by Dawn Brower
It was preposterous, insulting, and so far from any truth that Gideon couldn’t help but admire Lady X’s ability to keep society’s attention away from the actual matter at hand.
There were days—and long, frigid nights—where Gideon would have given anything to be back in London, even in the dangerous area of Cheapside.
Gideon stepped back until his shoulder blades pressed into the ballroom wall and he searched the milling crowd for her familiar, dark brown tresses—not ebony like the rest of her family’s. He listened for her light laughter—not the deep, gruff chuckle of her siblings. He kept his other senses tuned to her scent: lemon and a fresh, country breeze—not the perfumed acidic aroma that most of London preferred.
Lady Sybil Anson was here, and Gideon would find her.
Finally, her familiar crown of cocoa locks came into view, and his heart swelled, his chest tightening until he thought no breath would pass his lips again until he stood before her, his arms around her, and Gideon was confident that she was safe.
Lady Sybil spoke with a matronly lady, the elder woman’s chin bobbing up and down as she seemingly agreed with whatever Sybil was saying, affording Gideon a clear profile view of Sybil’s enchanting smile. If the woman’s head moved any more erratically, her hat—complete with plumage and feathers—would be thrown to the floor and trampled.
As if Sybil sensed she was being watched, her lips pressed together into a firm line, ending her conversation with the matron. The elder woman took her cue and moved on, leaving Sybil alone as her eyes grazed the ballroom. She didn’t spot Gideon immediately. No, the moments passed with agonizing slowness until Sybil’s brown eyes met Gideon’s gray stare.
Her back stiffened, and her glare narrowed on him before the lovely pink in her cheeks drained—leaving her pale and almost sickly looking.
Anyone who noted her stark white complexion would have assumed that Lady Sybil had seen a ghost.
In many ways, that was true.
As the seconds passed, her questioning expression turned to surprise as the grim set of her mouth changed to a startled O and her eyes widened. Just as quickly, the shock left her, and her entire body hardened. Anger flared in her eyes, and the muscles bracketing her mouth tensed.
She was utterly captivating...and Gideon could not fathom how the music and dancing continued around them, groups and pairs moving about the room, oblivious to Sybil and him, not a single person affected by the wonder that was the woman Gideon loved.
Soon, they would gain someone’s attention, and word would spread of Gideon’s arrival in town. He couldn’t stop the gossip, but he needed a few more days before all of London became abuzz with the news.
Unease settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach when Sybil’s arms crossed over her chest, no doubt wrinkling the expensive silk of her bodice. Her cheeks flamed scarlet.
She had every right to be angry—furious, really—with him. He’d disappeared on the eve before their betrothal contracts were to be signed and had left nothing but a vague note. He hadn’t reached out to her since he left London. He could tell himself he did so to keep her safe, to avoid jeopardizing her well-being, and to give the men hunting him no reason to turn their focus on her, but Gideon had badgered himself every day for not finding a way to return to her sooner.
And he wasn’t safe yet. Charles was still considered a deserter. And Gideon was responsible for abducting the man from the British Navy ship setting sail for the new world. There were bounty hunters searching for both of them, and he’d rather perish than have them discover his connection to Lady Sybil.
Gideon cocked his head toward the terrace doors, but Sybil shook her head in refusal. His chest fell, and his exhaustion nearly overtook him. She didn’t want to see him, wished not to speak with him. He’d risked coming to the Lichfield townhouse for nothing.
Blessedly, she tilted her head and indicated a door nearly hidden from sight by a tall, robust palm. When he nodded curtly, she turned and moved toward the exit. She hadn’t said no to his unvoiced request to speak with her, Gideon realized. This was her home, and she knew the precise places for them to talk privately…which wasn’t the crowded terrace.
Gideon was helpless to watch her—the sway of her hips, the bounce of her hair as it trailed down her back, and the way a man stepped into her path, halting her progress.
Gideon’s entire body tensed, and he stalled himself from moving directly through the throng of dancers to Sybil’s side, slipping her arm through his, and guiding her from the room…and away from the lord blocking her exit.
Splotches of color invaded his vision as he allowed the anger to thunder inside him.
It was the only place he would allow his fury to show itself.
He’d been away from London for over a year with no explanation. Many thought him dead—or at least never to return. Why would Sybil not also listen to the gossip about town? Blaming her for his actions was unthinkable. She was an innocent in everything.
Even now, Gideon knew that his reasons for seeking her out were selfish.
Sybil patted the man’s arm, nodded, and continued on toward the door.
And just as quickly, Gideon forgot about the lord—the way he’d leaned in toward Sybil during their brief conversation, the way he’d smiled down at her, and the familiarity of Sybil’s fingers upon the lord’s sleeve.
Instead, he pivoted, spotting another door, nearly invisible, about five paces away.
Gideon had wished for this day, dreamed of this very moment for over a year.
Soon, Sybil would be back in his arms, and all would be right again.
Sure, Charles was still a hunted man. And Gideon would continue to be responsible for stealing an impressed man from a British Navy ship—the bounty looming over both their heads not going away anytime soon.
But Gideon would have Sybil once more. She would know he loved her and hadn’t forsaken her. Yet, he feared that her heart had strayed, and that Sybil could no longer pledge her entire self to him.
Chapter 2
It appears that Viscount Galway has cried off, leaving Lady Sybil unattached once more. One can only assume the viscount saw the error of his ways with connecting his family and good name to a young woman of dubious upbringing.
~ Whispers from Lady X
Sybil’s body quivered, threatening to collapse beneath her at the mere thought of Gideon…back in London. Alive. Unharmed. Whole. Tangible. Things she’d begged, pleaded, and prayed for all these months.
Glancing over her shoulder, she made certain the Duke of Garwood wasn’t trailing her as she slipped from the ballroom into the darkened corridor. The hallway was on the far side of the house, nowhere near the retiring rooms or the foyer, meaning she and Gideon would be afforded the necessary privacy for their talk—for her to berate him properly. That was after she ran her hands up and down his arms, trailed her fingers along his jaw, and pressed her body against his—all to confirm that her eyes were not deceiving her.
He was real, and he was in her family’s townhouse.
Pain shot from her hands and up her arms as her nails bit through the thin silk of her gloves and into her palms. Sybil halted, taking a deep breath, but the air stuck in her lungs, refusing to leave.
Gideon, the Viscount Galway, had returned.
It had been over a year. Countless nights spent crying herself to sleep until her brother, Silas, threatened to send her back to France to live with their mother. Endless months of gossip at her expense. And Gideon thought he could just waltz into her family’s home—during Sybil’s sister-in-law’s birthday celebration, no less—and catch her gaze from across the room?
When her stare met his, Sybil’s heart had seized in her chest, the room had turned scalding hot, and, as the seconds ticked by without the image of him evaporating like a mirage in the African desert, a soul-deep chill had settled upon her. Sybil wanted to allow the elation of seeing him to overtake her, surround her, and insolate her. She wanted nothing more than to beat
a hasty path through the room and throw herself into his arms. Her need to touch him, speak to him, and smell him was so strong, she’d nearly thrown caution to the wind and run to Gideon, the London gossips, scandal, and the past be damned.
Everything and everyone could go to the bloody devil.
Only Gideon mattered.
And he was safe. He had returned to her.
But then the duke had chosen that moment to step into her path, cutting off her escape.
The Duke of Garwood. Odd that His Grace had set about courting Sybil over the previous Christmastide season, yet she still did not know the man’s given name, nor was she overly concerned with deepening their attachment. Certainly, he was a most dashing man. A wealthy, connected lord. A proper businessman whose staid manner extended into his courtship of Sybil. There were no late-night rendezvous outside his townhouse, no stolen kisses in his opera box, no inviting banter that left Sybil shivering with pent-up passion and lust. Her stomach had never fluttered at the sight of him, nor had her knees threatened to give way when they were close.
But the duke was available and willing, and they’d all but announced their plans to become betrothed.
With Gideon gone, Sybil hadn’t cared overmuch whom she wed, or if she ever did for that matter.
The duke had been easy enough to sidestep in the ballroom.
But not as easily forgotten here in the abandoned hallway.
The thought only increased her irritation at Gideon—and his foolish timing.
Damnation. Until a few moments ago, she’d convinced herself that he was dead, for what other reason could there be for his absence? For him staying away from her so long.
Sybil had been a fool. She’d pined for Gideon all this time. Had written countless letters, sending them anywhere she thought he could possibly be: his townhouse, his manor home by the Scottish border. She’d been so desperate, so broken, so crestfallen she’d even enquired at the London residence of the Galway solicitor. No responses ever came from his homes, and his solicitor had claimed ignorance. He stated he hadn’t heard from the viscount either. Yet, no one came forward to claim Gideon’s title. The process of proving her love deceased hadn’t been brought before the courts.
That only left one unmistakable fact: Sybil was indeed a fool.
And Gideon was to blame for it all—her heartbreak, the gossip and scandal, and even Sybil’s courtship with Garwood.
Footsteps sounded on the polished floor as someone with a long, heavy stride rounded a corner and moved toward her in the darkness. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. This was her home, and never had she been overcome with a sense of peril while in it. It could be anyone traversing the halls during the ball—a servant, a guest, or even a criminal bent on thievery.
“Sybil.”
Her pulse hammered, her blood rushing through her veins. It was the exact thing she’d longed to hear since the night she watched Gideon ride away: her name uttered in a breathless whisper crossing his lips. She could almost feel his breath cascading across her neck as he called to her again.
“Sybil.”
Belatedly, she realized he’d called her because, just as she could not see him in the darkened hall, she was also invisible to him.
“Lord Galway.” Her clipped tone halted his movement. How long had it been since she’d spoken to him in such a formal way? He’d bid her to address him as Gideon since their second meeting, at least when they were afforded a spot of privacy. “What are you doing here?”
“I—“
“Where have you been? Why did you leave London? What reason did you have for not showing to sign the betrothal contracts?” Each question was punctuated by the stomping of her foot, which made little sound due to her soft slippers. Slamming her heel into the floor should have released a bit of her fury, yet only her words echoed in the cavernous hall. “The only explanation that suits is that you found yourself dead and unable to keep your promise. However, here you stand…over a year later. Can I assume you were gravely injured and unable to send word to me?”
He exhaled, the sound barely audible where he continued to stand in the shadows. She wanted to bid him come closer, yet, she did not trust that she would suppress the urge to close the distance between them.
“I sent a note,” he whispered.
“Saying you would return as quickly as possible.” An image of the missive, nestled in her stationery desk, came to mind. The scant, simple words. “Do you think your return has been quick, my lord?”
He stepped closer, and Sybil was shocked to realize he’d only been a few feet away. “I returned as soon as it was safe to do so.”
“Safe?” She receded a few paces until she could hardly make out his face in the shadows. It would also keep Gideon from seeing the many emotions no doubt clouding her expression. “What does that mean?”
Gideon followed her as she continued to step back. His gray eyes were filled with the desperation and longing that had held her heart in a viselike grip all these months.
“I thought you dead, Gideon,” she seethed. “I convinced myself that you must have perished, or else you’d be by my side. Surely, that was the only thing that could keep you from me.” Her anguish seeped from her on a curt chuckle.
He shook his head, and his shoulders sagged. “I am not dead, nor would I choose to spend even a second away from you if I could have prevented it.”
Gideon reached out to her as her back pressed into the wall behind her.
Music and the buzz of conversation floated from the ballroom on their other side.
Her mind was screaming just as loudly. Sybil shouldn’t believe him. He was spinning a tale that would only serve to crush the small part of her that had survived his abandonment the year before. She could not risk allowing him close enough to hurt her again.
“I am not a dullard, my lord, nor am I a lady in need of a scoundrel,” she hissed, ignoring his outstretched hand.
His intense stare pleaded with her to listen, to believe him. “It was never my intention to leave you, Sybil. You must believe that.”
“Then why did you?” It was the question she’d been burning to shout at him since she spied him in the ballroom; however, it came out as little more than a whisper. “Why did you abandon me?”
“I can do nothing now but offer my sincerest apologies.”
“But no explanation?”
His hand fell to his side as his gaze moved from her face. “Perhaps one day. But for now, no, I have no explanation for my absence.”
“Because, as you said, it wouldn’t be safe?” He’d used the word a few moments before. Said he planned to return to her as soon as it was safe.
“I promise I will explain all as soon as everything is handled.”
She scoffed. “Oh, my lord, I have witnessed firsthand how much you value your promises.” Sybil crossed her arms, her fingers tightening on her upper arms to keep from reaching out to him. Even in her fury, she longed to touch him, to know he was real and unscathed. “Besides, I cannot guarantee I will be available to hear your explanation once the time presents itself.”
Even as she uttered them, each word was like a knife to her stunted heart.
From the anguish clouding Gideon’s stare, he was as deeply wounded by the words as she.
With a sigh, Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. “I have wronged you, Sybil. I know that. I will work every day to make amends, but you must understand, I had no choice but to depart London.”
“And I cannot bring to mind a single reason that you could not have at least written me during all those—“
Gideon stepped closer, running his finger down her cheek to her neck as he leaned ever nearer. “You are, perhaps, more beautiful than that night outside my townhouse,” he muttered, his gaze on her lips.
His warm breath caressed her skin, and she longed for his hands to do the same.
“Do not attempt to distract me, Gideon.”
“My name has never sounded so sweet.” His
lips almost brushed hers with the final word, sending a strong shiver coursing through her. “May I kiss you, Sybil?”
“No,” she murmured, but her denial was weak.
All he needed was to ask again, and she would agree, give him everything he longed for because she desired his kiss, as well.
But he didn’t push her, only held his place, their lips so close his breath became hers.
She stared up into his face…a visage as familiar to Sybil as her own; yet his eyes were ringed with dark shadows, his face slimmer than before, and his cheeks hollowed. He’d lost a significant amount of weight since she’d last seen him. He did not just appear exhausted, he obviously was weary, as evidenced by the dip of his shoulders, his waxen complexion, and the grim set of his mouth. He was bone-tired—on the brink of collapsing. Not even newly tailored evening garb and a fresh razor could hide the fact that Gideon was drained.
“You haven’t been sleeping well.” She reached up and ran her fingertip along his face, his jaw tensing at her intimacy. “Are you in trouble, Gideon?”
She knew even without his answer that he was—in grave danger if his haunted look told her anything.
Over the last year, Sybil had endured near societal ruin. She’d been fodder for the gossips and all but crucified by Lady X’s scandal sheet. However, Gideon’s pleading stare told her that he’d been through much worse…yet, he returned to her.
The uptick of her heart spoke volumes.
Surely, Sybil could trust her heart, for if not, she had little hope she could survive should Gideon disappear again.
She loved him. And the soft pleading in his eyes said he felt the same about her.
Nothing had changed between them over the last year despite their hardship.
A door slammed, and Gideon stepped back, pivoting to face the sound, putting himself squarely in front of her. Peeking around him, Sybil spied a shadowy figure as it crossed the corridor and continued down the hall Gideon had traversed earlier.