Page 74 of The Lyon Returns
“It wasn’t your fault, Gideon.”
“It was, damn it.”
“It wasn’t,” she repeated. “Someone set all of this up. They made it so you would not be here, so that they could manipulate the situation, including Mr. Kennedy, without your interference.”
As she knew, he hadn’t found any sign that his workers in Calcutta had been skimming. Which meant either it was Dirk, pilfering from him at sea, or the theft had happened here, where the same person—or persons—arranged the rifles meant for England’s Spanish allies to go to Napoleon instead, and then pinned the guilt on Dirk—and him.
“I have a suggestion that might help with your investigation.”
“Do you? An editor, contract negotiator, publisher, and now inquiries agent. Your list of skills is no less than legendary.” She did not deserve his sarcasm, but he could not seem to help himself.
She dropped to a sitting posture, feet curled under her skirts, folded her hands on the arm of his chair, and rested her chin on her hands. Her lovely lips drew into a pout. “If you’re going to be like that, I shall not bother wasting my breath.”
One corner of his mouth crooked upward as some of the vitriol within him eased, exactly as she’d intended. “My apologies, madam. Go on.”
She straightened immediately, ebullient with childlike enthusiasm. “Why not pay the runner you hired to put it about that you seek Meredith, or information leading to her whereabouts, because you wish to provide aid? Let it be known you wish to see her and baby Dirk safely settled, and your most cherished desire is to find a way to exonerate her husband, Mr. Kennedy and—”
“My ‘most cherished desire’?” he asked dryly.
She waved a dismissive hand. “You may word it however you please.”
“Thank you.” He resisted the urge to grin.
Several locks of her gold-spun hair had come loose from her braid to frame her delicate face. He imagined sliding the silky strands between his thumb and forefinger. Imagined their satiny feel.
Would her skin be as satiny?
Gwen continued, oblivious to the direction of his thoughts. “Make it clear that whatever you learn you’ll keep in the strictest confidence. I believe you will succeed at learning the truth, Gideon, whatever that may be.”
Never in his life had anyone taken such an avid interest in him, therealhim. Men, other than his father and Dirk, sought him for his connections, his know how, his influence. Women wanted him for something far more base—to satisfy their carnal cravings, something he was very, very good at.
Gwen wanted nothing from him other than the temporary use of his name, and a few drops of his finest liquor. If anything, aiding him in unraveling his mess had become of paramount importance to her. Why? Perhaps it was just because she enjoyed a puzzle. Or—and this struck him as infinitely more likely—helping was something she did. Who she was. Gwen was…kind.
Little wonder he wanted her to a degree bordering on obsession, and it seemed the desire was only growing more profound—to kiss her, to hold her, to be held by her. Damn it. It was too much.
He bounded out of the chair, rounding the furniture so it stood between them.
Eyes widening, she rose slowly to her feet. “Gideon? I hope I did not overstep. I only meant to help.”
“Oh? Because you like it so well when people offer you sound advice?”
She blinked, and her face flushed, but she neither defended herself nor went on the offense—which would have made sorting his feelings so much easier. As it was, he regretted the acerbic comment the moment it crossed his lips, but what good would taking it back do now?
“It’s late,” he said. “We’ve an early start tomorrow. I’ve ordered the carriage brought ’round at half past six.” He strode for the door,opening it wide and moving to the side.
“Very well.” Skirts fisted in her hands, she moved cautiously past him into the corridor. She took several steps, then halted to look inquiringly over her shoulder at him. “You’re not coming?”
He shook his head. “I have work to attend. Go to bed, Gwen. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stared at him a long moment, her expression, if he had to guess, one of concern—for him. “Goodnight, Gideon,” she finally said and walked away, her slippers silent on the marble tiles. She did not look back though he watched her until she disappeared from his sight.
Chapter Twenty
It was stilldark when a subdued Gideon helped Gwen into the carriage the following morning. Dark, and miserably cold. A fine mist, carried on an icy wind, covered her exposed skin in the brief time it took for her to cross the courtyard and exit the gates. She felt for the poor driver in this weather.
Gideon settled himself onto the plush cushioned bench across from her. She could hardly make him out. He had opted not to have either of the cab’s oil lamps lit, nor had he parted the velvet curtains. Perhaps he meant for them to sleep during the first part of the journey to Averly Abbey.
She caught the muted sounds of the groom speaking a word of encouragement to the horses hitched to the carriage. A moment later, the wheels bit into the gravel and they were off.
