by Lauren Smith
Gideon’s first thought was that the courts had sent men to collect Charles and remove him back to the port immediately.
“I will come with you.” Charles laid his napkin on the table beside his half-empty plate, and a footman stepped forward to assist him in standing. “My cane, if you please, Jackson.”
“You should wait here.” Gideon knew his request would be met with defiance.
Charles was resolute in his decisions, much like a certain dark-haired, wild-spirited woman Gideon was acquainted with.
“If they are here to collect me, I will go willingly.” Charles held his chin high as he collected his cane and started for the door. “I will not cause you any more grief.”
The only person responsible for Gideon’s surmounting grief—with accompanying guilt—was Gideon himself. It had been his fault that Charles was taken, and now, Gideon had once again not done everything in his power to protect his friend.
“They will not take you,” Gideon bit out through clenched teeth, taking hold of Charles’ arm as they walked side by side toward the foyer. “That much I can promise you.”
“We may not have a choice.”
There were always options, of that Gideon was certain.
“—you will allow me entrance.”
Gideon’s steps faltered as the familiar voice floated down the long hall.
“Lord Galway is expecting me,” Lady Sybil said, her voice rising an octave.
“My lady, I can assure you, the viscount is not—“
“If you would announce my presence, I can assure you Gideon will welcome my arrival.”
“Who is that?” Charles asked, hurrying his steps while Gideon dug in his heels. “It cannot be…”
Gideon released Charles’ arm, and his friend shuffled ever closer to the foyer, his injured leg dragging slightly in his haste to find out what all the commotion was about.
It was on the tip of Gideon’s tongue to call to Charles, warn him that the woman might be a distraction, a ploy to get Charles out into the open so he could be apprehended.
“Giddy, is that who I think it is?” Charles hissed in his direction. The words echoed in the foyer, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. “Lady Sybil Anson?”
He saw enough to notice that Sybil had stopped tussling with the footman who attempted to keep her out of the townhouse.
“Step aside, my man, step aside,” Charles’ voice boomed across the foyer. “Allow the woman in. Have you completely forgotten your manners?”
The elder of the pair, Gideon had forgotten Charles’ assertive nature from their boyhood days. His commanding voice and sturdy presence dominated every village gathering at Gideon’s country estate. As they aged, Gideon had no doubt that the young women of the village would just as likely find delight if asked to dance with Charles as they did with Gideon.
The footman stepped aside, and Sybil huffed as she pushed the hood of her cloak back and began unbuttoning the long row of brass buttons holding the overgarment closed to keep the chilly night air at bay.
“Very kind of you, sir,” Sybil said, turning her most innocent smile on Charles.
Gideon watched the man practically melt into his boots.
“As I was attempting to tell Lord Galway’s butler…”—she paused, glancing about the foyer—“wait, speaking of Gideon, where is he? And who are you?”
He could fairly visualize Sybil’s confused expression—the way a single cocoa brow would raise, her lips would press into a frown, and she’d stumbled over her words. None of this would take away from her exquisite beauty. It would only serve to lull Charles into a false sense of chivalry. He would want to help her, assist her in any way possible, just to dispel her unease.
“I am Mr. Charles Smythe.” With amused chagrin, Gideon watched Charles bow grandly as if Sybil were the queen. “Lord Galway and I grew up together. My father worked as the Galway steward for several decades.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Smythe.”
“Do call me Charles.”
If anyone in Gideon’s household thought it peculiar that Lady Sybil had arrived at Gideon’s door—obviously unchaperoned and long past the socially acceptable calling hour—they did not breathe a word of it.
At that moment, Sybil glanced over Charles’ shoulder, spotting Gideon lurking down the hall, her eyes narrowed on him.
“We were enjoying our evening repast,” Charles said, nodding back down the hall. “Would you care to join us?”
“I…well…I came to speak with…” Sybil stumbled over her words as she glanced between Gideon and Charles. “I suppose I should join you, or I fear your food will grow cold.”
Gideon had remained hidden long enough. Stepping into the foyer, he greeted her. “Good evening, Lady Sybil. I was not expecting you. In fact, I believe I specifically said not to—“
“Heavens,” Charles snapped as he held out his arm for Sybil. She glanced at it for only a second before determining the man posed no danger and set her fingers at his elbow. “It appears everyone in this household has abandoned their manners. Luckily, I am here, the perfect gentleman.”
Sybil giggled. Actually giggled.
In the last few minutes, Charles had gone from utter terror at what the letter held to charming London gentleman.
It was obvious his friend had missed his calling. Sybil’s radiant smile as she stared up at Charles sent a jolt of pure jealousy through Gideon. Odd how the appearance of a beautiful woman had them both forgetting the letter from the courts.
Gideon slipped the missive into his shirt pocket and followed the pair as they walked by him toward the dining hall.
“Jackson,” Gideon called to the lingering footman. “Please, have a place setting added for Lady Sybil. She will be joining us for the remainder of our meal.”
Chapter 7
Another woman? Tell me, kind readers, that this author is mistaken. It is rumored that Lord Galway did not leave to pursue his interest in pirating, nor did the intrigue—and coin—of a life as a highwayman steal him from our great town. No…another woman? I shan’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes.
* * *
~ LADY X, 3 January 1816
* * *
SYBIL DID HER utmost to remain tranquil and composed at Gideon’s dining table as the man to her left, Mr. Charles Smythe, regaled her with tales from the viscount’s childhood by the Scottish border. Inside, she was reeling from the fact that Gideon had such a close confidante and friend he’d never spoken of to her.
Smiling and nodding, as any enthralled woman would do while listening with rapture to the men jesting back and forth, Sybil could not help casting furtive glances in Gideon’s direction.
It was with great abandon that she’d told Gideon everything about her past—before he learned of her less than stellar upbringing in France in the gossips—yet, he’d kept so much of who he was and where he came from to himself.
“…and so, Giddy and I—“
“Giddy?” Sybil asked, raising a brow at Gideon. “I must say, I have never heard anyone call Lord Galway Giddy.”
To his credit, Gideon’s cheeks flamed, and he made at least an attempt to look sheepish. “Yes, it was what my mother called me when I was very young. A play on Gideon, obviously, but also because I was fond of horses.”
“And he’d neigh before he spoke,” Charles laughed. “He not only had a fondness for horses, but he actually thought himself one until he was what…” He paused and looked at Gideon for input, but the viscount remained silent. “Age fifteen?”
“Come now, Charles,” Gideon boomed. “It was closer to five.”
“All right, all right…I find myself exaggerating the details for the amusement of our guest.” Charles laid his napkin next to his untouched plate. “I find I am helpless to do anything but make certain Lady Sybil is having a marvelous time after her less than hospitable welcome.”
“I assure you, Charles, my arrival was a shock to everyone, including Lord G
alway.” Sybil saw Gideon cast his friend a veiled glance as she tried to make excuses for him. “Besides, my mere presence here is highly scandalous, do you not agree?”
Sybil took a sip from her wine goblet to keep from glancing in Gideon’s direction. She knew bloody well he was angry with her. He’d specifically instructed her not to call on him, but what other choice did she have? Gideon was keeping things from her, and she doubted Charles’ presence at his townhouse was even the half of it.
“I can only speak to what I see, my lady.” Charles gestured to the pair as he spoke. “I see a dour, slightly distracted lord, having a pleasant meal with a beautiful, articulate woman while chaperoned by a dashing young man of little consequence. Though I’ve been away for some years, I do think this meal will hold up to even the highest scrutiny.”
“No one shall know about this meal.” Gideon pushed back his chair, a footman jumping in to assist him as Charles followed suit. “Lady Sybil, will you be so kind as to join me in the study for a private conversation?”
Charles tsked. “That, I’m afraid, will not hold up to any—“
“Charles.” The warning in Gideon’s voice halted his friend. “Lady Sybil?”
A footman pulled her chair back, and she smiled at both men. “Of course, my lord.”
Could it be that she was enjoying this? Gideon was rather irked, and Charles was doing his utmost to prod him.
Sybil was familiar with the many sides of Gideon: reserved and pensive, light and jesting, confident and chivalrous.
But this demanding, domineering, stalwart man before her was different.
“If I have angered you, Gideon, I am sor—“
“My study, Sybil. Now.” He didn’t wait for her, but pivoted and stalked from the room.
When she turned to Charles with a weak smile, he only shrugged, but his following wink settled a bit of her unease at Gideon’s turn in demeanor.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you…far overdue, if you do not mind my bluntness,” he said with a stiff bow.
She didn’t mind his candor at all. “May I offer a bit of frankness?”
“Certainly.”
“Why have we never met?” Her tentative question brought a shadow to the man’s face. “What I mean to say is, Gideon and I have known one another for quite some time, and he has never so much as mentioned your existence.”
Sybil expected hurt or at least confusion to cloud Charles’ face; however, his expression turned dark, and he pivoted to the footman for his cane, not looking back at her when next he spoke. “I think that is something you must speak with Gideon about. I bid you good evening, Lady Sybil.”
He hobbled from the room, his cane hitting the polished floor the only sound as she was left in his wake.
Bloody hell. She didn’t know where Gideon’s study was located.
As if sensing her flustered temperament, the butler stepped into the room. “My lord is awaiting you. This way, please.”
When he gestured for her to follow, Sybil moved around the table, quickening her pace to keep up with the servant.
Sybil was uncertain why she was annoyed. A private moment with Gideon was the reason she’d flouted convention and dared come to his townhouse.
Perhaps it was that her arrival had only added more questions to the surmounting concern surrounding Gideon’s return, not even to touch on his disappearance. If she were to convince her brother that dragging her back to France and away from the man she loved was a bad idea, Sybil needed answers, not more questions.
The door to the study stood open, and Sybil spied Gideon pacing before the hearth, his strides long and heavy on the carpeted floor. There were not many occasions when she had the opportunity to gaze upon him unnoticed. His sun-kissed light locks hung over his collar in a very pleasing manner. How had she not noted that his hair had lightened significantly over the last year, as if he’d spent months in the sun? His cream-colored skin was several shades darker, making it contrast considerably with his hair. His skin tone did nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes, however. Had he not slept recently? He’d appeared unburdened when she spotted him at the ball several nights past, but a weight had obviously settled upon him since she first laid eyes on him again.
She was desperate to know what troubled him, and how she could help.
But he’d need to open up to her first, trust her with whatever he kept secret, and have faith that she would do her best to assist him.
His shoulders tensed, and he halted, staring into the open flames. It tore her heart from her chest to see his frame snag as he exhaled.
“I told you not to come here.” His tone held little conviction. “It is dangerous.”
“Mr. Smythe does not seem at all perilous,” she whispered as she stepped into the room. She paused for only a moment before turning to close the door behind her. “And we both know what I think of society and its need for scandalous on dits.”
Gideon turned to face her as the latch clicked into place.
They were utterly alone, and the way his gaze traveled the length of her before settling on her lips told Sybil he was all too aware of it, as well.
For once, Sybil did not have the urge to run into his arms, to press her body against his, to have his lips warmly caressing hers. To completely lose all of herself in him; his smell, his hold…his heart.
“Damn it, Sybil.” The palm of his hand landed on the stone edge of the hearth, and he turned to face her, his eyes alight with something akin to chaos. “How am I to protect you when you embrace peril at every turn?”
Disarray. Turmoil. Utter pandemonium.
Gideon’s narrowed glare held it all.
“I have survived nearly twenty-three summers without you sheltering me; in fact, I lived nearly an entire year thinking you were dead, gone, never to be seen again. Why did you not protect me from that?”
“I left you a note.”
“Excuse my lack of decorum, but a bloody note scribbled upon crumpled paper, closed with a lopsided seal…it did nothing to assure me that you’d return.”
“I could not tell you where I was going and had no idea how long I’d be gone.”
“Just as you still cannot trust me enough to share where you were all those months.” Sybil said the last word as her breath ran out. She drew in air deeply, ready to launch into yet another volley of questions and concerns, but she got no further than, “I cried myself to sleep for months, Gideon.”
“Hurting you is something I will apologize for endlessly; however, I can make no amends for leaving that night.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his long locks hanging askew from the action and matching his wild-eyed stare. “I had no other choice.”
“If you have returned, why am I still in danger? Who poses a risk to my safety?” she begged. “I am no one of import.”
“You are of great import to me!”
The words should have filled her with a sense of security, to know that she meant something more to him than the last year had shown. Instead, the volatile lilt to his tone had her flinching away.
“I love you, Sybil, and there are people…if they knew how much I cared for you…they would seek to harm you if only to get something from me.”
“Does this have to do with Charles?”
“Yes,” he said with a sigh, slumping into one of the two chairs facing the fire. Sybil moved into the room and sat on the other seat, her stare mirroring his as they both watched the flames licking at the logs. “He was taken…years ago. It was my fault.”
Taken? “Do you mean kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped, impressed, tied, bound and gagged.” His lips pressed into a frown. “Call it what you want, but he was taken when I should have protected him, watched over him, and made sure he returned home safely.”
“Where did they take him?” Sybil wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more, but she suspected this was the heart of Gideon’s secret…and she would know it.
“To sea.” Gideon’s head hung as
if the entirety of the blame was his to shoulder. “We were in London, directly after I finished University, and I convinced Charles to spend an evening out and about London, doing as boys who think they are men do—drinking and carrying on.”
He fell silent, but Sybil didn’t prod him for more. He would speak when he was ready.
Finally, he pushed to his feet and strode to the sideboard.
“Pardon my horrendous manners,” he called over his shoulder as he took the stopper from a decanter and poured a drink. “I have spoken of this to no one in many years.”
“I will have one, too,” she said.
His back straightened, but he removed a second tumbler and poured her a small portion of scotch before returning to his seat.
“We were both so deep in our cups that we stumbled to yet another tavern, this one far too close to the docks, and a man bought us another round of drinks.” He took a sip from his glass, his eyes staring unseeingly into the hearth as he re-lived the moment. “We were young with no funds to our names other than what our fathers gave us, and we’d spent that far earlier in the night. So, we accepted the drinks without question. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a rubbish heap with the sound of the lapping waves on the dock pillars causing my head to swirl and my stomach to churn.”
“What of Charles?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
“Gone.” Gideon leaned forward, setting his empty glass on the table between their seats. “Taken without a trace. It took me a fortnight to learn what had happened to him and where he was likely headed.”
All manner of notions collided in her head: taken by the magistrate, imprisoned at Newgate, banished to the colonies for some sordid crime.
“He was snatched up by a press gang and forced into service on the Centurion for our Royal Navy. From there, he was traded from ship to ship, whenever the need for sailors shifted when the entire British forces were sent to handle Napoleon and his troops.”
“You could not have known…”
“Do you want to know why they didn’t take me, as well?” Rage seethed with each word. When Sybil could only nod, he continued, “My dress was that of nobility, while Charles wore the simple garb of a commoner. I was spared because of my father’s wealth, while Charles was imprisoned on ship after ship, forced to sleep in the elements, eat stale, moldy food, and contend with cruel abuse because his trousers were not snug enough to give the impression of station.”