Chapter 18 #2
Gwen’s gaze softened at the mention of his sister.
She leaned back against the door, absorbing the tangle of implications.
“Perhaps … Trafford is hiding at Lady Hays’s townhouse.
She and Lord Hays often leave it in the care of their oldest servants when they are away.
Some of them practically raised Little Julius. ”
“I pray that is the case,” Aidan replied. “But we cannot simply call at her door. If the murderer is watching our movements, we risk leading danger straight to Trafford.”
She nodded slowly. “Do you think he found something? Some proof?”
“There is no way to be certain. Not until we speak with him. Until then, we are navigating blind.”
Gwen lifted her chin, her voice calm but certain. “That is not quite true. You told me the list of suspects is fixed. That means every effort should now focus on those three men. You are not as lost as you believe.”
Aidan stopped pacing, his brows rising in surprise at her clarity. He studied her for a long moment, struck by the precision of her reasoning.
“You are right,” he said after a moment. “Your insight is … exactly what we need.”
Gwen rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her waist, a firm tilt to her chin.
“I know I am right. The evidence is plain to see. Trafford’s note named three men.
He did not hedge or speculate. If he is now in hiding, it is because he uncovered something real.
Something dangerous. Your investigation has achieved more than you realize.
It has narrowed the truth to a definite few. ”
Aidan’s expression shifted, the furrow of concern easing into something far gentler. “You make me wish I had spoken to you about all this much sooner,” he said. “You offer a clarity that eludes even the most seasoned among us.”
She softened slightly. “I am a scholar. I weigh what is before me. Emotion has its place, but facts guide decisions.”
With a slow step, Aidan approached. He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her close until they stood chest to chest, the space between them narrowing to nothing. “And what of you?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Have you accepted the truth about yourself?”
Her breath caught as his hand brushed lightly against her temple, tucking back a strand of her hair. His gaze, so intent, searched her own, and her heart stuttered beneath it.
“Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe?” Her father had confessed after dinner to revealing her youthful secrets earlier that day in the interests of reconciliation, so she knew Aidan was aware of her past troubles.
Aidan leaned in to brush his lips over her freckled cheek.
“I happen to like your spots, Gwen Abbott.” He rose to nuzzle at her temple, teasing her hair with his hot breath to make her shiver.
“And I appreciate your height.” He raised his head to stare deep into her eyes.
“And your name is exquisite poetry.” Aidan stroked her mouth with the pad of his thumb.
“Gwen.” He leaned in to steal a kiss. “Gwen.” He tilted her chin with his forefinger to gaze into her soul with impassioned chocolate brown eyes. “Gwen.”
Then he fell silent, giving her space to respond. Gwen opened her mouth, searching for words, but they slipped away beneath the weight of what he had just spoken … and how he had said it. His voice wrapped around her like a silken ribbon, gently binding her heart.
A breath escaped her lips. “I …” Her voice wavered, featherlight, as affection pooled and spread through her limbs. “I have realized that perhaps those girls … might have been wrong about me. About my … appeal.”
“Very wrong,” Aidan murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His gaze fell to her lips, and before she could gather her next thought, he dipped his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that was soft, searching, and full of longing.
Gwen responded instinctively, her hands rising to grip his shoulders, leaning into his embrace. But just as quickly, Aidan pulled back with a strangled groan, his face a study in conflicted anguish.
“What is it?” Gwen frowned, breathless. “Please do not tell me this is another secret.”
He stepped back again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to summon the courage to confess. “I may have been … thrown. From Valor.”
She blinked. “May have?”
“I was,” he admitted with a sheepish grimace. “The street was narrow and full of commotion. Valor was startled, and I took a rather hard tumble.”
Concern furrowed her brow as she stepped toward him. “That sounds terribly dangerous.”
Aidan’s face flushed. He could not quite meet her gaze. “It happened yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Gwen’s voice rose slightly in disbelief. “That explains why you insisted we sit in the dark. You were hiding something from me.”
He gave a guilty nod.
Gwen bit back her irritation. “Let me see, then,” she said, gesturing pointedly at his coat.
Aidan sighed, his movements deliberate as he rolled his shoulders and eased the garment off, folding it neatly and laying it on the bench at the foot of the bed.
He then unwound his cravat with practiced fingers, placing it beside the coat.
When he untucked his shirt from his breeches, Gwen’s breath caught.
It was not scandalous, not exactly—he was her husband, after all—but it was still unfamiliar, still enough to send a flush creeping up her throat.
Her breath stilled the moment he drew the linen over his head.
“Aidan!” she cried, horror stealing into her tone.
His shoulder and upper arm were marred with vivid bruises. Deep red, dusky blue, and the sinister shade of dark plum. Gwen circled him swiftly, her hand covering her mouth. The contusions were worse along his back, a brutal smear of injury that covered nearly a quarter of his back.
“You could have been killed,” she whispered.
He cast his shirt aside and reached for her, drawing her close. She leaned into him, heedless of the bruises, laying her cheek against the warmth of his chest, grateful for the steady beat of his heart.
“Would that have been a bad thing, Gwen Abbott?” he murmured against her hair.
She lifted her eyes, blurred with unshed tears. “A very bad thing.”
“Then I shall be far more careful in future,” he promised solemnly.
Gwen reached up to touch the curve of his jaw, memorizing the planes of his face as though to anchor him to her world. There was a pause, heavy with feeling, before she asked, “Is it true? That I was the first?”
Aidan gave a small nod, his voice quiet. “It is.”
Gwen held his gaze. “You seemed … very certain for a man unfamiliar with such matters.”
Aidan gave a soft laugh, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Trafford was determined I should not shame myself … or you. He offered his instruction with all the seriousness of a military campaign.”
Gwen smiled in return, her heart lifting despite the heaviness of the moment. “Then we must ensure his safety. For that guidance alone, he has earned our eternal gratitude.”
Their foreheads touched, and Gwen closed her eyes, letting the quiet hush of the room settle around them. The ache of what might have been still lingered, but so too did the reassurance of what was. The warmth of his arms around her, the promise of a future they would face together.
He covered her hands with his, drawing them to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “You undo me, Gwen,” he murmured. “Completely.”
She smiled shyly, the moment suffused with quiet intimacy. In the quiet that followed, Aidan drew her into his arms and held her close, their bodies cocooned in the softness of the bed.
“It is better with no secrets between us,” he said softly, his lips brushing her temple.
Gwen sighed, utterly content. “Much better.”
“Shall we pledge never to have secrets again?”
She hesitated, then laughed. “If that is how it must be, then I confess … When you asked me about Papa selling the property, I told you he had not discussed it with me. That part was true, but … I did suspect what he had planned and chose not to say.”
He lifted his head with mock reproach. “Gwendolyn Abbott! You deceived me.”
She grinned, her cheeks flushing. “To be fair, we were not yet married, and I had not decided whether you were to be trusted.”
His chuckle rumbled against her ear. “No more secrets, nor half-truths, nor carefully worded answers intended to misdirect?”
“Unless I am planning a surprise,” she added with a teasing smile.
He tucked her against his side, one hand tracing idle patterns on her arm. “When this is over, when we find Trafford and bring the truth into the light, shall we take that trip to Italy together?”
Her breath caught, and her heart fluttered. “You meant that? That you would take me to Florence?”
“Of course. But at the rate we are going, we might need to travel soon. If you are with child, we will have some time limitations.”
Gwen stilled, her heart swelling with quiet joy. He had laid her most sacred wishes of love, family, and discovery gently at her feet. He was no longer a mysterious visitor from the shadows. He was her partner. Her future.
“Then we have no choice but to solve this murder swiftly,” she whispered, her voice thick with promise.