by Lauren Smith
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.
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~ LADY X, 22 February 1815
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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.
H
is 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.
“I should go.” Even before the words had left her mouth, she was inching down the wall toward the door that would return her to the ballroom. “We cannot be seen here…together.”
“May I call on you tomorrow?” He knew as well as she the power and destruction that could be caused if they were discovered alone in a dark corridor—the gossip sheets would not allow the indiscretion to go unnoted.
“You can do as you please, Gideon, but I must return to the festivities before anyone questions my absence.” She stared up at him, her eyes begging him to make her stay; however, good sense won out for both of them. “Goodbye, Gideon.”
“Goodbye, Sybil.” He took her gloved hand and pressed his lips to it in farewell.
She pulled her hand from his hold, grabbed her skirts, and hurried toward the ballroom.
“Farewell, my love.”
His words floated on the stale air, a crushing reminder of the last time Gideon had uttered that exact phrase. This time, she prayed it would not be so long until they met again.
Chapter 3
It is with the utmost curiosity that I must share with you all that was seen on the night of Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration. Namely, Lord Galway and Lady Sybil in an embrace most intimate and scandalous in the darkened halls of Lord Lichfield’s townhouse. I must say that this sighting comes rather unexpectedly, as this author was preparing to announce the long-awaited betrothal of Lady Sybil to the Duke of Garwood. Is this pair—Galway and Lady Sybil—fated to be, or will the viscount disappear once more, as quickly as he returned?
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~ LADY X, 25 March 1816
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GIDEON GLANCED UP from the drying wax on the folded paper before him, long enough to nod at the servant standing at the edge of his desk, before turning his focus back to the note. Another moment, and the black wax with the Galway crest prominently displayed would be hardened and the missive ready for delivery. A large part of him was surprised that it had come to this, while a nagging thought remained that it was exactly as he deserved.
Holding the note out to the servant, Gideon instructed, “Deliver this to Oliver’s Bookshoppe off Bond Street. Hand it directly to Mr. Oliver and no one else. Understood?”
His servant collected the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Of course, my lord.”
When the servant fled the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him, Gideon reclined in his seat, rubbing his face with both hands.
Two days.
Two bloody long days.
He’d promised to call on Sybil the day following Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration.
What Gideon hadn’t counted on was Lord Lichfield, Sybil’s brother, turning him away.
And now, he was forced to send a note by way of Sybil’s favorite bookseller. Gideon wasn’t even certain the man would remember what to do when the servant arrived at his shop.
Gideon had failed Sybil. Again. At least this time, it wasn’t his fault, though that made it no less reprehensible. Perhaps he should have appeared on Lichfield’s stoop and pounded on the door instead of sending word requesting an audience with the earl.
Scanning his desk, he grabbed Lady X’s gossip sheet and skimmed down the page until he spotted the vile woman’s latest on dit. Someone had indeed taken note of his and Sybil’s meeting two nights prior, and they’d been kind enough to report it directly to London’s most notorious scandalmonger. It wasn’t the story on his and Sybil’s intimate moments in the hall that angered him most, however, it was the fact that Lady X knew something Gideon didn’t…something he never would have guessed.
Sybil was all but betrothed to another man.
A bloody duke, no less.
She hadn’t breathed a word of it the other night. Not that he’d given her a chance to tell him. He read the name again, the Duke of Garwood. Gideon didn’t know the lord, had never made his acquaintance and knew naught of him in general. Yet, he already disliked the
man.
Perhaps he was unfairly judging the duke.
He certainly had superb taste in women if he’d set his sights on Lady Sybil.
He pushed to his feet, the chair beneath him groaning in protest as Gideon walked to the hearth and tossed the scandal sheet into the flames. Satisfaction filled him as he watched the words disappear as the paper burned, the edges curling in as the cream parchment turned black and then gray as it dissolved to ash. The words were not so easily forgotten, however, nor would the duke be banished just because Gideon threw the paper into the fire.
Everything had become clear once Gideon read the scandal sheet.
Lord Lichfield had no reason and, as a matter of fact, had a very good motive for turning Gideon away and denying him an audience. Sybil was all but betrothed to another. And Lichfield was likely quite pleased with his sister’s ability to secure the notice of a duke as opposed to a mere viscount. Gideon had been foolish enough to think it had something to do with his disappearance before the contracts were signed for his and Sybil’s betrothal.
Did Sybil love the duke?
If she did, Gideon would not stand in the way of what she wanted for her future or her happiness.
Yet, neither would he end his pursuit to gain back her affection so easily.
He’d slept in the hull of a pirated merchant vessel, eaten table scraps collected on the streets of Dover, and barely escaped before the hunters overtook him, Giles, and Charles in a tavern on the outskirts of Manchester. He had never been one to give up easily without a fight.
And Lady Sybil Anson was worth a thousand battles.
She was the one thing that had kept him going all those months as they pushed from one place to the next. Outrunning the men who searched for them had been paramount, and he’d like to believe he did it to keep Charles safe, but the truth was, he kept going each day, knowing the time would come when he’d be able to return to London…and Sybil.