Page 81 of The Lyon Returns
“Over six years? How? Why? Did he have a physical impairment? Didyouavoid the marital bed? I got the strong impression you loved him. I—Christ, Gwen I was half…” He broke off.
She eyed him, brows arched in expectation. “Half…?” she prodded.
Half jealous, he’d been about to say. “It doesn’t matter. None of this makes sense, and I’d like to understand. Please.”
She spoke in a hushed voice he had to strain his ears to hear. “This is difficult. I’ve never told a living soul, although it’s a certainty his mother knew.”
He leaned back, pulled her unresisting form into his chest, and closed his eyes. “It’s only right you should confide in me as I have you.”
He felt her nod, and her body relax. “I told you I met Reggie when we were both children and that he and I became friends. At some point, the idea he and I would marry became an accepted fact. As children, we talked about it as if it was afait accompli. Then we grew into adolescence, and Reggie was…he was beautiful. People—perfect strangers often stared at him, agog.”
Gideon grunted. “How nice for him.”
“He was kind, charming, gentle.”
“A regular paragon,” he muttered.
“We had a nearly perfect relationship.”
Gideon said nothing. Why had he pushed her to talk about this?
“Or so I thought. We never argued. We shared similar interests—the arts, theatre.” She paused and Gideon had the feeling it was not for effect. “Poetry.”
Or maybe it was. He heaved a sigh. “I see.”
“We lacked one vital component for a marriage, however.”
He cracked open his eyes and slid her a look. Now, they were getting somewhere. “What was that?”
“Reggie did not find me…appealing.”
Gideon stared, certain he’d heard her wrong.
“In the physical sense,” she added helpfully.
Was the man blind? Slow-witted? How could any red-blooded male not find Gwen appealing. Unless… “He was in love with another?”
“Not precisely.” A faraway look glazed her eyes, as if she peered through a window into the past. “I tried.”
“Beg pardon?”
Her face flushed crimson. “To make myself attractive to him.”
“Ah, yes. By making yourself less forthright, as his mother suggested.” Sarcasm laced his words.
“Not only that. She came up with another plan, you see. She purchased several gowns for me, and bid me wear them.”
He snorted. “Never say she is the one responsible for those horrid—”
“Notthose,” she corrected in an arch tone, simultaneously straightening away from him. “I think I could sit on my own, now.”
Her quiet dignity made him even less inclined to release her. But he could hardly hold her against her will. Reluctantly, he let his arms fall away from her.
She took her time, settling on the bench beside him, righting her skirts. When she finally lifted her gaze to his he found himself pressing his lips together to fight a smile. Wisps of fine gold hair framed her delicate face, her one-time neat bun hung askew to rest on her shoulder, the hastily tied bow of her bodice drooped. She looked so delightfully tumbled.
No doubt she would not appreciate the sentiment, nor would she welcome his efforts to retie the ribbon securing her bodice, although something would have to be done before they emerged from the equipage at the abbey.
Back to the subject at hand. “Tell me about these gowns yourmother-in-law procured for you.”
