Gideon led them inside. The entryway was refreshingly clear, a single footman taking their gloves and shawls. If this had been a ball thrown during the height of the season there would be bodies packed from wall to wall.
Gideon guided them up the snaking grand staircase to the upper-floor ballroom.
There they came face-to-face with Uncle Augustus and poor Ann.
The duke was ruddy with good humor—never a good sign. “My darling nieces! How lovely to see you both.”
She wouldn’t look at Lucretia.
He leaned close to kiss first Lucretia and then Messalina. Messalina held very still—as if a spider were crawling up her arm.
Uncle Augustus turned to Gideon, his smile twisting. “And Hawthorne.” He looked Gideon up and down. “A new suit? Why, one would hardly know that you were born to a whore in St Giles.”
Messalina felt Gideon stiffen beside her. Had his mother been a prostitute? Even if she had, for the duke to call her such to Gideon’s face…
She tightened her grip on her husband’s arm and glanced at him from under her eyelashes.
His face was perfectly composed. As if Uncle Augustus had merely exchanged pleasantries with him.
Messalina felt unease trickle down her spine. She knew that Gideon wasn’t cold or uncaring, but he hid his emotions so well. Did he see her as more than a means to money?
Had he succumbed to their union as she had?
Messalina pressed her lips together.
Other attendees were crowding behind them, making their greetings blessedly brief. Messalina just had time to murmur something to Ann, dressed in an unfortunate purple frock, and then they were past both duke and duchess.
Messalina glanced around, noting the faces that pointedly turned away. Well. She’d known this would be a challenge, but she rather thought she—and Gideon—were prepared.
She smiled up at him. “Shall we perambulate?”
Gideon glanced down at her, the cold still lingering in his eyes making her shiver. “As you wish.”
They’d taken only a few steps when Lucretia exclaimed beneath her breath, “There’s Julian.”
Messalina looked and saw their brother, dressed in silver, lounging by the wall. His head was tipped back as if he were about to fall asleep, a young lady and what looked like her mother attempting to engage him in conversation. He ignored both females to stare impassively across the ballroom.
At their uncle.
Lucretia leaned across Gideon to murmur, “I’d begun to think that they had left the city. I don’t see Quintus, do you?”
“No.” Messalina sighed, knowing that Quintus was most likely sequestered with other gentlemen at the gaming tables, where the drinks were much more potent than the watery punch in the ballroom. “I suppose we ought to greet Julian.”
Lucretia laid her hand on Messalina’s arm with a wry little smile. “Let me. If his mood is better than it looks, I’ll come to you.”
“Thank you,” Messalina replied. She had no great desire to talk to Julian—not after the fight between Quintus and Gideon and Julian’s hurtful words.
She frowned as she watched Lucretia make her way to Julian. It would have been easier if her brothers had retired back to Adders Hall.
Then of course she felt guilty for such an unsisterly sentiment. But the truth was that she didn’t want what was happening between her and Gideon interrupted. She felt as if she were about to open a present—or a new book. That a whole world was unveiling itself before her.
That maybe she was falling in love.
She darted a glance at Gideon. And maybe he was, too?
She had to hide a silly grin at the thought, working to compose her features as she continued strolling with Gideon. They hadn’t taken but two steps before she spotted a familiar face.
“There’s Lord Rookewoode,” she murmured.
“So it is.” Gideon was looking at the earl rather as a wolf did at a bunny.
“Shall I introduce you properly?” Messalina asked, moving in the direction of the earl. He was holding court with several gentlemen and a few ladies. One turned, and Messalina smiled. “Oh, and there’s Arabella Holland. She and her sister and mother were also guests at the house party Lucretia and I attended.” She leaned a little closer to Gideon, inhaling the scent of cloves. “In fact, there were rumors that she and Lord Rookewoode had come to an understanding.”
“Messalina!” cried Lady Holland, holding out her hands. “What is this I hear of you marrying?”
Messalina smiled, catching the other lady’s hands with her own. “May I introduce my husband, Mr. Gideon Hawthorne? Gideon, this is Lady Holland and her daughters, Regina and Arabella.”
The girls curtsied at their names. Both girls had their mother’s wheat-colored hair and pure blue eyes, but while they might be similar in looks, their personalities were completely opposite. The elder, Arabella, was reserved and grave, while Regina was merry and vivacious.
“Then it’s true,” Regina chimed in. “You have married. But why in a secret ceremony?”
Lady Holland hastily cut into Regina’s guileless comments. “I’m sure we need not inquire into such a private matter.”
Regina looked rebellious.
Messalina felt her lips twitch.
“Do you know Freya has eloped with the Duke of Harlowe?” Regina broke in excitedly. “And no wonder—they spent so much time together at the house party.”
Messalina opened her mouth.
“Regina!” Arabella murmured.
“We do not talk scandal.” Lady Holland looked sternly at her younger daughter and then amended, “At least not in public.”
“I can’t think why anyone would run away to have a slapdash wedding,” Regina said, completely uncowed by her mother. “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking at Messalina with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“That’s quite all right,” Messalina assured her. “I wanted a small wedding.”
Regina looked relieved. “Mama has said that I may have a grand wedding with as many guests as I wish when Mr. Trentworth and I marry. I do hope you’ll come with Mr. Hawthorne, Mrs. Hawthorne, though of course I shan’t be marrying until after Arabella’s wedding.”
“We shall be delighted to do so,” Messalina said quite sincerely, and she turned to Arabella with a bright smile. “I hadn’t heard that you’ve become engaged. My felicitations.”
“Thank you,” Arabella replied, blushing. She glanced at her fiancé.
Lord Rookewoode appeared to be discussing something quite important with another gentleman, but as if sensing Arabella’s gaze he looked over and smiled. He turned back to the gentleman he’d been talking to, said a few more words, and then strolled to Arabella’s side.
He held out his arm for her to take and then turned his sardonic eyes on Messalina. “Miss Greycourt. I trust you’ve recovered from our sojourn in the country?”
“I have, my lord,” Messalina replied with a curtsy and a mischievous smile. “But I fear you’ve mistaken my name. It’s Mrs. Hawthorne now.”
“Is it indeed?” The earl’s return smile was dashing, but then he was a very handsome man—and he knew it. “Congratulations. To you and your husband.”
“Thank you,” Messalina said. “My lord, may I introduce my husband, Mr. Gideon Hawthorne. Gideon, this is Leander Ashley, the Earl of Rookewoode.”
“Hawthorne,” Lord Rookewoode mused. He was still smiling, but something had hardened in his eyes. “I believe I saw you at the theater the other night. Don’t you work for our host?”
Gideon bowed, his expression composed. “Yes, my lord.”
Messalina looked between the two men, confused. “You’ve met my husband before?”
Lord Rookewoode turned to her. “Oh no. I’ve simply…heard of him.”
“What an honor,” Gideon drawled, which made Messalina want to step on his toes. Why was he antagonizing the earl if he wanted to lure the man into business?
She hastily said, “I unde
rstand that we must congratulate you, my lord.”
The earl’s smile returned at once as he looked to Arabella. “Indeed. I am most fortunate that Miss Holland accepted my suit.”
It was a pretty sentiment, but not exactly true. Arabella’s lineage was respectable enough and her dowry adequate, but in the normal course of events she’d never have caught an earl’s eye. More than one unmarried lady at the ball was looking at her with open envy.
Arabella didn’t seem to notice. She looked up with frank adoration at Lord Rookewoode, blushing at his gallant speech.
“Leander has made me the happiest woman in London,” she said with what sounded like complete sincerity.
For a moment the earl looked disconcerted.
Then his easy smile was back. “Your happiness means everything to me.”
Lady Holland cleared her throat, glancing at Gideon. “Do you still work for His Grace, Mr. Hawthorne?”
Her eyes darted curiously to Messalina, for of course most people knew she had a substantial dowry, and presumably her husband would never have to work unless he wanted to.
“I do, my lady,” Gideon said easily. “But I also have my own businesses—coal mines in the north of England.”
“Oh?” Lady Holland sounded politely uninterested at the mention of business.
Lord Rookewoode was already glancing at the gentleman he’d been in conversation with previously, and Messalina judged it time to move on.
She subtly nudged Gideon’s side with her elbow.
He glanced at her, and she tilted her head toward the doors leading to the garden.
His eyes narrowed, and for a perilous moment she thought he’d balk at the command.
Then he bowed. “I hope you’ll excuse us, my lord. Ladies.” He glanced at Messalina, a wicked glint in his ebony eyes. “I’d like to take my wife for a turn in the garden.”
She nodded to the Hollands and Lord Rookewoode, and then they strolled away.
He waited a half dozen steps before leaning toward her, his lips near the curls at her ears, making her shiver. “Why leave so soon?”
“This is simply an opening volley,” she murmured, her gaze straight ahead so that she could survey the guests around them. “If you tried to talk business with Lord Rookewoode now, on the first introduction and in the middle of the ball, he’d likely cut you dead. He needs to become accustomed to you before you can propose your ideas.”
He snorted softly, and she glanced up at him quickly.
His wide lips were quirked at her. “I had no idea that you were so devious, Mrs. Hawthorne.”
“I have moved in society for almost a decade,” she said dryly. “If you think those waters are not infested with monsters from the deep, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He laughed under his breath and she counted it as a victory, making Gideon laugh. She smiled privately to herself.
They reached the set of double doors in a corner of the ballroom, which were thrown open to let in the balmy night air.
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused.
“To the garden,” he said.
Gideon drew her out onto a terrace that ran along the back of the house. The garden was a formal affair with hedges and graveled paths, all laid out in strict geometry, but it also had ornamental trees, severely trimmed to keep them compact. Small paper lanterns had been strung from the trees to make a fairyland.
She’d seen this garden a thousand times and had always thought it remote and chilly. But standing in it with Gideon was a different matter.
“It’s lovely,” Messalina whispered.
“It is.” His voice was deep.
They strolled along, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes, until Gideon came to an intersection and stopped, turning to her.
Messalina looked up at him. His black eyes seemed to burn in the night air, and she reached up to stroke along his knife scar.
He bent his head and caught her mouth.
She shuddered, stepping into his embrace. His mouth was so hot, and the hand he cradled her head with was broad and strong.
Her heart bloomed as he licked along the seam of her lips. She wanted him. Wanted—
“Hawthorne!”
Gideon broke the kiss and swung her behind him as he faced Quintus.
Messalina put her hand on his arm, peering around him. Her brother’s face was white with rage. Behind him was Lucretia, her eyes reddened, her cheeks wet, and with her was Julian, standing mute and watchful.
Messalina’s lips parted, but it was Gideon who spoke. “What is this?”
Quintus lifted his upper lip, took two steps forward, and punched Gideon in the chin.
He staggered back against Messalina, and she felt him palm his knife.
“No!” She clutched his right hand between both of her own and addressed Quintus. “You’re drunk!”
Quintus never took his eyes from Gideon. “I am, but that’s not the reason your husband needs to be beaten.”
Messalina looked at Julian. “Stop him. Please.”
“I think not.” Julian turned his merciless gray eyes on her. “Did you know that on the night we arrived, your husband told us that your marriage could not be annulled because you’d already lain together?”
“What?” Messalina stared stupidly at Julian, trying to understand his words. The night her brothers arrived…?
Her heart suddenly tripled in rhythm as she felt something inside her break and fall. Far, far down, into an endless black hole without end.
The night her brothers had arrived was the night Gideon had first made love to her. There…there must be another explanation. Something so simple and easy that she’d laugh about this later.
But even as her brain scrambled to excuse him, she knew.
Gideon had told her he’d married her for her money. He might be physically drawn to her, but he’d never mentioned love.
Why hadn’t she realized it sooner?
Lucretia sobbed, loud and ugly in the quiet night.
Slowly Messalina turned to Gideon. “Is it true what my brother says?”
Someday she might be proud that her voice didn’t shake. That no tears filled her eyes.
But then she was well past tears.
Gideon merely looked at her, and she could tell he was calculating. What to tell her. How to bamboozle her. What lie would bring her back into his arms and his control.
If her heart had been a flower blooming only moments before, it was frozen now. Brittle and dead.
He’d never loved her, never even cared for her. It had all been a trap, set and sprung by her own silly emotions.
Messalina lifted her head proudly, facing Gideon, her lips still throbbing from his kiss. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” he ground out. “But you must listen—”
“No. I will not.” She turned and left the garden and the fairy-tale lights behind.
Chapter Thirteen
“This is your home,” said the fox, opening the crooked door to the little cottage. Inside was a bed made of thistledown and moss with beside it a bark table and two chairs. “Keep it neat and clean. You may eat whatever grows within this clearing, but never ever venture into the wild wood.”…
—From Bet and the Fox
Julian watched as Messalina stormed away with Hawthorne following.
Lucretia trailed behind without a word.
“It will be the talk of the town for months,” Quinn muttered. “When she leaves him.”
Julian glanced at him. Not so drunk, then. “Yes, it will.”
He, too, followed Messalina. She wouldn’t want to talk to him tonight—she was obviously devastated—but soon she must. Both she and Lucretia had to leave Hawthorne’s home.
He and Quinn would see to it.
After that perhaps Hawthorne would meet with an untimely accident.
Not that Messalina would ever thank him for it.
But then he’d been protecting his family without any thanks for more than a decade.
>
By the time Julian reached the garden doors with Quintus beside him, Messalina was storming across the ballroom, people parting before her.
Augustus was watching, his eyes flicking from Lucretia to Messalina to Hawthorne.
He smiled.
Julian almost stopped short, he was so startled. What was Augustus’s game? The man ought to be displeased with his niece’s very public anger at her husband—the man Augustus had arranged to marry her. Yet he looked almost gleeful.
Was it simple pleasure at Messalina and Lucretia’s tears?
A murmuring rose in the ballroom as Messalina made her way farther into the room. Heads canted together, fans rose to cover whispering mouths. Hawthorne actually shoved aside a dandy too slow to move out of his path. The dandy squawked like a chicken pursued by a cock.
Julian strolled leisurely across the ballroom, following in his sisters’ wake. He ignored those who tried to stop him. Those who actually tried to talk to him, their eyes alight with malicious glee.
He ignored them all. They didn’t matter.
Only his family mattered.
As he passed his uncle, Augustus winked and raised his glass in mocking salute.
* * *
Gideon stared out his carriage window, unseeing. The night had started so well. The ball. The introduction to Rookewoode. The way Messalina had smiled up at him so…so trustingly.
So lovingly.
Something caught in his eye, and for a moment his vision blurred.
No. He could fix this. He was canny and cunning and he’d never yet lost a battle of wits. That was all this was in the end. A war of words. He only had to find the right ones and he’d win her back again.
And then he would have her smiles again. Her care for him. Everything would be as it should.
He watched Messalina from beneath his eyelashes. She sat with her sister across from him, her head up, her gaze fixed on the seat beside him, dry eyed.
She wouldn’t even look at him.
Something strange, something that might be panic—an emotion he never felt—battered the cage of his chest.
When a Rogue Meets His Match Page 22