Chapter 15 #2
Cilly experienced a little surge of triumph as she delivered this rejoinder with a cool, detached air that her grandmama would have applauded. Yes, her cheeks were burning, but there was nothing she could do about that.
A slow, sinful smile curved over his mouth as he spread his arms across the back of the settee he sat upon, lounging in an indolent sprawl. Cilly’s heart kicked in her chest.
“I… am not one of your little boy cousins,” he said idly, never taking his eyes from her.
Cilly swallowed. Oh, no, he wasn’t. To her chagrin, the image of him standing on the rocks, naked and dripping wet, the sun gleaming on his broad, muscular physique, came vividly to life in her mind’s eye.
Oh, help, she thought desperately.
Gideon made his way through the gardens, looking for Hetty.
It was an idyllic place, with beautiful soft planting, shady places to sit, and ancient statuary as well as carefully placed ponds and fountains.
If he’d not been so distracted, he would have admired the clever design, which appeared rather effortless but resulted from skilful planning.
As it was, he was deaf, dumb and blind to the glories of the rose garden and the elegant fish ponds dotted with water lilies. All he could think about was Hetty, but he still did not know what he was going to say to her.
Sorry—obviously. His toes curled with mortification every time he thought about the previous night. Happily, he could only recall bits and pieces, but that was quite enough. He only hoped he had not said or done anything too reprehensible.
He did remember her asking him to call upon he, and the way she had looked when he had told her he liked her nightgown. The thought stirred the simmering desire he had been doing everything in his power to ignore—with little success, but he still did not know what he hoped to achieve.
Yes, the dreadful fate that he had believed awaited him was, in fact, gone.
There was no taint in his blood, no threat to future generations.
There was, however, the shame of illegitimacy, which would do him no favours either.
Not that Damian would say anything, and it appeared his father had successfully buried the truth decades ago.
None of this changed one damning fact, though.
The Duke of Langley would laugh in his face if he had the temerity to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
He was the younger son of a less than illustrious viscount, whose brother was notorious among the ton for his bad behaviour.
Worse than that, Gideon worked for a living.
He might as well say he was a chimney sweep to a man of that ilk; it would make no odds.
So why was he in such a state of nervous excitement at seeing her again? They couldn’t be more than friends. He was here to apologise, nothing more, and yet he could not wait to be in her company.
A flicker of blue caught his eye, and he turned, finally resting his hungry gaze on the reason he had come here in such a state of agitation.
She had perched on the edge of a raised fishpond, a fountain splashing cheerfully and creating rainbows in the air around her. Her gaze was abstracted, and she looked far away, the fingers of one hand trailing in the water.
He took a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel.
“Gideon!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet as she saw him.
If his heart hadn’t already been in a state of confusion, he might have withstood the pure joy of her smile, the happiness that shone in her eyes upon seeing him. As it was—he was sunk, done for, caught. He didn’t even care.
“Hetty,” he said, knowing there was a stupid grin on his face too and quite unable to do a thing about it.
“I feared you wouldn’t come,” she admitted.
“I feared you wouldn’t see me,” he countered. “I wouldn’t blame you either. I’m so sorry about last night. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”
She grinned, such an irreverent, naughty expression that he longed to kiss her, to tell her how marvellous she was.
Being with her was such a tonic, her company so bright and refreshing that he felt lighter than he had in…
in forever! Which was ridiculous because she was out of his reach—shrieked a voice in his head. He ignored it.
She walked closer, and he saw the dark bruise on her delicate cheek. His stomach clenched as he considered how badly she might have been hurt if things had gone differently, if the men had become violent, if he hadn’t been there…
He let out a breath, reminding himself it was just a bruise. It would fade, but his muscles remained tense all the same.
“If you want to know what I thought, it was that you’d had a trying day, which I’d made rather worse, and you were blowing off steam with your brother,” she said frankly. “It’s not a hanging offence, you know, though I’m glad Hawkney didn’t discover you. That would have been unpleasant.”
Gideon winced at that understatement. “You’re too generous, I fear. Though it was a trying day and you damn near gave me apoplexy.”
She smiled up at him, a tentative expression that made her appear almost shy, unsure of herself.
Hetty always carried herself with such style and confidence, this felt new, as if he’d been privileged to glimpse a side of her most people did not.
Oddly, he felt it himself, a sudden diffidence, as if he was treading a fresh path, taking a road he’d been forbidden to traverse until now.
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them moving. He thought perhaps this moment was pivotal, that they must step forward together or part forever. Gideon told himself this was nonsense, that no matter what happened they would be friends, but his heart told him otherwise.
For once he listened to it, smothering the voice of reason that had guided him for so long, and instead did something foolish, reckless, and very likely to leave him in shattered pieces.
Reaching for her, he took her chin between his fingers, gently turning her face to the light. “Does it hurt?” he asked, knowing he’d murder anyone who laid a finger on her again.
“Only if I touch it. It throbbed dreadfully last night, but the steak worked a treat. The swelling has already gone down,” her voice became fainter as she spoke, her gaze locked upon his.
The only sound was the lazy buzzing of insects, the slight rustle of leaves as a warm breeze stirred the air, ruffling the soft curls about Hetty’s beautiful face.
She’s not for you—repeated the voice of reason.
Yes, she is, Gideon answered silently, and lowered his mouth to hers.
He felt it again—that same shock of awareness; he was aware of it as it shivered over her skin too and made her gasp.
Their lips barely touched.
It was the lightest press of skin upon skin, yet it felt like a tiny burst of lightning exploding through him. For a moment he stilled, his mouth hovering close to hers, shaken by the power of it, of the rightness.
From the moment they had met, Hetty had demanded his attention, and he had resented how easily she commanded it.
But now it seemed natural, because of course…
of course this woman drew him to her, they were polar opposites, he was rational and cautious, she was spontaneous and reckless.
Her vivacity, her joy for life, and her enthusiasm lit up the grey tedium of what his world had become.
He hadn’t realised how wretched he was, how very worn down by life, until Hetty had exploded into it and challenged him to look at it with fresh eyes.
Slowly, savouring the moment, he pressed his mouth against hers, determined not to rush this time, not to devour the taste of her like a starving man only to throw her generosity back in her face.
This might well be a mistake, it might well ruin them both, but he could not walk away from it, from her, without trying for…
for something. He suspected he hoped for a future that did not exist outside of fairy stories, but he dared to believe it might exist for them if they fought hard enough.
He knew how to fight, and he suspected Hetty did too.
Gideon slid his hand behind her neck, cradling her face in the other, deepening the kiss as she closed her eyes and curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat. Time stood still as he played, teasing and coaxing her until her breath sped and she took a step closer, seeking more.
He pulled her against him, relishing the sensation of her slim, lithe body against his.
The scent of roses, of sweetness, filled his senses, and he hardly knew if it was her skin or the garden around them.
It seemed all of a piece, as if she were some magical creature woven from rose petals, certainly her skin was petal soft.
He drew back, his breath fluttering over her cheek as a vague memory of having been sent here to tell her something niggled at his brain.
It probably wasn’t important. He had things of his own that he needed to say.
“I’m sorry for being so angry yesterday,” he said, resting his forehead against hers.
“You were upset, and it’s a delicate subject. People find it so difficult to speak of such things, but it is not your mother’s fault that she is ill, no more than it is yours. The world is so terribly quick to judge, but I’m not one of them, Gideon.”
Gideon let out a breath, still finding it hard to believe in the words he was about to speak. Hetty gazed at him expectantly.
“She’s not my mother.”
He saw the startled expression in her eyes there and hurried to explain.
“I didn’t know until last night. Neither did Damian, though it appears he suspected. He found out the truth some weeks back, that’s why he came here, to tell me.”
She stared at him in confusion, and he laughed.