Chapter Twenty-Two
As the carriage rumbled on, Gwen’s answer hung in the air between them. If only she could snatch it back. Why had she allowed herself to be drawn out?
By some unspoken agreement, neither she nor Gideon had opened the velvet drapes covering the small paned windows. Still, morning sunlight burned around the edges, providing enough illumination to see Gideon’s hard, set jaw. It was clear he couldn’t look at her.
“Did he rape you?” he asked through set teeth.
“No,” she said, shaking her head in emphasis. “He merely cornered me in the library where I’d gone in search of a book. After hours,” she admitted, lowering her eyes to her hands, clenched in her lap. “In my night clothes, I’m afraid.”
“People do venture out of their chambers, at times, in their night clothes, in their own homes. That does not usually lead to an attack on one’s person.” Cold fury laced his every word. “He cornered you, and then what?”
“Must we—”
“Yes,” he hissed.
She could refuse him, only, now she’d begun, she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of words.
“He must have heard me exit my bedchamber and then followed me down. I was reaching for a book when I felt his arms come ’round me.
H-he touched me where he had no right. When I turned to protest, he started kissing me, and groping me.
” A shudder rolled through her. “He terrified me. I’m not sure why.
The unexpectedness, I suppose. When I insisted he stop, he did, then laughed like it was all a game. ”
You want it. Admit it, Gwen. You practically begged me to bed you, putting yourself out there for all to see, flaunting your body, displaying your wares.
“He said I asked for it.”
“Gwen,” he said softly.
“I slapped him. Hard. It left a mark.” She touched her fingers to her cheek, remembering the angry red stain she’d left on his face. “I think that’s how Reggie knew.”
“He knew? And? What did he do? He called the bastard out, I assume?”
She hesitated, then shook her head.
“No? What did he do Gwen?”
“He sent me to stay with my father for a few days. When I returned, I found he’d purchased several new gowns for me, with more on the way. Mr.—my husband’s friend—announced his intention to leave soon after my return.”
For a week following Landry’s departure, Reggie had seemed angry with her for the first time she could remember, though when she asked, he denied it.
“Your husband did nothing,” Gideon gritted out. “I swear to you, if he weren’t already dead, I’d…” He made an obvious effort to rein in his temper though his hands fisted at his sides, his knuckles going white. “Never mind.”
The clatter of the wheels over the road seemed deafening to Gwen in the lengthening silence. Gideon stared straight ahead at the vacant bench, two of his long, tanned fingers tapping a staccato on his thigh as if energy he could not contain poured through him.
“Something’s not adding up,” he finally said.
“I beg your pardon?” She drew the words out slowly.
“Why did you marry him, Gwen?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m through entertaining you with the sordid details of my past, especially as you have decided not to believe me.”
Slowly, he turned to face her. “What? I never said that.”
“You said my story didn’t add up.”
“I believe you, Gwen. Your story makes perfect, infuriating, sense—aside from one glaring improbability.”
“Which is?” she demanded.
“Why, in the name of all that’s holy, couldn’t the perfect Reggie perceive your inherent, incontrovertible, bloody-maddening desirability?”
Braced for an attack on her integrity, his description of her—maddeningly desirable—flummoxed and delighted her. But she could see that was not his intent. Nevertheless, a smile tugged at her mouth. She fought it for all she was worth.
“I ask you again. Why did you marry him? Surely you knew by the time you planned to wed he was a cold fish, not to mention a mollycoddle.”
She wrestled with whether to defend her late husband, or explain, finally deciding on neither. She had told Gideon of Reggie’s lack of attraction for her, and afterward, had shared her ordeal with Mr. Landry. No more confessions. Turnabout was fair play.
“What of your wife, sir?”
He blinked in evident surprise. “What of her?”
“How did you meet?”
“Meet?”
She wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse.
Striving for patience, she clarified. “I understand you married shortly after settling in London, fresh from your return from the east and the founding of your shipping company, but I got the impression from Lady Ashwood you already knew each other.”
His expression grew distinctly wary. “Lady Ashwood? What, exactly, did she say?”
She sent him a chiding look. For a man with no hesitation digging into her personal affairs, he showed remarkable reticence in sharing details of his own. “I can’t recall,” she lied. She would hardly repeat the woman’s inane claim he should have known better than to aim so high.
His narrowed eyes said he was not convinced she spoke the truth. “She was a favorite of the duchess and a frequent guest at Averly Abbey from the time Grayson and I were both young bucks.”
“I see. You aspired to marry her from the beginning, then?”
He grasped one of the velvet drapes between two fingers and snapped it aside.
Bright sunlight lit up the cab.
Gideon glanced pointedly out the small-paned window. A muscle ticked in his jaw as if her question vexed him. “No. I had no thought of marrying her.”
“What changed your mind?”
He released the curtain and fixed her with a long look. “Our paths crossed after my return to London from Calcutta. We began spending time together and her parents made it clear they would welcome an offer from me. Things proceeded at a rapid clip, we married, and not a year later, she died.”
The flatness in his tone chilled her to the bone. “I’m so sorry, Gideon.”
He inclined his head in response, his face expressionless. “Thank you, but I assure you I have moved past the ordeal.”
She doubted that. She doubted that very much.
Gwen had no notion what to say next, and Gideon now seemed disinclined to discuss anything at all.
After a long stretch of strained silence between them, Gwen could almost imagine the intimacy they had shared earlier had not occurred.
But her body, still damp in places, still replete in a way she’d never experienced, told her it had.
Part of her wished she could go back and recapture the feeling of closeness she, at least, had known in his arms.
On the other hand, the encounter had led her to reveal things she never would have under normal circumstances, and to press for confidences he obviously had no wish to share.
She must remember this in future—if, indeed, they chanced to repeat the experience.
She flicked a glance at Gideon. His stony expression seemed to indicate he would not be so inclined.
On the cusp of that mildly depressing thought, another, arguably more pressing matter came to mind.
“Gideon?”
He glanced at her seated beside him as if only now remembering her presence in the carriage. “Yes?”
“Have you given any thought to what will happen at the end of our pretense?”
“What do you mean?”
“Assuming you are cleared of all involvement—”
“That’s a large assumption, Gwen,” he said, his tone ever-so-slightly condescending.
She suppressed a flash of annoyance. “I know, but—”
“Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” The question, laced with haughty amusement, was really too much.
“That is not the point.”
“Madam, I am certain we shall come up with a satisfactory solution as to how best to conclude matters between us if, and when, I no longer need fear the executioner’s blade. As I recall, you also stand to benefit from our arrangement.”
“What of it?”
“Did you not tell me the sale would be finalized only after certain conditions were met, some time following your having taken over managing the establishment?”
She did have to prove herself capable of managing the business, and of turning a profit. She did not foresee a problem. “I did.”
“That will take several months, a fiscal quarter at the very least unless I am mistaken? Why go borrowing trouble until then?”
She wanted to argue further, but could see he had no intention of cooperating.
“I’m certain everything will fall into place at the appropriate time.”
“If you say so,” she muttered.
“I do.” He studied her with an assessing air. After a moment, one corner of his mouth crooked upward. “There is something that requires our immediate attention as we shall arrive to the abbey soon.”
“What is that?”
His gaze drifted over her. “Your hair.”
She drew a hand to her head and discovered her bun was hopelessly dislodged.
“Your ribbon.”
She glanced down at herself, taking in the sad bow. “Yes. I see what you mean.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m afraid we can’t do anything about your rumpled gown.”
“Perhaps, wearing my pelisse will—oh.” She drew in a sharp breath when he reached for her ribbon, untying it with a deft tug.
“I’m quite handy with this sort of thing, and I daresay my efforts are bound to surpass your own.”
Warmth unfurled inside her without warning, and she grinned, submitting herself to his ministrations. He really was the most extraordinary man. Hard as nails one minute, aloof to the point of rudeness the next, and, on rare occasions, gentle as a lamb.
Perhaps, not quite that gentle.
But he could be very kind. He had a way of listening to her when she spoke that made her feel truly heard even when they disagreed, and a way of looking at her that said she had his complete attention.
“There. Now turn around and let me see what I can do with your hair.”
She twisted ’round on the bench, closing her eyes as he removed her hair pains and uncoiled her hair. His large hands smoothed the mussed locks, his fingers combing through the strands with exquisite care.
“I can probably manage on my own,” she admitted, though she rather liked the feel of his hands sifting through the tangled mass.