“They are planning to declare her insane,” he said with disdain. “Which, as even you must know, is not hard to do in this country. The dowager has friends; important friends. It’s why we did our best not to stir trouble.”
Gideon tensed, his carefully constructed indifference crumbling, although he wouldn’t dare let it show. “Aye, and look what good that did.”
“Whether it worked or not is beside the point,” Mr. Smith hissed. “The fact is, the dowager is in talks at this very moment, hoping to convince a judge to condemn Elizabeth.”
A sickening feeling of dread rushed through him. Gideon shoved the worry away and hardened his heart, refusing to care, even as an image of her locked away in a prison much worse than his flashed to mind. They would torture her, and she would fade from existence, never to be seen again. Lost in the darkness.
“How is that my problem?” His voice came out rough. “If you think to gain my sympathy, try again.”
The words tasted bitter upon his tongue. He could no longer ignore his emotions. No, thanks to Elizabeth he had become human once more. Damn her. He didn’t want to care. Caring caused heartache and pain. Too much pain.
“Very well.” Mr. Smith downed the rest of his ale and slammed the cup onto the wooden surface, adding another scar. Anger and disgust practically oozed from the man. “If you don’t care about Elizabeth, then you may care about this. I’ve uncovered something interesting since my last visit.”
Gideon lifted his drink, ignoring the way his hand trembled. Oh, he feigned indifference, but his heart was racing in his chest. Did Mr. Smith know about his father’s demise? Damn it all, what did they want from him? Didn’t they understand that there was nothing he could offer? He was a murderer. A whore. Elizabeth would be worse off with him at her side.
“Your father—”
“Do not call him that.”
Mr. Smith sighed. “Very well. The man who sired you had actually married your mother. I found their signatures in Gretna Green.”
“Wonderful, I’m legitimate. Now I can have the life I truly deserve.” He stood, intending to leave, although where he would go, he hadn’t a clue. All he knew was that he had to get away…away from the secrets, the lies. Away from Mr. Smith and his honesty. Away from Elizabeth and her promise of hope.
“You knew,” Mr. Smith whispered. “But…but you used you mother’s maiden name.”
Gideon spun around to face the man, furious that he wouldn’t let him be. “Of course I bloody knew.” He gripped Mr. Smith’s collar and jerked him forward. “I don’t care. Get that through your thick skull.”
“Gideon,” Mr. Smith said gently. “Henry and Cally are bastards. That means the estate, the title…they’re yours.”
His heart slammed wildly in his chest, although on the outside his face remained void of emotion. Reality came crashing down. His. The entire estate was legally his. The money…his. The title…his. And Elizabeth…she could be his as well. He could have a home and a family. Why did the thought scare the hell out of him?
“To be honest,” the man said, glaring at him, “I wanted to bury the secret, but Elizabeth insisted on telling you the truth. She said she had kept enough from you.”
A tense silence stretched between them, the soft murmur of the other patrons and the crackle of the fire the only sound in the tavern.
“I don’t pretend to know what your life has been like,” Mr. Smith said, shoving Gideon’s hands away. “But I rather think we have a few things in common. Men like us…we don’t often get a chance for a family, a life, love. I know if I ever do, I will grasp it tight with both hands and fight to the death for that happiness.”
Gideon didn’t respond. Not since he was a child had he been so afraid. But here…now…he was terrified. He could have it all…Elizabeth, the children, a title, wealth. He could have it all, and perhaps a decade ago, he would have easily fit into the role of lord. But now…now he was merely a whore. And when the world found out, no title, no amount of money would be enough to save them.
When the silence between them lengthened, Mr. Smith sighed. “She asks that you merely allow them to live in the cottage in Wales.” Mr. Smith’s voice wavered in and out of focus, as if he spoke from far away. “It’s a tiny four-bedroom place, the least she deserves.”
“No.” Gideon’s voice came out louder than he’d intended.
Mr. Smith’s eyes went wide with surprise. Just as quickly his face flushed, those dark eyes narrowing in ager. “You bastard.” Mr. Smith surged forward, facing Gideon with vengeance in his gaze. “That money is hers! She made it, not that rotter Mr. Ashton. If it were up to me, I’d bury you before I’d let you toss them from the estate. I swear to God, if you let her rot, I will see you pay.”
The corners of Gideon’s lips lifted. Perhaps he didn’t have to be a lord. The entire world seemed to shift as he accepted the inevitable. Life. Hope. Elizabeth. It was all within reach. Aye, it would be dangerous and risky, but he wasn’t one to avoid a challenge. “Really, Mr. Smith, you’re quite dramatic.”
Gideon shouldered his way past him and started toward the door, the terror he’d felt fled as promise bloomed within. He didn’t give a shite about the title or the money. But there was one thing he wanted…
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Mr. Smith called after him.
“Home,” Gideon said. “I’m going home.”
Elizabeth sat in Mr. Ashton’s study feeling rather melancholy. The scent of her late husband still hovered in the air, even almost a year after his death. Cigars and the woodsy scent of his aftershave. It had always been a comforting scent, a fatherly scent, but now it only provoked sadness.
How often had she had sat curled in that very chair near the fireplace helping Mr. Ashton decide on investments. Investments that had been sadly lacking in attention since his death. Not that they didn’t have money. Oh, they had plenty of money. Well, up until yesterday they had been quite well off. Now that she had admitted the truth, that money belonged to Gideon. What would he do with his newfound knowledge? The suspense was driving her mad.
With a groan, she settled her feet onto the plush carpet. What had she done? She’d destroyed all possibilities of a future because she had trusted that Gideon was the knight in shining armor she so desperately needed him to be. She sniffled, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands as she stared at the empty hearth. No, she hadn’t destroyed everything. She had told Gideon about his true heritage, just as Mr. Ashton wanted. She had fulfilled her promise. If she and the children suffered because of it…
She sniffed back the sudden sting of tears. What would she do? Gideon might not be so forgiving, and truth be told he had every right to hate her. Blast it all, she hadn’t cried since Mr. Ashton’s death, and she wouldn’t now. She was determined to raise the children in a happy home. If her luck held out, they would reside in the country cottage. They could be happy there. As long as they had a roof over their heads and food upon the table. For too long she’d lived in this privileged world where she didn’t belong. It was time to accept her future.
The soft click of the door interrupted her musings. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see one of the servants. But the shadow was too tall and broad to be anyone but Gideon. Reality had come calling. Her heart slammed wildly inside her chest, her fingers tightening around the plush arms of her chair. Was it obvious her confidence was in jeopardy of fleeing? Oh, she pretended to be unconcerned, but inside she was near to panicking.
“We only saw my father a few times during my childhood.” He closed the door and stepped into the room like a mirage she had conjured out of desperation.
Elizabeth didn’t dare move, barely breathed, afraid if she made too much noise she would wake from the dream she seemed to be in. Was Gideon actually going to discuss his past with her? His footsteps were hesitant and unsure as he moved past her and toward the fireplace. The scent of wood smoke and rain whispered comfortingly around him. Altho
ugh his clothing was damp, he didn’t seem to notice. And although he was most likely there to toss her and the children from the estate, she still couldn’t deny the fact that she wanted to go to him, kiss him, tell him that all would be well.
He knelt by the hearth and started a fire, his movements slow, as if he had all the time in the world. Elizabeth settled back into her chair and watched the way his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, remembering the way she had run her hands over his back just the other day. Within moments, warm flames danced across the hearth, giving a cheery glow to the room, which hadn’t been occupied in months.
Finally, he stood. With his broad back to her, he braced his hands on the mantel. “Never once did he pay attention to me or my sister. He’d visit with my mother, then leave. Sometimes he’d give her money, sometimes he’d bring her a gift.”
He shifted so the soft glow of the fire highlighted his strong profile. “She was beautiful, my mother. Although at the time I hadn’t really noticed. When my father would be gone for months on end, my mother would use those looks to make money so we could survive.”
His mother had been a whore? How very ironic and sad. He pushed away and paced around her to the French doors. His hands trembled as he shoved aside the curtains and stared out into the evening. How desperately she wanted to comb back his damp locks. How she wanted to beg him to give them a chance at a happily ever after. When he leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest, he looked like he belonged here. A lord surveying his domain. Yes, he belonged here and he deserved the estate and title, but did she?
“One day I came home and he was beating her.” The words made her shiver, for they were as cold as his gaze. “She was beautiful, but not after that. He broke her nose. Her arm.”
Elizabeth’s stomach churned. “My God.”
“I told her to never allow him to enter our home again. But of course she had to because he was her husband, he owned her. But also because in her mad way she loved him.”
She flinched over the words, even as she felt the weight of their truth. A heavy cloak of dread fell over her shoulders. She knew how his mother must have felt. She had no real power here, no woman did. They were at the mercy of men, and although she had run this estate for the past year, she had no say. She never would.
“The second time I walked in on him beating her, I pushed him off. He hit me, broke my nose.”
The soft patter of rain on the windows was his only response. She felt ill, angry, helpless. She wanted to pull him close and offer him the comfort he’d never received as a child, but she knew he would never accept her compassion.
“He was irate. He started beating me.” He released a wry laugh. “I think I even fell unconscious for a moment. All I could do was grab a fireplace poker and hit him over the head with it. He died instantly.”
The horror of his childhood nearly brought her to tears. He continued to stare out into the dark, as if lost in the memory, lost in the prison of his past.
“My mother blamed me, said I’d hang for sure. I did the only thing I could; I got rid of the body, and then I ran.”
He thought he was a murderer. But when Elizabeth looked at him, she didn’t see the grown man he’d become but a scared boy with no one to help. A boy so full of pain and hopelessness that he had believed Lady Lavender and her lies. She searched her mind for the right words but knew nothing could erase his past. She could only give him hope for a future.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she finally stated, knowing her response was inadequate but desperately needing to help. Gideon was no murderer; he was a survivor. He was a hero. But even as she felt the words all the way to her soul, she knew he would never accept them.
He shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. “I wandered the slums for a couple days, searching for food, anything I could find to eat. A couple days later, when I was thoroughly desperate for nourishment, I was approached by a beautiful woman with lavender eyes who somehow knew my secret but promised to keep it as long as I worked for her.”
Elizabeth stiffened, her mind spinning. Lady Lavender had known about his father’s death, but how? More importantly, why had she cared? The woman wanted Gideon; that much was obvious, for she’d gone through desperate measures to not only get him but keep him. Once again she was aware that something deeper, more nefarious was flowing underneath this turbulent river that had become their life.
“A year later I found out my sister had killed herself. Poison. Lady Lavender had taken quite a delight in letting me know.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Her heart clenched in pain as she imagined what Gideon had gone through. No. It was too much. How desperately she wanted to jump from her chair, go to him, and tell him all would be well if he’d just accept and believe. The hungry need to soothe his soul gnawed at her conscience.
He didn’t say a word, but she knew he blamed himself for his sister’s death. Gideon was no murderer; he was an honorable man who took too much to heart. He was a bloody miracle when she’d so desperately needed one.
“When she was young, she would have moments of sadness. Nothing could cheer her up. She was terrified of my father. Something was wrong, but I was too bloody stupid to notice. Even when she’d tried to drown herself, I didn’t realize and when I left…” He shrugged. “Maybe she gave up.”
His sad story momentarily stunned her. Elizabeth’s fingers curled on her lap as she floundered for the right words to put his restless soul at ease. The silence that followed was depressing and dark. How she wished she could promise him a future of love and laughter, if only he’d believe. But she knew he had to let go of his past first.
He turned from the doors and strolled toward the empty chair across from hers. “That is my sad, pathetic story.” He projected a façade of indifference, but she knew better. She could see the unease in his gaze. He had given her his history, the entire truth that she could do with what she wished. He had trusted her. Even as the sadness of his tale weighed heavily upon her shoulders, a surge of warmth rushed through her.
“When I realized what Lady Lavender truly wanted from me, I tried to escape. Her men captured me every bloody time. They’d beat me worse than my father had.” He smiled a wry smile that broke her heart. “Until I got too big for them.”
How she wanted to kill the woman. How she wanted to take a mount that very moment to Lavender Hills and call her out. She was supposed to be a maid. Cally and Henry both should have died. Gideon wasn’t supposed to inherit. But she wasn’t a maid. The children were well. Gideon was here. Fates be damned. Lady Lavender could go to hell.
“She said if I ever left, she would tell the world about my secret.”
And so he stayed. And even now he wouldn’t leave Lady Lavender because he didn’t want to go to Newgate, and more importantly, he didn’t want to bring shame to this household. “I’m so sorry, Gideon.”
His gaze flickered briefly to her. “I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me but so you can understand why I can’t possibly marry you.”
Elizabeth could no longer resist. She stood and moved to his side, resting her hands on his thigh as she knelt beside him, offering what little comfort he would allow. “She won’t tell.”
He covered his face with his right hand. Tired, he seemed so very tired.
“You can’t know that,” he whispered, desperation lacing his voice. “You don’t know her like I do.”
She smoothed her fingers over the fine material of his trousers, stroking his muscled thigh. So very strong, yet he seemed so lost now. “I know more about Lady Lavender than you realize.”
His hand dropped to his lap, his gaze wary. “What do you mean?”
“You aren’t the only one with secrets.” Elizabeth had to remind herself that with every secret uncovered, her life felt lighter. But with Gideon watching her with distrust in his steel eyes, she found it hard to admit she had been keeping something else from him. She swallowed
hard and shifted her gaze to the fire, nervous once more.
“Mr. Smith uncovered the truth about your Lady Lavender.” Elizabeth returned her attention to him but could read nothing in his eyes. “We all have secrets, we all have a past, and it seems that she is no different. The woman is actually from France. She was the youngest daughter of a baron.”
He blinked those thick, dark lashes, the only sign of his surprise. “And you threatened to divulge her true identity if she didn’t allow me to leave?”
Elizabeth nodded, wondering what he thought. Had she come this far, only to lose him now? “We needed you here.”
He was silent for one long moment. She couldn’t read his expression, and the suspense nearly did her in. She couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. The children needed him. The estate needed him. She…needed him.
“When did you plan to tell me the truth?” he finally asked.
“After we married.”
His jaw clenched, and she started to draw back. But just as soon as the anger had appeared in his hard gaze, it faded. Gideon sighed. Those beautiful eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and his mouth grim with strain. “It doesn’t matter, Elizabeth. Just think about what will happen if word gets out as to who I truly am. It will destroy you. It will destroy the children. You’re better off marrying your Mr. Smith.”
He stood and brushed past her, pacing away from the light of the fireplace and toward the shadows of the bookcases. Elizabeth stumbled to her feet, desperate for him to believe. “No. I trust you with the children. Being married to you will only help. Don’t you see that?”
Even she could hear the panic in her voice. But the thought of him walking away made her pulse race with fear. Didn’t he understand she couldn’t do this alone? She needed him. She needed his bravery, his loyalty, his strength.
He paused in the shadows where she couldn’t read his features. “And what sort of husband would I make? I’m a whore. A murderer.”
Her heart ached for the man. “You were a young lad who did what he had to do to survive and save his mother. The only thing he could do. You are not that lad any longer, Gideon. And you are not that cold-blooded killer you have labeled yourself to be. You never were. You let that…that woman define who you are. You let your past decide your future. But I know the real you.” She started toward him, praying he would listen and hoping he would stay. “And you…you know who you really are. Deep down, you know you’re not a murderer. You’re merely a man in need of a home, a life, a family. In need of hope.”
Lori Brighton - [The Seduction 02] Page 22
