bright eyesconcerned.
He gazed at her, considering. His first instinct was to brush off her question. He had yet to discuss his investigations with a living soul. With some surprise, he realized he wanted to share his struggle.
