by Lauren Smith
He held her stare until she consented, “I will do nothing so foolish again.”
His lips softened, and the hint of a smile returned. “Although, I can admit having you at my home—at least, outside my home—at such an hour, brings many scandalous thoughts to mind.”
“Oh, do tell—“
A horse whinnied close by, and Sybil glanced over her shoulder to see the mare tied to the hack as it stepped from foot to foot and tossed its head back with another neigh.
“I should go,” Sybil said.
“I will accompany you home.” Gideon glanced toward his townhouse. “Allow me to summon my carriage.”
Placing her gloved hand on his arm, Sybil called for him to wait. “Your coach could be seen, and that would lead to scandal. What if someone saw? I promised I would not bring any disgrace upon you.”
“I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to—“
“I made it here without incident, my lord,” she rushed to say.
“Be that as it may—“
The deafening sound of horses’ hooves pierced the air, sending the hack’s mare into another bout of distress as a lone man on horseback raced into Gideon’s drive. The rider pulled to a halt mere feet from the front door, and Sybil feared for a moment that he was set on riding right through the wooden portal.
Gideon stiffened before her.
“Are you expecting someone?” Sybil asked.
Had her brothers discovered her missing? Had her maid returned to Sybil’s chambers to check on her mistress, found her not in residence, and alerted the entire household?
Sybil sighed in relief when the man dismounted and stepped into the pool of light cast by the torches hung outside Gideon’s door.
“Wait here,” Gideon demanded, but he did not await her reply as he stalked from the shadows and addressed the rider, stopping him before the man pounded his clenched fist on the door.
The men stood close as they talked in hushed whispers that were carried away on the night breeze before they reached Sybil.
Finally, Gideon nodded and motioned for the man to go inside as he turned and started back toward Sybil.
Halting before her Gideon asked, “Are you certain you will be safe to return home alone?”
Suddenly, Sybil wasn’t sure at all, but she would risk the unimaginable to avoid admitting that she’d been wrong to depart her home at midnight for their final clandestine meeting before their betrothal was officially announced.
Not trusting her voice to remain steady, Sybil bobbed her chin up and down.
“Good,” he sighed. “I will see you on the morrow. Dream joyfully in your slumber.”
“Who is the man?” she dared ask. “He seemed rather urgent in his arrival.”
“It is nothing to worry about,” Gideon said, but it did little to ease her apprehension. “Only a long-standing matter I’ve been attempting to rectify for some time.”
Sybil’s brow pulled low. If Gideon had hidden something from her before she hadn’t noticed. But she was not foolish enough to think that a man arriving during the middle of the night was of no consequence. Questioning Gideon further would gain her nothing, however, unless she wished to start their betrothal with the mark of a nagging woman.
Gideon pulled her into his arms as his finger traced down her cheek and along her jawline. A shiver raced the length of her spine, and she pressed her body against his.
Soon enough, they’d be free to touch, caress, and kiss one another to their hearts’ content, but for now, Sybil needed to return home before anyone noticed her missing. Besides, Gideon obviously had other matters to attend to before meeting with Sybil’s brother in the morning.
“Farewell, my love.”
“Until later.” Sybil grinned up at him, determined not to allow the man waiting inside the Galway Townhouse to ruin this moment for her.
Rising to her tiptoes again, Gideon’s lips met hers in the dark, and their mouths moved in a rhythmic rightness that always seemed present when she and the viscount were together.
It was rather advantageous she’d fallen in love with a man her family not only approved of, but whom society also held in high regard; although, even if Gideon were the son of a tailor, Sybil would love him still.
He broke away from her. “Now, hurry home.”
With a final laugh and smile for her soon-to-be betrothed, Sybil turned and ran to the waiting hack, climbing back up without any assistance.
“Hanover Square, please,” she called after taking her seat. She would do all in her power to remain safe—and that meant risking being sighted when the driver deposited her before her brother’s townhouse. “Dering Street.”
As they pulled away from Gideon’s drive, she glanced over her shoulder. A groom had come from the stables and was nodding vigorously in response to whatever the viscount said.
Something was amiss. Sybil was certain of it, even if Gideon thought her concerns were eased.
“Pull over here,” she called, her voice rising above the clop of the mare’s hooves and the creaking of the hack wheels. When the driver did not immediately heed her command, she yelled. “Stop. Here. Please. Stop now.”
Relenting, the driver pulled up on the reins.
Sybil turned to face Gideon’s drive, the neighboring properties now blocking his house from view.
“Miss,” the driver said, not bothering to hide his irritation. “It be late.”
“Do shush.” Sybil held her finger to her lips. “Only a few more moments, I promise.”
If the late-night visitor had only come about a business matter, he would leave in quick order, allowing Gideon to find his bed. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as the night wind howled down the street, trapped between the rows of townhouses on both sides.
The driver passed the reins from hand to hand, and the resounding jingle was nearly masked by the wind.
Sybil kept her eyes trained on the drive a few houses back.
Finally, the sound of hooves rang out once more on the cobbled ground as not one but two horses raced from Gideon’s driveway and headed in the opposite direction of her stalled carriage.
One was the lone horseman from before, but the other…
Sybil’s breath stuck in her throat, her lungs burning as she attempted to swallow.
The ebony horse accompanying the other rider was Goliath, Lord Galway’s prized stallion.
She was helpless to do aught but watch the pair ride off into the night.
Chapter 1
My fair readers! It is with abundant relief that I am the first to inform you of the latest on dit. Spread the news far and wide, I beg of you. Viscount Galway has returned—alive, unscathed, and unwed. If you will remember, Lord Galway was all but betrothed to Lady Sybil Anson when he mysteriously disappeared. Alas, he has returned. Though I dare say he will now be called upon to answer my questions, be he a thief, pirate, in financial ruin, or simply a runaway bridegroom. This author awaits the viscount’s reasons for abandoning the fair Lady Sybil in such a deplorable manner.
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~ LADY X, 20 March 1816
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London, England
March 1816
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GIDEON, VISCOUNT GALWAY, slipped through the crowd in the entrance, handing his coat to a manservant before using a group of matrons with atrocious headgear as a shield to enter the Lichfield ballroom—and by the Graces above, avoiding the receiving line. This included the Lord and Lady in residence. The evening was proving uncomfortable enough as it was without coming face-to-face with Lichfield. Gideon’s breeches were too tight, and his cravat had been tied so elaborately that his chin had no other choice but to tilt up an inch, making it necessary to stare down his nose at every person he passed as he skirted the fringes of the room.
He hadn’t been required to adhere to London fashion for over a year. Nearly fourteen months outfitted in sack breeches and tunic shirts the likes of which were guaranteed to gain no notice from those arou
nd him, yet were vital to survival at sea or dodging men who hunted him as he traveled through rural Scotland and England. He needed, above all, to remain invisible while in plain sight. He’d allowed his hair and facial stubble to grow for months until he no longer recognized his own countenance when he happened by a looking glass.
How were the bounty hunters to locate Gideon if he could not spot himself?
Constricting breeches, fresh, white linen shirt, and precisely executed cravat—all the fancy trimmings of a proper lord. In all his time away from London, Gideon never had time to miss such formal attire.
And now he found it highly bothersome.
Peculiarly, he was no longer the highly revered and respected Viscount Galway, but the itinerant stumblebum who kept to the shadows by the docks, who asked outlandish questions at the alehouses, and the nomad known to stow away on any ship leaving port.
Shouts of good cheer and celebration sounded behind Gideon, causing him to flinch and duck his head before the action restricted his breathing. He must keep moving. No one gave him any notice as he searched the room. Easily, he spotted Lord and Lady Lichfield as they departed the receiving line and accepted flutes of sherry from a passing servant. Wisely, he kept in the direction that had him moving opposite of his host and hostess.
Rumors of Lady Lichfield’s talents for clairvoyance, while not known about London, had been spoken of in hushed whispers between he and Lord Lichfield’s younger sister.
He was not yet prepared to make his return known to Sybil’s elder brother—nor his wife.
First, Gideon needed to speak with Sybil.
Bloody hell, at this point, he’d be satisfied to lay eyes upon her across a damned ballroom. He’d suffered every day—no, every hour—he was separated from her. His heart had broken when he rode away from London with Giles, bound for the port in Edinburgh…their destination unknown at that point. It was still a fog of painful memories even now.
Gideon reminded himself that he’d had no choice.
Nor had his promise to Sybil come with the expectation of breaking his pledge.
He’d loved Lady Sybil from the moment they met over two years before.
He still loved her with everything within him.
Yet, he couldn’t neglect his responsibilities. The promises he’d made long before they fell in love and pledged to spend their futures together.
This night would give Gideon the assurance that the words spoken all those months ago still held true. That even after all this time—through their separation, and his disappearance—Sybil’s love for him had not changed.
One fact remained: his affection for Sybil had not waned. Not in the least bit. In fact, it had only grown stronger with time and distance. No matter the oceans that separated them, regardless of the land between them, despite the silence Gideon had lived in for the last year…he loved Sybil.
With time to explain, at least what he could at this juncture, Gideon was certain Sybil would understand and forgive his absence.
There was no other outcome Gideon could foresee.
A passing couple strolled by, the gentleman leaning in to whisper something to the finely dressed lady on his arm before their eyes narrowed on him. Averting his gaze, Gideon continued past the pair, risking a glance over his shoulder to see that both had turned to stare in his wake.
He’d heard the rumors. Giles and Charles had all but crowed with mirth at the outlandish tidbits reported by Lady X on her gossip sheet. It was one of the rare things that brought a sense of normalcy to the trio—an indulgent, insipid, haughty woman’s senseless ramblings in London’s gossip rags—as they moved about the land, avoiding the men who hunted them. According to Lady X, Gideon had been a pirate, a highwayman, in debtor’s prison, and even living with a Cheapside actress during his year of absence.
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.