Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gideon studied Gwen as she stared him down, her body statue still, her expression resolute and determined. He’d thought, after explaining that he had not resumed relations with Emily—as if he could contemplate such a notion—her mood would buoy.
Evidently something else was bothering her. Whatever it was, the look in her eyes had alarm bells clanging in his head.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well. What is it?”
Her eyes widened. “I-I…” Her gaze dropped to the desktop. “As it happens, I received another letter from the stakeholders.”
Relief made him nearly weak. This was a topic he could handle. “Oh?”
She angled her chin toward a missive lying atop the desk.
He swiped it up and scanned the document.
As he read, she summarized the contents.
“The stakeholders have informed me of their intent to implement a clause within the sales contract, which, by their interpretation, entitles them to veto rights regarding anything I wish to publish. To that end, they have rejected a particular author whose work I admire and, in fact, with whom my previous employer also declined to contract, precipitating my decision to purchase Bell & Company in the first place.”
He heaved a sigh. “I warned you, Gwen.”
“I’m aware.”
“Please say you’ll allow me to share this, as well as your signed contract, with my solicitor.”
“I intend to.” She twined and untwined her fingers. “The thing is, I do not believe that will change anything, and I cannot possibly agree to this stipulation.”
He folded the letter and tucked it in his waistcoat.
Her incredibly blue eyes met his. “Gideon, what I’m trying to say is, if I am not able to purchase my publishing house, one of the reasons for me being here no longer exists.”
Ice danced up his spine. Their conversation had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn. “Your purchase will go through, Gwen. I will speak to the stakeholders myself and make them see reason, solicitors be damned.”
He stalked toward the door.
Gwen followed. “Gideon, you’re not listening. For one thing, it will take time to uncover the men’s identities.”
He turned to regard her, weighing the merits of sharing what he knew.
“As it happens, I know precisely who they are. They number four. Three of them have such limited scope as to render their authority inconsequential. The fourth, I believe, is the man responsible for all of the obstacles that have been placed before you.”
She gaped at him. “How did you learn their identities? When? You never mentioned this to me.”
And now he was questioning the wisdom of having done so. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “The last time they attempted to serve you a shabby trick, I made a point of discovering their names and whereabouts.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which was…?”
“When they wrote to inform you of the astronomical profit they insisted you make in the first three months of your taking ownership.”
A great stillness came over her. “I never shared that with you.”
“No, you did not. I took it upon myself to learn the scope of your so-called miscommunication. Bullies never quit, Gwen, and for some reason, these men are intent on stymieing your efforts. I wanted to be prepared when they struck next.”
“You helped yourself to my correspondence, without permission.”
Annoyance sparked through him. “I do not need your permission.”
Aggrieved color splashed over her cheekbones. “I beg your pardon?”
“You are my wife,” he clipped out, his tone unyielding even to his own ears. He was not annoyed with her, just anxious to leave this room and end this conversation.
Her eyes widened with shock and unmistakable hurt. “Only by a technicality, and that is the point I wish to make.”
The ice along his spine grew tentacles, and spread through his insides. “I beg to differ. Nevertheless, I apologize for my harsh tone, Gwen.”
She lifted her chin. “Why bother? You spoke the truth, did you not? According to codified law, I am your property, and my property is also your property.”
It was too much. “Gwen,” he began and started toward her.
She almost tripped over her skirts in her effort to keep distance between him. “Oh, no, sir. Not this time.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She met his gaze, her expression gentling. “Do you think I have not noticed?”
“Noticed?”
“How, whenever the conversation turns to a topic you do not wish to discuss, you distract me with your lovemaking.”
Her meaning struck him by degrees. Then words erupted out of him. “What utter rubbish.” His pulse raced with…he’d call it fear if he didn’t know better.
“Is it?” Her soft voice held no malice.
Everything in him went taut. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her and proving her right. “This is ridiculous,” he bit out, then started for the door.
“Are you leaving?” she asked, alarm evident in her tone.
He paused, but did not turn to look at her.
“Yes. I mean to call on the man I mentioned, the stakeholder whom I believe is responsible for creating the mayhem surrounding your purchase. I swear to you, I will do whatever it takes to procure your precious publishing house, Gwen, whether that be by carrot or stick—though I assume the duke’s name and my money will suffice.
” He’d nearly made it to the door when her voice stopped him.
“Gideon, wait. Please. I have one more question for you. Please,” she said again.
Everything in him warned him not to turn around, not to allow her to ask her “one question.” Calling on all his courage, he pivoted to face her.
She never could hide her thoughts. Hope and fear mingled on Gwen’s delicate face, and something else, something he ached for her to voice, and dreaded hearing.
He wanted to go to her, to kiss her into silence, to touch her, taste her, take her ’til she couldn’t think, damn his eyes, and damn her for being so bloody insightful.
“Why?” she choked. “Why would you do any of this for me?”
His jaw felt locked shut. With effort, he unclenched his teeth. “You are my wife, and it is in my power to assist you. I told you I would always protect you.” Leave, now, everything in him screamed. But he could not move to save his life.
“Why?” she whispered, starting toward him, her steps jerky and hesitant as if she sensed any quick move would send him fleeing.
“I just told you why.”
She reached him, cupped his cheeks and a shiver coursed through him. “No you didn’t. Gideon, do you love me?”
Blood rushed in his ears and a thousand thoughts crashed through his mind.
Love? Love was for poets and fools, and not for one such as him.
How could he love her? If he did, he’d surely need her love in return and why would she deign to bestow such a precious gift on him, the mixed-breed bastard son of a duke?
He could not hope to keep her with flowery words.
He could not hope to keep her, period, though he’d kill anyone who tried to take her from him.
He could, however, entice her with his body, his mouth, his hands, and when that faded, as it surely must, he could tempt her with money and properties and by procuring her the publishing house as the one thing sure to satisfy her over the years.
“I want you, Gwen. I want you as my wife, always.”
Her delicate chin trembled then firmed. “But, do you love me?” she asked, her voice strong and unwavering.
He sent her a sardonic grin that felt very much like a grimace.
“Why are we talking about this? Are you going to say you believe yourself in love with me? Save it, please. I’ve heard the words before, every time one of my liaisons ended.
Suddenly she loves me, and can’t live without me.
” He uttered a harsh laugh. “Each and every one of them recovered in time and realized the folly of her words.”
“Each and every one, hm? So I’m just another of your paramours? A temporary entertainment with whom you can pass the time until you grow bored?”
“I did not say that.” He articulated out each word.
“Damn it, Gwen. I told you, you are my wife, and I will not—” He broke off.
I will not let you go, he’d nearly said.
When next he spoke, he was once again in control.
“You are my wife, period. You do not love me, Gwen. What you feel is lust. I should know.”
She looked so unbearably sad, he wanted to howl. To shake her. To demand she never broach the subject again. He wanted to hold her. To rock her, kiss her cheeks, and assure her all would be well in time.
Her expression didn’t alter, but her shoulders squared, brave little bluestocking.
“I know the difference between love and lust,” she said with quiet dignity.
“And I don’t care what any woman before me professed.
I don’t care if one or all of them loved you and pines for you to this day.
I don’t even care if you loved one before me—”
“I didn’t,” he stated too quickly, his voice ragged with feeling.
A small smile flickered at her mouth. “I know what I feel. I love you, Gideon. I love you.”
He jammed one shaking hand through his hair. “You don’t…You can’t…” He cursed and raced for the door like a lifeline. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what? Love me? Isn’t that really what you’re saying? What a fool I’ve been.” A small sob escaped her, and everything in him clenched.
Dreading what he’d find, he turned and pressed his back to the cold wood door. “Can’t it be enough? What we have? For as long as it lasts?”
“As long as it lasts,” she said as if to herself, then huffed out a laugh that held no humor and shook her head. “No. I won’t settle. Not again.”
A fist of ice clamped around his chest, making it hard to breathe. “It’s too late to decide that. You are my wife. We’ve already established this. To say otherwise would be to court scandal. Nothing more need be said on the matter.”