“Good morning, Lucretia,” Julian said dryly.
Lucretia waved a hand at him, probably because she’d snatched a cake before the maids had even laid down their tray and her mouth was full.
The maids finished arranging the tea and asked if there was anything else before leaving the room.
Lucretia plopped down on the settee next to Messalina and poured herself a dish of tea, adding half the pot of cream before leaning back and sipping. “What are you doing here, Jules?”
Julian winced at the nickname and took the seat opposite. “As it happens, I came to talk with Messalina, not you, urchin.”
“Really.” Lucretia took another cake, although this time she at least put it on a plate. She showed no signs of leaving the sitting room despite the heavy hint.
Messalina sighed and poured tea for Julian and then herself. “Why are you here, Julian?”
“Your husband has been following me,” he replied, hesitating over the sugar bowl before sitting back with his tea.
Messalina busied herself selecting a cake as she thought furiously. “Oh? When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
Damn Gideon for his secrets. He certainly hadn’t mentioned that he’d been following her brother when attacked. Messalina paused for just a beat, her gaze sliding to Lucretia’s. Her sister had stopped eating. “Where?”
“In Whitechapel.”
Messalina looked at her brother.
Julian was a Greycourt—cold and ruthless when it served him, which in the last decade or so had been all the time.
She held out a plate with one of the cakes. “Two men attacked Gideon yesterday in Whitechapel. His shoulder was dislocated and he was badly beaten. He’s in bed upstairs now.”
Julian waved away the plate and crossed his legs, looking bored. “Is that so?”
Messalina narrowed her eyes. “Did you try to kill my husband, Julian?”
Beside her Lucretia carefully set down her plate.
Julian’s thin lips curved into a cold smile. “Had I wanted your husband dead, he would be.”
Messalina abandoned her dish of tea and leaned back, examining him. Impossible to tell if he was lying or telling the truth. “Oddly, I don’t find that reassuring.”
“Actually”—Julian carefully set down his untouched teacup—“I came here to ask your husband if he wanted me dead.”
“What?” Messalina stared at him, her heart beginning to beat in double time. She wanted to say that Gideon would never hurt a member of her family. That he wouldn’t betray her so.
But she couldn’t.
“I can think of no other reason for Hawthorne to follow me but the most nefarious,” Julian said quietly.
Messalina tilted her chin and said desperately, “There could be any number of reasons he was in the same place as you.”
“Indeed,” Julian replied calmly, still holding her gaze.
She could only hold his gaze, knowing she was on the losing side. Gideon might have any number of reasons to follow Julian, but none of them were good.
Julian looked away for a moment and then back to her. “I don’t trust your husband.”
“Do you trust me?” she asked softly.
He stared at her, handsome and as chill as a marble statue. When they’d been children he used to bring her sweets when he returned on the holidays from school.
She sighed.
He stood. “Why are you taking his part, Messalina? The bastard forced you into marriage. He’s the duke’s man. He’ll hurt you far more than I in the end.”
With that pretty comment he bowed and swept from the room.
Lucretia sat up and poured herself a dish of tea. “Do you truly think Julian was behind the attack on Gideon?”
Messalina shook her head. “What else am I to believe—despite Julian’s protests?”
“Jules is very hard to read,” Lucretia said musingly, “but I don’t know that he’d have Gideon killed.”
“He’s an ass.”
Lucretia looked at her. “Jules or your husband?”
“Jules.” Messalina waved her hand irritably. “Both.”
“Jules may be an ass,” Lucretia said softly. “But that doesn’t mean he was wrong when he said Gideon would hurt you.”
Yes, she’d thought about that. She was prepared for whatever mental and emotional pain he might give her.
But she wasn’t prepared for Gideon attacking her brother.
* * *
By afternoon Messalina had calmed herself—mostly. She’d taken a very long walk in Hyde Park and poured herself a medicinal glass of brandy afterward. All of which made her serene enough to visit Gideon.
The problem was she’d begun falling under his spell again. Seeing him bleeding, laid out on that litter, had terrified her. She couldn’t imagine a world without his savage grin or knowing gaze. She didn’t even want to think about it.
But now…
Was he trying to hurt Julian? Could she believe him if he denied it?
And was there any point in asking him?
Well, she certainly wouldn’t know until she tried it.
Messalina straightened determinedly and tapped on the bedroom door before opening it.
Instead of resting in the big bed like any sane man who’d been recently assaulted, her husband was swearing foully as he attempted to don a shirt. He had the thing over his neck and one arm, but of course his right arm was still strapped to his side.
“Whatever are you doing?” Messalina demanded.
She set the book she was carrying down on his bedside table and crossed the room.
He looked up, his face reddened with his efforts. “I’m dressing.”
“Why?”
“I’ve work to do.” His words ended on a gasp.
His face twisted in pain and she wanted to—to shake him.
Instead she pulled the shirt off over his head.
He actually growled at that, but she was too distracted by the sight of his torso. His ribs had been securely wrapped, but blue-black bruises peeped both above and below the tape, making her wonder with horror how bad he looked beneath the bandages.
She glanced up into his scowling face. He’d not shaved, and the black bristles on his chin made him look like a brigand. A battered brigand.
A man without a moral code, who thought he could accomplish anything as long as he willed it.
Her husband.
“Are you insane?” she demanded. “You’ve broken ribs, a wrenched shoulder, and ugly stitches in your scalp. Whatever work you have can wait one day. One day, Gideon.” Sudden salt tears flooded her eyes, blinding her. “Please get back in bed.”
She blinked and saw him staring at her with something close to horror. “Messalina?”
“Gideon.”
His mouth flattened, his slanted eyebrows drawn down, making him look even more like a reckless pirate. “Fine. I’ll get in the bed.”
He hesitated a moment before scowling ferociously. “Don’t weep.”
He turned to the bed as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her tears.
Was he one of those men who disdained a woman’s emotions?
“Here.” She swiped at her eyes, regaining control. “You can’t rest properly in those breeches.”
She stepped closer to unbutton the placket of his breeches, and she was so concerned for him that it was a moment before she realized what she was doing. Her fingers froze. Her hands hovered right over the swell of his manhood. She daren’t look up, but he seemed to have ceased breathing.
She had to leave him. Now more than ever after Julian’s revelations.
Determinedly she concentrated on his buttons and only his buttons. She eased the opened breeches off his hips, ignoring the sight of his smallclothes and what lay beneath. She nudged him to sit on the bed before pulling the breeches off.
She took a deep breath and glanced up at him. Despite his stubborn wish to rise, Gideon’s face was lined with exhaustion.
W
hich didn’t stop the tenting of his smallclothes.
She cleared her throat and looked away, fluffing up his pillows and helping him to sit back against the headboard.
Then she pulled the coverlet primly to his waist.
“There,” she said far too loudly.
His wide mouth twisted wryly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, drawing a chair up to the side of the bed and sitting. “I came to ask you if you intend to hurt my brother Julian.”
He looked at her a moment, his expression blank.
Then he raised a sardonic eyebrow. “No, I’m not going to hurt your brother. Either of them.”
The relief was overwhelming. Julian was wrong, but then he saw plots in every corner.
“Thank you.” Messalina smiled.
She reached for the small book she’d set down when she’d first come in the room.
He eyed the book with distaste. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t let his sour tone dissuade her. “I’m going to read to you.”
For the first time that morning his lips curved up. “Don’t I get a say in the title?”
“No.” She opened the book and found the first page and cleared her throat before reading. “The Life, Adventures, and Piracies of the Famous Captain Singleton, chapter one.”
As she began to read one of Daniel Defoe’s lesser-known works, she was very aware of Gideon’s eyes on her. Aurelia used to read like this to her whenever Messalina had been sick as a child, which had given her the idea for Gideon. But of course being read to by one’s sister was very different than reading to one’s…well, lover.
She tripped on a word and had to begin the sentence again.
Gideon was her lover. Had been her lover. Despite his betrayal and machinations, he had been, for a brief time, hers. Strange, but she’d never really thought about him in such a way.
He’d been hers and now he was not. She would leave him and travel far, far across the world from him. She’d never see him again, her erstwhile lover.
And she would never take another lover.
She knew that suddenly and completely—Gideon was the only man for her.
And yet it changed nothing.
She looked up on the thought and found that Gideon had fallen asleep.
Messalina marked the page with a hairpin and gently closed the book.
He was so rarely still. Gideon seemed constantly in motion, planning and plotting, but now his thick, black eyelashes lay quiescent against his tanned cheeks.
She could examine him to her heart’s content.
The right side of his forehead was mottled with green and blue bruises. Beneath, his eyebrows still reminded her of a demon, dark and manipulative, but she had a certain…fondness for that demon now. He was her demon, after all.
Then there was his mouth.
Dear God, the mere sight of that sinful mouth made something warm within her.
But his appeal was more than his outer surface. He was intent and driven. Proud and unstoppable. Funny sometimes, harsh other times.
A man who kept secrets and lied without blush.
A violent man.
A man she could love.
If only…
If only he knew how to love—how to love her. Everything would change then. She might forgive him his machinations—hard as that was—and remain married to him. They could lie in bed together, lazy and content. Argue over the dinner table. Visit the theater and discuss the oddities of acting and the audience. She could spend her life with him, this devious man, this St Giles fighter, and never be bored.
Never dissatisfied.
But that was not to be.
Messalina sighed and bent to brush a kiss over Gideon’s forehead. And if a tear fell there, too, she would not admit it.
Chapter Seventeen
So Bet lay with the redheaded man, and in the morning neither he nor the fox was there. She spent the day tidying the little cottage, wandering the clearing, picking berries, and peering nervously into the wood. When the light began to die, the fox emerged from the trees and joined her for the evening meal.
And then he changed into a man and took her to bed.…
—From Bet and the Fox
It was a full two days later before Gideon could rise from bed without incurring Messalina’s disapproving brow.
Or worse—her tears.
The sight of her eyes shimmering with unshed tears had twisted something inside him. He simply couldn’t stand it.
Gideon pushed aside the thought and stepped into his entry hall.
Only a footman stood by the front door. Some new man. Gideon didn’t know the footman’s name.
He turned to look up the stairs. Where was she? He’d sent word to Messalina to meet him here at half past one and it was exactly that.
Perhaps she wasn’t coming.
Despite their unsteady truce, despite her willingness to read him adventure tales, she still hadn’t forgiven him. Maybe she was only doing what she felt was right for an injured man.
Oddly she hadn’t demanded her money yet and he wasn’t about to bring up the subject.
He was just about to go to her rooms to find her when he heard the tap of her heels on the stairs.
Gideon turned.
Messalina was wearing her favorite color, a sort of deep pink that complemented her glossy black hair. She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve come to your summons. What is it about?”
Despite her demand, her eyes were alight with curiosity.
He shook his head as he held out his good arm. A lot rode on this—more, perhaps, than he could even acknowledge. He said gruffly, “We mustn’t be late.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Now you’re simply being maddeningly mysterious.”
“Come.” He led her outside to the carriage, which was already waiting. He helped her inside, settling on the squabs across from her.
She pursed her lips and looked him over. “Are you quite sure you feel up to a journey today?”
“I’m fine—as I told you yesterday and the day before,” he replied irritably and then took a deep breath, forcibly moderating his tone. “Besides, we aren’t going all that far.”
That only piqued her curiosity, and she started questioning him as the carriage drew away.
He watched her sparkling eyes, the curve of her lips, the animated way she spoke. What was he to do if this didn’t work? Before he’d married her, he would’ve been setting spies on Greycourt, repaying an attack with a greater one. He’d never been slow in his revenge and he never let his enemies win.
Messalina made him weak. He knew she made him weak—and he didn’t care.
If she only smiled at him again, he’d become as docile as a lamb.
It was not until an hour later, as the carriage drew up before a rather dingy warehouse in Southwark, that he had a twinge of doubt about their destination.
He glanced at Messalina as he handed her out. “I hope you’re not disappointed. I thought you might like this, but if you don’t, we can certainly go elsewhere. In fact—”
His words were brought to a halt by her finger on his lips.
“I think I need to see what’s inside before I decide if I like it or not, don’t you?” she asked softly.
He nodded stiffly. “Of course.”
She laid her hand on his arm and something inside him stretched in satisfaction. He escorted her up the steps and into the building.
They entered a vast room with a high ceiling and worn wooden floor. The place was nearly packed with gentlemen—and a few ladies—all wandering the room and examining the items on display.
Messalina glanced around. “What is this place?”
“An auction house,” Gideon replied, watching her face closely.
He realized he was nervous. The emotion was alien to him. He’d never felt nervous when he’d stepped into the fighting ring with bigger, older men. But here with Messalina with what felt like his life on the line…
He inhaled and said, “The late Earl of Milton was an avid collector—to excess. He near bankrupted the earldom. His nephew, the new earl, put up for auction everything that was not entailed or an heirloom of the family.” Gideon indicated the room. “What you see here is that auction.”
Messalina’s eyebrows rose as she looked again at the room curiously. “But there aren’t that many things here. Although”—she nodded to what looked like a Greek statue of a stag—“what I see is quite lovely.”
“These are only a few of the items to be auctioned,” Gideon replied, drawing her closer to the statue. He pulled a pamphlet from his coat pocket. “The rest are described in here.”
“Oh.” Messalina took the pamphlet just as a bell was rung.
The attendees turned to the front of the room.
Gideon drummed his fingers on his knee. He’d spent days in his bed planning this. He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t work.
A tall, thin man in a gray wig mounted a small platform and in a surprisingly loud voice announced the first item to be auctioned. Four men emerged from a side room carrying an ugly table topped with purple marble.
The auctioneer gave a brief description of the table, and the bidding began.
Messalina wore a careful expression. “Erm…were you interested in that?”
“No.” He raised incredulous eyebrows. “Try examining page five in there.” He tapped the pamphlet in her hand.
She bent her head to turn the pages and then began reading the listings. He watched and knew at once when she’d come to the pertinent one.
She grew very still.
He’d meant to be composed and silent. Not say a thing until she decided on her own. But he simply couldn’t wait.
He leaned over her. “Do you want it?”
She glanced up at him, her gray eyes shining like silver. “You know I do.”
Gideon felt his entire body lighten. She liked his surprise—his gift to her. He was close enough that were he to bend only a little farther—mere inches—he could kiss her.
He murmured in her ear, “I thought you might want the earl’s library, but I didn’t know for certain.”
“But you brought me here anyway.” She smiled.
He basked in that smile like a man seeing the sun after decades underground.
When a Rogue Meets His Match Page 27