Page 85 of The Lyon Returns
She glanced down at herself, taking in the sad bow. “Yes. I see what you mean.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid we can’t do anything about your rumpled gown.”
“Perhaps, wearing my pelisse will—oh.” She drew in a sharp breath when he reached for her ribbon, untying it with a deft tug.
“I’m quite handy with this sort of thing, and I daresay my efforts are bound to surpass your own.”
Warmth unfurled inside her without warning, and she grinned, submitting herself to his ministrations. He really was the most extraordinary man. Hard as nails one minute, aloof to the point of rudeness the next, and, on rare occasions, gentle as a lamb.
Perhaps, not quitethatgentle.
But he could be very kind. He had a way of listening to her when she spoke that made her feel truly heard even when they disagreed, and a way of looking at her that said she had his complete attention.
“There. Now turn around and let me see what I can do with your hair.”
She twisted ’round on the bench, closing her eyes as he removed her hair pains and uncoiled her hair. His large hands smoothed the mussed locks, his fingers combing through the strands with exquisite care.
“I can probably manage on my own,” she admitted, though she rather liked the feel of his hands sifting through the tangled mass.
He grunted and said nothing more, but he did not relinquish his task.
It did not escape her notice that neither of them had broached what had happened between them. Not directly. They’d danced around it, with Gideon asking about her relationship with her husband and lack of experience, and her admission she and Reggie had not had a satisfying physical relationship, by any means.
But they had not discussed how, by engaging in the act of making love, they had thoroughly blurred the boundaries of their fake marriage. They had not discussed what might happen going forward.
Making love with Gideon had altered everything for her. Rather in the way of shaking the feathers out of a pillow, there would be no stuffing them back in to fit the same way. When Gideon touched her, even as he was now, she felt it in the depths of her soul. She had a strong suspicion she might like him to make love to her again, and a stronger one that would not be wise.
She did not wish to be just one in a long line of women to fall prey to his famed allure, another widow, as was his preference.
On the other hand, now that she’d tasted passion, if the opportunity arose again, did she have the will to deny herself?
Gideon had tohand it to his father. He knew how to make things happen. If one avenue to a goal closed, he would find another route to see his agenda accomplished.
Evidently, frustrated by the Home Office dragging its feet over whether or not to drop their investigation against Gideon, the duke’s patience had reached its limit.
Hence, the inclusion of the Honorable Clive Phillip, the Solicitor General, on the guest list at this weekend’s party. It seemed he was ultimately the man tasked with deciding whether or not to pursue charges against Gideon should the Home Office indicate they wished to do so.
Sir Phillip, the second son of a wealthy earl, was accustomed to moving in esteemed circles. He had been more than happy to receive the duke’s house party invitation, and had no issue at all with the duke asking him to look into the matter to, quote, clear up all this unnecessary nonsense, end quote.
Now, chatting amiably in the converted abbey’s large billiard room, the duke, Sir Phillip, Brice, and Gideon, each enjoyed a dram of whiskey drawn from a bottle of the duke’s private stock while, across the room, Grayson and Mr. Arnold Tyrell, Brice’s father, teamed up against Mr. Floyd and Lord Chase Culver at a game of billiards. Muted conversation and the clack and clatter of the billiard balls as they moved across the baize made for a pleasant din and ensured the conversation with Sir Phillip remained somewhat private, despite the mixed company.
“I say, Your Grace, this whiskey is the one of the finest I have sampled in an age,” Sir Phillip extolled. His glassy eyes said he’d imbibed several—unlike the duke who, Gideon had no doubt, meant to staysharp so long as Gideon’s freedom remained in question.
“Not every day one’s eldest son comes home with a bride,” the duke said, golden-green eyes a-twinkle. “This weekend is a celebration of that momentous fact.”
Gideon forced a grin and sipped, tamping down on his increasing guilt over deceiving his father. He had not anticipated the duke making such a monumental fuss over his wedding. After all, Gwen was his second wife, and the two had eloped, not even bothering with a ceremony.
Good God. He was behaving, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, as if he and Gwen actuallyweremarried.
Although, today, in the carriage, they’d done a good job of enacting a newlywed couple. Not that all married couples wished to tear each other’s clothes off in a moving carriage. He, on the other hand, had hardly been able to think of anything else when Gwen had crawled up his body to press her face into his neck. The weight of her, lithe and supple, squirming atop him, had threatened to drive him mad if he couldn’t touch her. Taste her. Sink himself into her heat.
Bloody hell.He was getting hard again. He lifted his snifter to his mouth for a long draw and contemplated the conversation that followed—first concerning her marriage, and then his.
Her husband deserved a good throttling, followed by that damned poet he’d invited into their home. He hadn’t missed the fact Gwen avoided revealing the man’s name. That implied Gideon might recognize it. Hewoulddiscover the man’s identity, he vowed.
As for his marriage to Fannie, he knew what everyone thought. That he’d loved the beautiful socialite, and continued to suffer as a result of her untimely loss, and that of their unborn babe. It had always behooved him—and those whom he wished to protect—to allow the belief to stand.
For some reason, however, he had not wished to repeat the old lie with Gwen.
