Chapter Thirty-Nine
By the time Gideon reached the mews behind his townhome, a cold sweat dampened his clothes. Something was very wrong. He had to get to Gwen. Had to see her with his eyes. Admit to her how he felt. Everything would be all right, then. It had to be.
Halting his mount, he tossed the reins to the emerging groom and leapt to the cobbled street. He ran the short distance of the alley to Portman Square. Fear had him in a death grip, stealing the moisture from his mouth so he could barely swallow.
He flung open the front door, eyes searching for Higgins who, oddly, stood at the ready in the foyer.
“My wife—” Gideon began.
“The mistress, she’s gone,” Higgins blurted.
Gideon froze. “What do you mean, gone?”
“A boy came to kitchen door, from the alley side. He delivered a note for her. Not a minute later, he knocked again with one for you. By then, Mrs. Devereux had already gone out the front door. She vanished. She did not even have the benefit of her pelisse, sir, nor her gloves.” The old butler wrung his hands, his expression, wretched with self-recrimination.
But Gideon was to blame. He had failed to protect her.
“How long ago?” he said with icy calm.
“An hour, perhaps a bit longer.”
“The note, now.”
Higgins had the folded sheet clutched in his hand. He snapped it into Gideon’s waiting palm like a burning ember he could not wait to relinquish.
Gideon unfolded the note, and read. Meet us at the river. You know where—B.
Red hot fury flowed through his veins—and bottomless self-loathing. Brice had taken Gwen thanks to Gideon’s missteps concerning him. Missteps too many to count.
Gwen alone had recognized there was something about him.
But he did not have the time at present to indulge in self-recrimination.
“Have Tempest saddled,” he ordered—his fastest horse, an Arabian he’d acquired before leaving for India. “Notify my brother I’m heading to the abbey.”
Not waiting for a reply, he took the stairs, two at a time. He needed less cumbersome clothing for the ride, his ankle dagger, and his pistol.
“What is this all about, Mr. Tyrell? Why have you taken me, and why are we heading to Averly Abbey? That is our destination, is it not?” Gwen asked.
She flicked a glance at the pistol, and was gratified to see he no longer aimed it directly at her. It rested on his thigh, still in his hand, but his finger was not curled around the trigger.
He gazed at her, a look of amusement flitting over his pleasant face. “I can see you’re not going to rest until your curiosity is assuaged. Yes, we are heading to the abbey—more specifically, the river near the abbey.”
“I see. I am to be bait, then? For you to entrap my husband?”
He did not answer. In fact, he looked rather bored. She would have to draw him out if she hoped to gather any useful information.
She slanted him a glance. “The river, yes, you would choose there, wouldn’t you?”
His gaze sharpened with interest. “I beg your pardon?”
She decided to voice her theory. “You tried to drown him there once, without success. What happened there? It seems to me, you acted out of…” She thought a moment. “Anger. Something happened to cause you to snap. One moment he was writing in his journal, you were fishing, and then what?”
He stared at her, as if reluctantly fascinated.
She was on the right track.
“Jealousy,” she decided. “Jealousy can spur someone with, let’s say, poor impulse control to do something rash.”
His lips pursed and he glanced pointedly out the small-paneled window.
Jealousy over what, she wondered? Grayson would inherit the title, not Gideon. The answer came to her in a flash. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fannie.”
His gaze slid back in her direction.
“You had a tendre for her, and she had eyes only for Gideon.”
“A girl like Fannie, from the highest rung of society, chasing after a mixed-breed bastard? It made no sense. For the life of me, I’ll never understand what any of you see in him.”
She gave him a knowing smile and made no reply.
Her coy look served to keep him talking, as she’d hoped.
“If you must know, she liked to toy with males, Fannie did. It gave her a rush. She told me all about it at the time, as we were mates, and then…we were more than mates. Oh, I see you hadn’t worked that part out.
Yes, Fannie had a wild streak she could not contain.
We would meet in secret. It was a lovely arrangement. ”
“But, it wasn’t really you she wanted, was it?” Gwen asked.
The corners of his eyes tightened. “It was all a game to her.”
Gwen gave him a disbelieving look, meant to incite him to keep talking. It worked.
“That day, she came to the river with a basket lunch—for him. He refused it, at first. She had to talk him into accepting it.” He huffed out a laugh of astonishment.
“Mayhap that’s what makes him so irresistible.
He’s always been so bloody aloof, unattainable, and yet…
” He broke off, appearing to search his mind for the correct words.
“Noble,” Gwen filled in. “He’s also beautiful, intuitive, and artistic, and unlike some, does not grant his favors to every woman who shows interest—”
“Enough,” Brice barked. “He’s a fool, that’s what he is.
Sure, he could have had Fannie. But he was too caught up in not stepping out of line to take what she offered.
So I availed myself.” He gave her a crafty smile.
“I admit I lost my temper that day. I really didn’t intend for him to drown.
I just…I saw the rock, saw him eating the lunch that should have been mine, and I hurled it.
” His mouth quirked. “He went down like a felled log. Right over the chalk cliff.”
Gwen stared, stunned despite the fact she’d suspected just that.
He tapped his thigh with the pistol. “I pulled him out,” he said, his tone defensive in a playful way, as if they weren’t discussing Gideon’s very life.
“Yes, but why did you?” she wondered aloud. “Was it because Grayson was coming? He would have died to save him, if necessary, and then what would you have done? Explaining your standing on the shore, doing nothing while the two of them struggled, perhaps died, would have been difficult.”
Brice blinked, then laughed with evident delight.
“You are too clever by half. By God, that is precisely what happened. I confess, Gwen, I find you exceedingly entertaining—not to mention quite pretty.” He gazed at her in an assessing manner.
“No wonder Gideon can’t get enough of you. Too bad I can’t amend my plan.”
“Which is?” she demanded.
A cagey look crossed his face. “As you guessed, you are the tasty bait I’m using to draw your husband out.
The story that will spread like wildfire will be this: Gideon discovered you had commenced an illicit affair—with me.
” He smiled magnanimously. “Unfortunately, your husband became enraged by your infidelity.
Fearing for your life, you fled to Averly Abbey, where he hunted you down and, in a fit of jealousy, killed you, dumped your body in the river, and then took his own life.
“As for me, I too, will have fled to avoid Gideon’s wrath. A holiday, in the South of France, I believe, will do nicely. Then, after the scandal has died down, I’ll return to London.”
Even as fear hollowed out her insides, she snorted, as if amused, then forced a hardy laugh.
“May I ask what you find so funny?”
She sobered, and sent him her haughtiest stare. “The idea of me having an affair with you is ludicrous. I would never involve myself with a man like you. Certainly, no one will believe I would choose you over Gideon.”
His lip curled, and for the first time, Gwen felt she was seeing the real him. “You think you’re better than me because I come from common origins? Yet you willingly lie with a dirty, half-breed, bastard.”
“That’s the crux of the issue for you, isn’t it, Brice? You felt he should be seen as beneath you, and yet, time and again, Gideon rises to the top while you are forced to lie, scrape, and thieve like the small, grasping man you are for every gain.”
“Shut up,” he said. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll rethink my plan and toss you over the escarpment before Gideon arrives.”
The fact she had wiped his smug grin from his face provided little comfort, not when Gideon’s life was in danger. If only Gideon would not come after her. But he would, of that she had no doubt. Because he loved her.
By the time Gideon reached Averly, a deadly calm permeated his very bones. He must save Gwen, no matter the cost. Any price, financial or otherwise was too little in exchange for her life. His life was too little to pay.
Gideon dismounted at the top of the gravel access road that led from the abbey to the riverbank. He tied his horse’s reins to a bush and started down the winding path, his boots crunching into the earth with each step.
A three-quarter moon, reflecting off a cover of low hanging clouds provided the only illumination.
Squinting, he could make out some shapes.
Boulders, trees, scrub. Luckily, he remembered the terrain.
He’d spent a lot of time here as a boy—especially when the duke was not in residence—writing in his journals, trying to stay out of the duchess’s way, trying to avoid Fannie and her relentless pursuit.
So Brice had wanted her for himself. Was that where all his enmity for Gideon started? Because it certainly seemed like a personal vendetta, long nursed.
He snorted as it occurred to him how Gwen, years late to the scene, had pegged Brice. She made no secret over the fact she did not trust him. She had suspected Brice of attempting to drown Gideon years ago. Now Gideon had to consider the possibility she was right about that, too.
If so, Brice had made a fatal mistake by not finishing the job.
He spotted Brice’s carriage before the last bend in the road. Abandoned, upon investigation. So he’d come via carriage, which meant he also had another pair of hands.