Chapter 7 #3
“Father and I were just discussing the purchase of new property to add to our portfolio. Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Smythe?” Aidan watched the other man carefully as he posed his question.
It would be heaven-sent if the man admitted he was purchasing something, thus disproving that he was desperate for funds and canceling him as a suspect from their list.
Smythe hesitated, his eyebrows coming together for just a second before responding. “No, I am afraid not. It has been some time since I dealt with any land purchases.”
Aidan’s heart sank.
And yet he pressed forward, still hoping for a clue.
“Do you intend any significant investments in the near future?”
The question was jarring, causing his father to throw him a cautionary glance. Aidan kept a straight face, but he knew Hugh Abbott was well aware that he was fishing for information.
Frederick Smythe sobered for several seconds, and Aidan silently willed him to admit to something, anything, that would explain the mounting bills of sale. Then, at last, Gwen’s father smiled his familiar easy grin.
“What could I possibly purchase? A gentleman has no need of anything but property!”
“Indeed!” Aidan’s mother agreed at once. “Owning land is the ultimate investment. There is no need of any other.”
Smythe tilted his head, his eyes dropping, just briefly, but enough for Aidan to recognize the slip. Then the gentleman let out a booming laugh and banged the table with his hand.
“Land is the best investment.”
Next to him, Gwen lowered her head and stared at her bowl of soup. And Aidan knew.
He knew something was amiss and that Gwen might know it, too.
A new dread stirred in his chest. He had never considered that she might be entangled in her father’s affairs.
It was one thing to investigate Frederick Smythe.
It was another entirely to suspect that the woman he had kissed beneath the moonlight, whom he was bound to marry, might carry secrets of her own.
Curses.
His breath tightened. How could he possibly reconcile his vow to protect Lily with his promise to cherish Gwen?
Lord Moreland chose that moment to shift the conversation, his eyes flicking in subtle warning. “How is Lord Weston? I know him well from Lords, but I have not seen him since the coronation.”
Smythe grimaced faintly. “My brother is well, but he was called away. Our family home caught fire, you see. He was needed to attend to it.”
Aidan’s parents expressed their dismay in unison.
“Was anyone harmed?”
“Did the house survive?”
Smythe nodded. “The staff are all well. They managed to save most of the contents, but the west wing was lost.”
Aidan’s interest was piqued as the conversation turned to the disaster that had befallen the Smythe family. Could this be why Gwen’s father needed funds?
But no, that did not make sense. The bills of sale demonstrated that Smythe had been selling off possessions for a minimum of the past two months, and news of the fire must have reached his brother after the coronation if Aidan’s own father had met him there.
Aidan felt the deep bite of disappointment.
There was still no bona fide reason that might remove Smythe from their list of suspects for the killing of Lord Filminster.
How much simpler his future would be if he could clear the man of the crime.
The path forward would be far less tangled, especially with Lily’s safety hanging in the balance.
After dinner, they adjourned to a small drawing room.
The atmosphere was warm, fragrant with lemon oil and beeswax, and Aidan invited Gwen to the terrace.
One of the privileges of being betrothed was the allowance of certain concessions, such as walking alone.
Many couples took advantage of this liberty in anticipation of their vows.
But for Aidan, this brief stroll offered more than escape. He longed for a reprieve from the burden of secrets and suspicion, from the ache of watching Lily face danger, and perhaps, too, to see whether Gwen might be a balm against the relentless unease of the past weeks.
Gwen nodded with composure, rising to link her arm with his.
Her fingers rested lightly in the crook of his elbow, her perfume a gentle combination of citrus and soap.
They passed through the French doors into the early twilight, the last rays of sunlight casting a golden hue across the terrace stones.
Despite his yearning to forget all that troubled him, Aidan’s thoughts pressed forward.
“Why is it you are not leaving London this year?”
His companion set her jaw with quiet resolve, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
A soft glow illuminated the curve of her cheek as she placed her hands upon the stone banister.
“My father found the need to sell the property,” she replied, her tone edged with pride and defensiveness.
“He did not wish to disclose it, because land ownership is the mark of a true gentleman.”
“Why?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, curls catching the fading light. “He has a plan, but he has not discussed it with me. He merely informed me that it was necessary to sell.”
Aidan drew a breath, the tension easing from his shoulders.
Relief swelled within him, pure and unfiltered.
Gwen had spoken with transparency. She knew no more than what she had shared, and he believed her.
Whatever Mr. Smythe was involved in—debts, desperation, or worse—it did not touch Gwen’s hands.
And soon, she would be under Aidan’s protection, secured from the ruinous reach of scandal.
He turned slightly to study her profile, lit from behind by the amber remnants of the day.
“Tell me something of yourself,” he said quietly.
Gwen tilted her head in question, and Aidan absorbed the sight of her fiery red hair glowing in the last glimmers of dusk. He could look at her forever. “Such as?”
“What do you do with your day?”
Her blue eyes found his, a flicker of defiance igniting their depths. “My mother was a scholar of the ancient world, like her father before her. I study in the library … and I have published papers.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, under a pseudonym, of course.”
Aidan smiled. “Of course.”
“As my mother did before me.”
“I should like to read them.”
“Truly?”
He nodded, warmed by her surprise. “Truly.”
“You do not mind that I … engage in such pursuits?”
“If it leads to reciting Manilius in the moonlight, I am wholly in favor of it. Imagine what you will teach our children.”
The sun had fully disappeared now, and the first stars blinked into existence overhead. She groaned. “Your mother is obsessed!”
He chuckled softly. “My father chose to make our … situation … palatable by commenting on the benefits of our union. My mother has been distressed lately, but the notion of grandchildren has quite lifted her spirits.”
There was a long pause, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. Then Gwen spoke again, her voice more subdued. “Then, I suppose I am happy to be of service in some small way.”
Aidan turned toward her, the moonlight catching the glint of copper in her hair. “You are of the greatest service, Venus.”
He reached for her gently, cradling her against him with quiet reverence.
His fingers lightly traced the curve of her cheek, and for a moment, he simply breathed in her presence.
Oranges and something warmer, like a sun-drenched memory.
When his lips met hers, it was but a whisper of contact, tentative and reverent.
She sighed, and he deepened the kiss, slow and exploring, their breath mingling in the growing dark.
The intensity of her response was more than he had hoped for, yet perfectly attuned to his own racing heart.
He drew her closer, savoring the warmth of her form pressed against his, each point of contact seeming a vow.
His hand moved to the small of her back, anchoring her as though he might lose her to the shadows if he let go. Aidan was overwhelmed by the gravity of what he felt. She was not merely a diversion. She was becoming essential.
Pulling back slightly, he found her eyes wide and shimmering in the moonlight. Her lips were parted, breath soft against the night air, and he longed to kiss her again, but restrained himself.
Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he murmured, “From her fair and unpolluted flesh, may violets spring.”
She gazed at him as though he had woven starlight with his words, and he swallowed hard. He wanted this woman. Not only for tonight. For all his days.
Whatever the coming days held—danger, scandal, the truth about her father—he prayed he would still deserve the look in her eyes when it was done.