Chapter Two #2
She smiled, despite her dire circumstances. He would look exactly right sitting in the large, ornately carved chair, just as she’d predicted. Indeed, he matched her conjured image to a T. Tall, broad shouldered, thick, sun-kissed brown hair, and emanating an innate self-assurance.
He paused in the act of sitting to peruse the papers strewn atop the leather blotter on the desk’s surface.
Both brows went up this time and he gestured to his chair. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Head held high, she marched to the armchair facing the desk. She sat, taking her time arranging the skirts of her navy muslin day dress, aware his eyes followed her the whole while.
Finally, he gave a snort and dropped into his chair. He pushed a snifter toward her before drawing the other to his lips for a long sip. “Ah,” he breathed, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the liquor. “Now, then. Your explanation, Mrs…?”
“Barnes.”
His long fingers fanned the pages of the contract before him, his green-gold gaze flicking over the document.
She resisted the urge to snatch it up. What did it matter if he read the unsigned agreement? It may as well be fodder for the grate at this point.
“I’m happy to answer all of your questions pertaining to this…er…misunderstanding. I must warn you, however. It’s a rather long story.”
“Be that as it may, Mrs. Barnes.” He paused, his expression turning contemplative. “Are you married?” His tone implied nothing more than idle curiosity.
“Widowed. Like you.”
His gaze snapped to meet hers.
Something akin to an electric shock went through her.
Again, she reflected on Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s inadequate depiction of Devereux’s eyes.
Hazel, she’d said. Gwen understood that as a combination of green and brown, perhaps flecked with gold.
Indeed, all those colors did coexist in the intense stare boring into hers.
But somehow, the mélange of colors were too riotous to be called simply hazel.
A thin brown strip encircled a vibrant explosion of green and gold, the color growing lighter nearer his pupils where it formed a distinct golden ring.
They brought to mind a sunrise over the ocean, or a plot of sunflowers growing amidst a field of green-green grass.
She gave herself a mental shake. Devereux wanted an explanation. He deserved one. She folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on the gold filigree scrollwork adorning the desk’s leather topper.
“I am from a small village in Northumberland where I work—worked—as an editor for the last several years for a prestigious London publishing house under my father. He was an esteemed and highly-sought-after editor.”
“Was?”
She nodded. “He died recently.”
“I see.”
No social platitudes. No casual sentiment of sympathy.
“At his passing, I made the decision to relocate to London. Many of my friends reside here. We are members of a social club called the Ladies’ Literary Society of London.”
“How nice for you,” he clipped out, clearly losing patience.
She gave him a quelling look.
He did not appear the least chagrined.
She went on, truncating her explanation for simplicity’s sake. “Before arriving, I terminated my employment and made an offer on a small but well-established publishing house, recently available for purchase.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand in a gesture that said get on with it. “What has any of this to do with our supposed marriage?”
“If you’ll allow me to finish, you will soon see how this situation came about,” she replied in a deliberately arch tone.
“Terribly sorry.”
She slanted him a disapproving glance. Really. The man relied entirely too much on sarcasm.
“Though I have the means—”
“With or without access to my bank account?”
Gwen made a valiant effort to tamp down on her rising temper. “Without. The publishing house I wish to buy has a block of stakeholders with a vested interest in the continued viability of the company. The sale must be approved by a unanimous vote.”
He grunted in acknowledgment.
“They have certain requirements. I meet all, save one.”
A look of dawning understanding lit his eyes.
“In addition to having the financial means to cover the purchase, and a certain amount of expertise in the field, any potential owner must also have social standing.”
His brows puckered. “Social standing?”
“In the case of a man, he would be someone well-to-do, someone socially connected, say, a peer or a member of the upper crust of society. A woman, conversely, should be married to a man such as the aforementioned.”
“Ah.”
“The stakeholders made it quite clear that even if she has the means and the experience to run the organization they would not relinquish the reins of the company to a woman with no connections, widowed, married, or otherwise.”
“I take it you have none?”
She gave him a cool smile. “My uncle is a member of the peerage, but he is not local and has not moved in society for some time.”
He tapped one finger on the desktop in an absent manner. “I see. Hence, remaking yourself as a married woman with connections,” he summarized.
“Precisely.” She sent him a brief, approving smile.
“I made an offer as Mrs. Gwendolyn Devereux, wife of one of England’s most successful shipping merchants.
” She scowled, thinking again of all the negotiations she’d been forced to endure the last several weeks.
“One would think that would have put a period on the matter.”
“A period?”
“A metaphor for finalizing the deal,” she explained, waving one hand.
The corners around his eyes crinkled, and his mouth curved in a grin that, for the first time since he’d entered the room, communicated genuine warmth. “Spoken like a true editor.”
For no apparent reason, she lost track of her story. She smiled back at him. “Yes, well, I am that, am I not?”
He inclined his head. “Am I to understand the sale did not go through?”
“It did not not go through. In point of fact, we’ve spent the last two weeks hammering out an agreeable settlement.
The entire process has proved tedious in the extreme.
” She gestured toward the papers on his desk.
“By some miracle, I finally convinced them to see reason concerning a few minor but key issues, and was just giving the purchase contract one last look-see before signing when you burst in.”
He nodded sagely. “Burst in. To my own home.”
She was instantly chagrined. “Forgive me. For some odd reason, I have lost my usual affinity with the English language.”
“Imagine that.” He finished his brandy and unfolded his lean body from his chair.
She tensed. In all likelihood, he intended to toss her out on her ear now that she’d satisfied his curiosity. She eyed her untouched glass, and, shrugging inwardly, picked it up and took a healthy swallow.
Devereux rounded his desk and eased a hip onto the edge not two feet from her chair, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her as if unwittingly fascinated.
She took that as a good sign. Fascination beat vexation any day.
Regardless, she did not particularly enjoy huddling like a cornered hare while he stood over her. Loomed, she thought, and smiled to herself. At last, she’d found the appropriate word.
“I have so many questions, assuming your story is not a complete fabrication.”
At this rate, she would get a stiff neck. That decided matters. She rose to her feet which had the unfortunate effect of putting her nearly toe to toe with him. Far too close for comfort.
He was tall, but she was not a petite woman. From her vantage point, she could make out the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow over a smooth bronze jaw. Her fingers tingled with a sudden impulse to trace his cheek to feel the scratch of his stubble.
She swallowed and schooled her errant thoughts. Touch his cheek indeed. “Sir, I have told you the honest truth.”
“So you say.” His eyes did a slow, thorough sweep over her face, lingering at her lips.
Warmth unfurled inside her. The alien sensation both shocked and enthralled her.
“Even so, you neglected to explain how I, specifically, entered into your scheme. I find myself morbidly curious.”
He straightened off the desk, bringing the two of them nearer still. Heat radiated off him, reaching out to swath her, or was that her own body, flushing with heat?
Her cheeks began to throb again in earnest. Perhaps she was coming down with something. “I did warn you it would be a long story.”
“So you did.”
Their eyes met for a timeless moment creating an odd sense of intimacy that was suddenly more than she could bear.
“Sir, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind…” She waggled her fingers for him to step aside so that she could pass without brushing up against him.
He complied only after his gaze did another sweep, this time skimming down the length of her.
Gooseflesh sprouting over her limbs, she eased past him with no real destination in mind other than to put space between them.
Then she turned to face him. “As I told you, I have a few close friends in London in whom I confided about the difficulty I faced in purchasing the publishing house. They advised me to call on a woman who they believed could help me. She is who proffered your name as one who might meet my specifications.”
“Remind me, again, of these so-called specifications.”
She eyed him warily. “I needed a socially connected husband, without the hindrance of actually acquiring a husband.”
“Quite a difficult order to manage, one would assume.”
“Precisely what I thought. And yet.” She gestured toward him. “The woman said you’d set sail some thirteen months ago and should have long since returned. She said it highly likely you had died at sea, but probably would not be declared dead for some time.”
His face hardened, but he said nothing.
Pinned under his granite stare, Gwen found herself talking rapidly.
“I, myself, doubted the scheme would work, but my friends urged me to trust her. She had so much knowledge about you, and somehow produced what appear to be an official document, so I thought—if you really were dead—what would be the harm?”
“Who is this woman?”
She winced to soften her reply. “Unfortunately, I cannot divest her identity, as I gave her my solemn vow—”
“—Rather like the solemn vow we supposedly made to one another when we wed?”
She lifted her chin. “That is not at all the same, sir. I am truly sorry, but I gave her my word. If you must unmask me as a charlatan, so be it.”
One corner of his mouth crooked upward. “Have no fear, Mrs. Barnes. You need not tell me the name of the woman.”
“Thank you. That is most kind.”
“There’s nothing kind about it. I know precisely who helped you. What I don’t know, is why she did it.”