Page 5 of Bedding the Marquess
Emily knew one thing for sure: She’d do everything she could to protect her husband because he’d never before had anyone to do that for him.
Chapter Two
The next morning,Gideon woke with a splitting headache and an unholy level of nausea. Following his leave of the brothel, he’d gone home and dragged a chair to face the portrait of his father, which, regrettably, still hung above the hearth in the library. Several times, he’d nearly given in to the impulse to burn the damned thing, but he’d stopped just shy of tearing it off the wall. He kept telling himself that he’d move it to another wing or another estate entirely, but that would have deprived him of the many joys of cursing the man to his face, subjecting him to rude gestures, and, perhaps most importantly, serving as a reminder of why Gideon continued to search for the sibling he knew existed somewhere in the world.
That evening, he’d nestled in for a long night of all three of those activities, spending hour after hour glaring and drinking, toasting the man who still seemed to be sending him jabs from the grave. He’d been gone half a decade, and Gideon was still caught treading in the wake of his father’s tumult, his rash behavior, and his selfish, poor decisions. The man had likely left behind at least several bastards, but Gideon had only snippets of information about a single one of them. Before that night, everything had led to a dead end…until his brother found him…
Gideon was barely awake, swathed only in a coverlet, when his butler, Perry, arrived to advise him of a guest.
“What person of my acquaintance would call at this ungodly hour?” Gideon groused, his voice hoarse from sleep and drink.
“A Miss Emily,” his butler replied with a disdainful sniff, clearly put out by the stubbornness of their visitor.
“Emily? Just Emily?”
“Indeed.”
Gideon heaved a weighty sigh and had the butler show her into the parlor, where he would join her presently. There was only one Emily he knew. He hadn’t known her long, but she seemed just feisty enough to intrude upon a marquess’s home well before proper visiting hours.
Absently, he wondered why she’d come to see him alone—especially after how close her husband had come to pummeling him the prior evening—but she must have deemed it important enough for her to arrive so soon after their unorthodox meeting.
It took far longer than it would have had he not finished the second bottle of brandy, but he survived washing up and dressing after choking down one of Cook’s headache remedies. A deep-brown coat and buff breeches provided a nice contrast to his emerald green waistcoat and polished black Hessians. He bemoaned the purple shadows beneath his normally sharp eyes, but there was nothing to be done about them now; hopefully, his refined attire would make up for his lackluster expression.
He found Mrs. Emily Black examining a landscape hanging on the far wall of the blue parlor. Not for the first time, he was struck by the prettiness of her face, though her true charm lay in the smooth, sensuous elegance with which she moved, and how she held herself. She couldn’t have been older than three-and-twenty, but there was an uncommon worldliness about her. No wonder his brother had snatched her up.
His brother.
Now that was a notion that would take some getting used to—especially after spending three decades as an only child—the sole son and heir to the marquessate. Gideon’s head throbbed painfully, and he winced. How much had changed in the spanof a single night? Exhaling a measured breath, he greeted his visitor.
“Mrs. Black. A pleasure to see you again so soon.” He strode over and took her hand, bowing over it as he smiled warmly.
“Lord Swanleigh,” she greeted him in return with a deferential curtsey. She’d donned a modest, gray-striped gown and matching spencer that morning, along with a plain bonnet, gloves, and an unadorned reticule. Despite its simplicity, every piece she wore was of uncommon quality and impressive tailoring. Whoever she was, she was a woman with some money and connections despite her presence in a brothel the night before, and it made him wonder about her husband all the more.
She plucked her hand back and laced her fingers together before her as she stood stiffly. Her luscious mouth was drawn into a taut line; her large eyes darted across his features; she appeared as if she were addressing a rather unpleasant intrusion upon her marital bliss. Gideon supposed he couldn’t blame her.
Before he could inquire as to the reason for her call, she blurted out, “You must forgive me for staring, but the similarities between you and my husband are unnerving—even more so in the light of day. I’d almost convinced myself that it had been a trick of the evening, but I see now that was not the case.”
Gideon’s winning smile dimmed slightly. “Our appearances run quite strongly in the male line of our family. The hair, eyes, and build are traditionally passed from father to son.”
She eyed him for several long seconds before speaking again. “I am here to protect my husband.”
Gideon chuffed. “The man seemed rather well-equipped to handle himself.”
She ignored the comment, continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “You see, he has not had the easiest of lives, and I feel it is my duty to do what I can to learn more about thecircumstances of the…situation, as you put it, before we become too embroiled.”
“While I appreciate your looking out for him, I believe it would be prudent for your husband to be present for this conversation.”
“And I would prefer to speak to you alone first,” Mrs. Black replied steadfastly. “I am determined to protect my husband in any way I can—especially if it turns out to be a ruse.”
“And what, madam, would I seek to gain from such a ruse?” he asked, cocking a haughty brow. Wasn’t it usually the lower class attempting to gain something from the wealthy in this sort of situation? She remained unmoved. “Very well,” Gideon sighed resignedly. “What would you like to know?”
“How did you know of Oliver’s existence?”
“A fair enough inquiry and as good a place to begin as any.” Gideon gestured to the nearby chairs and offered her a seat. “This will take some time. Might I offer you any refreshments in the meantime?”
She considered his offer for a few more seconds before sitting. “Thank you, no,” she answered with a shake of her head. She did not intend to stay long, it seemed.
It was probably for the best; even if he hadn’t been suffering from the aftereffects of overindulgence, Gideon didn’t think his stomach could handle anything. He took up a seat in the other chair and went on to explain how thoroughly his parents had hated one another.
