Chapter Three #2
“…There’s the money I’m out in payment to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. And now, I must make another move to God-knows-where—unless you mean to have me tossed into Newgate.” She ceased her frenetic moving and fixed him with a watchful eye. “Do you?” She bit her lower lip.
He could not take his gaze off her mouth. No bluestocking should have a lush lower lip like that of Mrs. Gwendolyn Barnes.
“By the saints. You do.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
He replayed her last question. “No,” he answered.
She dropped her hands. “Truly?” She glided toward him. “I can make arrangements to stay with friends tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll see about moving my things. I’m terribly sorry, but…” She gave him an apologetic smile.
He could hardly wait. “What, now?”
“I’m afraid I’ve quite taken over your bedchamber.”
“Mine?” he demanded with a snort. “Not the adjoining one reserved for my wife?”
She dimpled and opened her arms wide. “I rather prefer the larger bed.”
Lightning fast, an image flashed before his eyes.
The prim editor, gleaming hair unpinned and spilling over her shoulders.
Her body, naked and languorous, atop the bedcovers.
Based on the enticing, raspberry-pink of her lips, he imagined the crests of her breasts would be every bit as mouthwatering.
His groin tightened. Bloody hell. This was no time to indulge in illicit fantasies involving his fake wife. He needed her to secure his freedom, not warm his bed.
“I can have the housekeeper change the bedding,” she offered as if she, and not he, owned the home.
“Thank you,” he drawled. “Before you go further down that road, I have an alternate proposition.”
“Proposition?” Suspicion laced her tone in an instant. “What sort of proposition, Mr. Devereux?”
“Gideon.”
She said nothing, just stared at him with those bottomless blue eyes.
“Think of it as a way you can make amends.”
“I still haven’t heard what it is. If it’s money you seek, I’m happy to pay. Please be advised, however, that while I have ample funds, they’re not unlimited.”
He laughed aloud. He couldn’t help himself. The gall of this woman. She had moved into his home, claimed him as her husband, stolen his bedchamber, and now sought to bargain with him?
“As it happens, I have quite enough money of my own.”
Her gaze grew decidedly more wary. “I see.”
“My request is simple. Continue in the role you created for yourself.”
She blinked several times. “You mean, continue on as your wife?”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
“Sir, in reality, I do not wish to be married.”
He eyed the ceiling. “I am not asking you to be my wife. I’m asking for you to continue acting as my wife. For the time being.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For how long?”
Bemused, he asked, “Do you have somewhere you need to be? Or perhaps there’s someone else whose wife you wish to impersonate?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Perhaps you would be so good as to cease hedging and simply answer my question.”
A measure of sympathy for the stakeholders with whom she had been negotiating stirred within him. “Let us say at least until you have concluded your business transaction. That is why you chose to enact this farce, is it not?”
Rather than answer his question, she pressed on. “Sir, I’m afraid I really must insist on knowing what is in this arrangement for you.”
“That is my business and need not concern you.”
She did not appear convinced.
“Our marriage allows me the leeway needed to accomplish certain, shall we say, delicate tasks.”
“Delicate tasks.” Her blue eyes searched his face as if she could see into his very soul.
He had assumed convincing her would be child’s play. He could honestly say he had no idea if she meant to give way. One thing was certain, however. Mrs. Barnes of Little Giddingford had a core of steel.
“I would remind you, madam, you are the one who commenced this charade.”
“True. It’s only—You’re not simply having a bit of fun at my expense, before bringing your guns to bear?”
She did indeed have a way with words, his wife. “I am not, no.”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a heavy sigh. “Well, then. I suppose, if we can agree on a few conditions, we might be able to assist one another for a time.”
Gideon opened his mouth to ask what sort of conditions she had in mind when the sound of fierce pounding on the front door of his town house reverberated through the very walls.
“Oh, dear,” Gwen said. “Lord Ashwood, no doubt.”
He glanced toward the door as it opened, and Mr. Higgins poked his shining head into the chamber.
“I beg your pardon for the interruption, sir, but there’s a man here demanding to see you. He claims he’s from the Home Office. I informed him you did not wish to be disturbed, but he was quite insistent.”
Yes, he would be, wouldn’t he? Still, Gideon had not anticipated being hauled in for questioning quite so soon.
The Home Office obviously had eyes on his property.
He congratulated himself on his decision to stay hidden prior to the alibi provided by his so-called wife.
Time would tell if he’d made a grave error returning.
“Very well. Show him into the drawing room. I’ll join him in there in a moment.”
He turned to face Mrs. Barnes, bringing one hand up to caress the length of her upper arm. “You’ll have to excuse me, darling.”
Her eyes widened fractionally, as if she had not anticipated the small intimacy. She’d have to do better than that if they were going to fool anyone.
He went on in a similar vein, even though he’d heard the click of the door closing behind him. “I know I’ve only just returned, but I suspect the agent who awaits me will wish to speak with me in an official capacity at the Home Office’s headquarters.”
“Oh?” Her blue eyes filled with seeming concern.
“I trust you can find something to keep yourself occupied until I free up.” He pulled his gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. “Surely no later than dinnertime?”
“Dinnertime?” she echoed. She did not sound overly thrilled by the prospect of dining with him.
“No doubt Cook will make something special,” he said. “After all, we’ve been apart longer than we’ve been married.” Truer words.
She said nothing, just stared at him, her fair brows puckering, as if she wondered how she got caught in this riptide.
He glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, imagining the bureaucrat awaiting him, no doubt chomping at the bit. He did not have time to assuage Mrs. Barnes’s misgivings at the moment.
“Gwen, you mentioned you have possession of our wedding certificate? Where is it, if I may ask?”
His casual query had the effect of shaking her out of her stupor. “I have it locked in a safe deposit box with a few other important documents. Why?”
“I might like to have a look at it.” He might need to produce it, was the more honest reply.
“Easily arranged, sir.”
“Excellent.” Without making a conscious decision to do so, he reached for her hand. Her skin was cool, silky smooth, and pale as milk compared to the darker cast of his own.
As he bent over her fingers, his thumb brushed the delicate bones of her knuckles. Delicate, but not fragile. There was strength in her. Surprising for one so…thin did not do her justice, though she was that.
Willowy. Lithe. Nimble.
He glanced up at her from his bowed position.
She regarded him, unblinking. She appeared…pleasantly surprised? As if she found his touch appealing and hadn’t expected to.
Or perhaps he was projecting his own odd awareness onto her.
“Good day, Mrs. Devereux.” He released her hand and strode from his study without a backward glance.