Chapter Thirty-Three
Gwen blinked rapidly as she digested the questions her friends fired at her in rapid succession—all having to do with her recent wedding, which everyone in attendance save Charlotte had witnessed.
When did you all decide to make your fake marriage official?
When did Mr. Devereux propose?
Does this mean you informed the duke of your pretense?
And Gwen’s favorite, coming from Amelia, and more a statement than a question: I think we can safely assume this is a love match.
Evidently taking pity on her, Lady Harriet rose and patted the air to shush the circle.
“Ladies, it seems to me several among us”—she gave Margaret a stern look—“have jumped to conclusions based upon assumption. We do not yet know if Gwen and Mr. Devereux’s recent wedding ceremony was, in fact, a continuation of their ruse, meant to solidify their claim, or if, as you all seem wont to think”—this time she sent Amelia a chiding look—“they chose to legitimize their marriage. We should let Gwen share what she wishes, in her good time.”
Lady Harriet made as if to sit, then straightened, grinning. “I will add, I for one, am burning with curiosity. Oh, yes, and also, she has a serious problem on her hands that she needs our help with.” She sat.
Gwen cleared her throat and felt her cheeks throbbing with heat. “As to my marriage, it seems we are indeed wed.”
Amelia bounced in place on the sofa until she caught Lady Harriet’s silent admonition.
Gwen folded her hands in her lap. “The duke does not know of the previous ruse, and he is the one who devised the wedding. Gideon and I decided it would be best to proceed with the ceremony to prevent any raised brows.”
The ladies surrounding her no longer looked pleased.
Gwen’s embarrassment increased ten-fold.
“I can see you are all concerned. Do not trouble yourselves on my account.” She lowered her gaze to her hands.
“I think we shall suit, and if not, there is no reason one of us cannot relocate to one place or another.” All true.
She need not worry them by admitting she had fallen head over heels in love with Gideon, especially when the reverse could not be said with any certainty.
With a deep inhale, she fixed a smile on her face and met each of their gazes in turn. She felt very brave indeed, until Georgina spoke up.
“Do not worry, dear Gwen. I believe Mr. Devereux has fallen equally in love with you. I am an authoress of romantic novels. I know the signs.”
Drat those romance-writer instincts.
“So it’s true?” Amelia asked with exuberance. “You are in love with the man?”
Gwen considered lying, but she was neither good at it, nor did she did enjoy the practice. Besides, she was among friends. Why should she hide who she really was? She’d done enough hiding for a lifetime. “I have. I do not know how he feels about me.”
Amelia’s blinding smile was back in full force. “All will be well, you will see.”
Only Charlotte continued to scowl. “Of all the weekends for my aunt to have planned a visit to Bath. I missed all the fun.”
“Never fear,” Margaret said. “With this lot, there’s sure to be more to come.”
That seemed to mollify Charlotte.
“Now, then, dear, why don’t you tell us what has happened that led you to call an emergency meeting?” Harriet suggested.
God bless Lady Harriet for turning the conversation from the perils of romance to the far-safer realm of open combat.
“Those blasted stakeholders are at it again. They’ve taken a giant liberty with a tiny section of the contract. According to them, I must reach a certain amount of profit by the end of the first fiscal quarter, or my ownership is null and void.”
“Dear Heaven,” Georgina bemoaned. “Can they do that?”
Gwen nibbled her index briefly. “I don’t know. I think so.”
“You think so?” Margaret asked. “Didn’t you avail yourself of Lady Harriet’s man-of-affairs?”
Gwen sniffed. “I did for the first round of negotiations. But never mind that. The thing is, despite costly renovations, upgrades, and other expenses, thanks to Lady Georgina’s upcoming release—which already has bookshops chomping at the bit to get their hands on copies—the margin for failure is quite slim.
I’ve come up with a plan that I believe will sort matters nicely.
It involves all of you, but primarily, Margaret and Lady Georgina. ”
Gwen came home brimming with excitement and anxious to share her ingenious plan with Gideon.
“Where is Mr. Devereux, Mr. Higgins?” she asked the butler as he assisted her from her pelisse.
“He is in his den. He has a visitor, ma’am.”
“Oh?” Disappointment swamped her. She did not wish to wait to tell Gideon. She did not wish to be deprived of his company, period.
She supposed she better not start thinking he owed her his undivided time.
When did Mr. Devereux propose?
She believed Lady Georgina had verbalized the question that had perplexed her all the ride home, mainly for what his lack of proposing said.
He might consider them well and truly married, and he might have gone along with the ceremony aware it would bind the two of them for life, but it was not as if he had posed the question.
Had he wanted to marry her? Or had he married her simply to please his father and avoid a potential scandal?
She shook off the unsettling thoughts and sent the waiting Higgins a sunny smile.
“Very well. I shall go up to my workroom.” She started for the stairs, then paused.
“Kindly inform Mr. Devereux if he cares to…never mind,” she said, breaking off mid-sentence.
She had no need to invite Gideon if he cared to visit.
For heaven’s sake. If he cared to, he could make the decision on his own.
A half hour later, Gideon bid Brice wait a moment and let himself out of his den.
Brice had managed to acquire Rory’s home address and had come posthaste to inform Gideon of that fact, and to beg him to allow the authorities to do the questioning.
Gideon refused. “What shall I say to them? A retired customs official informed me of missing shipments aboard several of my ships and because of that I think he may have committed treason?”
Brice’s scowl said Gideon made a good point. “When you put it like that, I wonder myself why I bothered tracking down the man’s location.”
Higgins spotted Gideon standing in the corridor and hurried over. “Help you sir?”
Gideon felt slightly foolish. Nevertheless, better to feel foolish asking after his wife’s whereabouts without having Brice as a witness. “Is my wife at home?”
“Yes, sir. She came in some thirty minutes ago. She…er…mentioned she would be in her work chamber.”
Gideon glanced toward the staircase.
Higgins went on. “She asked after you and seemed rather disappointed when she learned you had company. I got the very strong impression she wished to see you when your company departed.”
Gideon felt his cheeks going ruddy, damn his eyes. His butler had evidently noted his need for coddling where his wife was concerned. “Thank you,” he muttered, and started for the stairs.
The muted sounds of Gwen humming a cheery tune reached Gideon’s ears as he stood before her closed door.
He waited a moment, soaking in the lightness her presence brought that seemed to permeate every square inch of his home from the walls to the floors to the air he breathed. Then, finally, he knocked.
“Come,” she called.
He entered bright and cheerful chamber and closed the door behind him.
Gwen sat at the desk she’d commandeered from his library. She’d opened the drapes, and sunshine spilled in from the window, lighting her workspace and the woman herself.
Quill in hand, she sent him a warm, welcoming smile that momentarily stole his ability to think. “Hello, Gideon. I take it Mr. Tyrell has left?” She reached for the soft cloth near the ink pot and set about drying the nib.
“No, he hasn’t. As a matter of fact,” he began as Gwen rose to her feet and headed in his direction, “he and I are about to go out.”
She halted, her expression turning so crestfallen, he could not help but smile.
“I see. But it’s nearly time for supper.”
“Supper’s not for an hour, easily.”
“I know that. I only meant, if you’re going out, it seems unlikely you’ll be back in time to…” She broke off, shaking her head a little.
Unless he missed his mark, his wife wanted to have dinner with him. He suddenly felt very good about his decision to share his plans with her—even if he would likely return too late to sup with her.
“Is there something you need, sir?”
He started toward her without making a conscious decision to do so. “I wanted to let you know, Brice located Mr. Rory’s home address.”
“Oh, that’s…that’s…wait,” she said, her brows beetling. “Never say you’re going there now?”
He stopped with less than a foot separating them. “Of course I am.”
“But sir,” she began, her sky-blue eyes widening with evident alarm, “that does not seem wise.”
“Why ever not?” he asked.
“He may be involved in treason, Gideon. Calling on him at the office is one thing. There were many people about, witnesses. Visiting him at home, on your own, is quite another.”
“Never fear, Gwen. Brice has volunteered to accompany me.”
She vacillated between fisting her hands at her sides and wringing them before her. “Oh, that relieves me greatly,” she said with unmistakable sarcasm. “Why not allow the authorities to deal with the man?”
He lifted his hand to curve his palm around her nape and run the pad of his thumb along her jawline.
Her skin was so soft. So unconscionably soft.
“I’ve just been through this with Brice.
My basis for suspecting him is sound, but hardly something Scotland Yard or the Home Office would consider worthy of their attention. ”
Her frown deepened.
“Are you worried for me, Gwen?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes,” she admitted without hesitation.
He wrapped an arm around her slender waist, drawing her to him. “Would you give me a kiss for luck?”