However, if the steward knew the truth of those words, Gibson would never discover it. For at the precise moment that the steward made to turn back to his captive, a well-placed bullet, fired from a rifle held firmly by the Earl of Evanston, pierced Overton's heart.
As the man fell to the carpet gasping his last breath, Gibson did not turn to the man who, in any other circumstance would have received immediate medical attention from the only physician in the room. Instead, he pulled Amy to him and out of harm's way. Then, in front of her entire family, heedless of being seen, he kissed her as if his life depended on it. For now he knew that it did.
"That was a marvelous bit of acting, Doctor. Perhaps you should be on the stage." Gibson tried to accept the compliment from the Earl of Evanston in the spirit in which it had been given. If only he knew what that spirit was.
He settled for it being genuine, given everything that had transpired the last few hours. "Thank you, my lord." He offered a bow in return. "But I have a career that I enjoy. To truth, another man would have done no less. All I wanted was to ensure your daughter's safety." Gibson stole a glance to where Amy was seated with her mother, still shaking a bit from her encounter with Overton. "I could not stand to see her harmed. I would give my life to keep her safe, as I think you already know."
"She is safe now, thanks to you." The Earl stroked his beard, the one that Gibson had no doubt would be shaved off before the day was finished, especially considering how unfashionable and thoroughly matted it was. "We are all in your debt."
Gibson shook his head. "You are not. As I said, I..."
"Yes, I remember what you said." The earl eyed him carefully for a moment. "You would give your life for her. Do not think that I missed that the first time. Out of everything that you said, that part was not a lie. You care for her a great deal."
Around them, Bow Street Runners moved quickly and efficiently, cleaning up the mess and taking notes. There would be no inquest, of course. The Earl of Evanston had shot a man trying to harm his family, and in his own home, no less. Gibson's presence would be noted, of course, but then, as the physician attending the countess each morning, his presence in the home was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. Most of the Runners acknowledged him with a small nod, indicating that they, too, knew he was not truly part of their world. Nor was he part of the noble class. Not any longer. He was somewhere in the middle. It was time to stop pretending otherwise.
"I do. I love her with all that I am." Gibson was not about to lie regarding his feelings for Amy. Not again. "But I also accept that much stands between us. She is of noble blood, a member of society. Not to mention distantly in line for the throne. For all that I have pretended these last few weeks, I am not one of you and never will be, despite the circumstances of my birth."
The earl seemed to consider that. "You were, though. Once. You were born to noble parents, just as my daughter was. Do not discount your own bloodlines, Doctor." He paused and stroked his beard for a moment. "You could have been again if you had chosen that path. You had a favor to call in with Prinny, did you not?"
How much did this man know about what went on at Carlton House, and what service exactly did he perform for the crown? Gibson wasn't certain that he wanted to know. "I did. But the one thing I wanted, he could not give. It was not within his power. So I did not ask." His glance strayed to Amy once more. "When I did ask for my favor, it was to save her life. That is, in the end, all I could ever want - her continued health and happiness."
"Yet you did not confess your love to her when you had the chance."
Gibson prayed that the earl was referring to the moment immediately after Overton had been shot and Amy had collapsed into his arms, huddling there while he stroked her hair and whispered soft words of comfort. They had stayed like that for minutes and then longer, Amy clinging to Gibson as Prinny's personal guard, followed closely by the Runners, had descended upon Cheltenham House in a too-late rescue attempt.
It wasn't until statements needed to be made that Amy had somehow managed to pry herself away from him and once more adopt the "lady of the manor" mask that she used to protect herself when she was feeling her most vulnerable. Gibson knew her well enough to realize that the morning's events had shaken her to her core, and it would be some time before she returned to her old self. If she ever did, for the events of the day might well irrevocably change her. Still, she was strong, stronger than any woman he had ever known, and he had no doubt that she would not let this incident destroy her.
Finally, Gibson took one last look at Amy before turning back to her father. "I hurt her. Badly. In her mind, I meant everything that I said back there when we were facing down Overton. She does not know those words were all lies." Most of those words had been lies, anyway. There was definite truth in some of them.
The earl made a rude noise. "Pish. She knows you were acting this morning. That you didn't mean those things. If she does believe that nonsense, she will realize the truth of things once she comes back to herself."
"Before," Gibson corrected gently. "Once before, she said that she loved me. I did not tell her that I loved her in return." He didn't think he needed to say why he had not spoken those words she had longed to hear. The earl was an intelligent man. Certainly, he knew and had his own objections to Amy's involvement with the son of a traitor. There was no possible way the earl would approve of a marriage between them, no matter what he had intimated earlier. It was foolish to even hope.
"Then you are a fool." Gibson was shocked at Evanston's words. "She loves you, and it's clear to me that you love her."
"But I am poor, at least by comparison. And from a family of disgrace." Did the earl truly want Gibson to say the words aloud? To admit to his family's shame? If so, he would. He would do anything for Amy. "My father was a traitor. He was executed. Those are sins that cannot be forgiven. Not by society. Not by anyone."
Evanston snorted in disbelief. "Do you think that matters to her?"
"It should to you, at least." Why was the man making this so difficult? Gibson had been under the impression that the earl liked him, at least a little.
"For an intelligent man, a physician no less, you are incredibly thick-headed." The earl rose with a sigh. "My daughter loves you. In fact, you are, as far as I know, the only man she has ever loved. Or probably ever will." He looked over at where Marcus had joined his sister and mother on the settee. "In case you hadn't noticed, Dr. Blackwell, my family, for all of our noble blood, is not the most conventional. What matters to others does not matter to us."
Except that it still mattered to Gibson. A great deal. And he could not get around that, no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to do otherwise. It had been a lesson ingrained in him since birth and there was no escaping it. He only wanted what was best for Amy. He could not and would not tie her to him and expect her to accept a lifetime of shame and exclusion from the ton. He would not force her to make that sacrifice. She deserved better than him. She always had.
Chapter Sixteen
Society Tales
On any other morning, the announcement of an extremely eligible duke, as well as an eminently available earl, both newly returned to town as of yesterday, would be cause for celebration, particularly among the female members of society. Even if the rumor is true that at least one of them already has his heart engaged elsewhere. However on this particular morning, the extremely scandalous events that took place yesterday at the Mayfair home of the Earl and Countess of E. has captured the imagination of all society.
I imagine that all of us feel a certain degree of security with our servants and retainers. If they were not trusted they would not be in our employ, would they? To think that any among them would wish us dead is more than chilling. It is, quite simply, terrifying.
However, as is always the case with the human condition, heroes emerge even in the darkest of times. This author has it on good authority, in this case directly from Bow Street itself, that the handsome and dashing
Dr. G.B. was present at the home attending the countess, as is normal for most mornings as she recovers her health, at the precise time of the incident. It was through the noble doctor's heroic and selfless efforts that the earl, recently arrived home from abroad, was able to subdue the intruder before harm could befall anyone. Other than the man who would have absconded with Lady A., of course, which would have been a veritable tragedy as she is truly a paragon of society for all to look up to and emulate. No, this author believes that the intruder received precisely the punishment that he deserved.
- Lady X
Gibson tossed his morning copy of Society Tales down on the table beside his chair and rubbed his still-tired eyes. It had been a long day yesterday, and having to read Caroline's breathless and somewhat diluted account of the event wasn't exactly how he wanted to start the current day. Then again, he knew that a salacious bit of gossip was worth quite a bit to her. The events that had taken place at Cheltenham House were worth their weight in gold coin. Which was why he had made certain that she received exclusive information about the entire incident.
Despite how his friend had painted him, however, he wasn't a hero. Far from it. And each moment that passed, Gibson hated himself a little more for his actions the previous day. Yes, he had provided the diversion, but at the expense of Amy's emotions. If only the ton knew the truth, but they never would. Caroline had made certain of that, and she was far more effective at her job than a legion of military men. So was the earl, though in a decidedly different way.
It had taken Gibson another hour to leave after he had concluded his conversation with the earl. That hadn't been his intention, certainly, but each time he made to leave, another one of the Runners had an additional question for him, or he worried that Amy or quite possibly Thea would break under the pressure and need a physician. Neither of them had looked particularly well at times.
In fact, it had been the stress of dealing with Michaels that had brought about the countess' apoplexy in the first place.
Though she had not known of Michaels' relation to Thomas Overton, she had found Michaels difficult to work with at best and outright contentious at worst. She had quickly suspected that he had dishonorable intentions, given his seemingly endless hatred towards the family, but she had not guessed at how deeply it ran. Nor had she suspected that he was out to harm Amy. At worst, Thea had assumed that he was stealing from the Evanston coffers, perhaps even leveraging the family name in some way. Kidnapping and eventually murdering her daughter hadn't even entered the countess' mind. Why should it? That was simply absurd.
Except that it hadn't been to Michaels, and, among the papers he had left behind was a journal detailing his growing hatred for the Cheltenham family, and Amy in particular. He was the one who had repeatedly encouraged Lord Drake to continue his pursuit of Amy, saying that she was simply frigid and playing hard to get. He had also convinced Drake that all Amy needed was a good, strong man to keep her in line, and that eventually she would be willing to do whatever he demanded of her - including sexually. That had been more than enough incentive to get the young lord to take the bait and continue his unwanted pursuit.
Michaels had also followed Amy many times while she was out, particularly when she was in Gibson's company, including the night she had come to his home and they had made love. Yet, oddly enough, the journal did not indicate that Michaels suspected Gibson of anything other than the role he had been playing - that of physician and paid escort who wished to bed a beautiful daughter of society.
Gibson supposed that he should be grateful for that, at least. It meant that he played his part well enough to fool even the madmen of society. Then he remembered the way Amy's family had looked at him the previous morning, and he remembered that they knew the truth. They also knew that Amy had already shared Gibson's bed, though they had been polite enough not to mention it.
That was the very reason he had departed the townhome in Mayfair yesterday before speaking to anyone else. Despite his attempts to be otherwise, at heart, there was a part of him that was very much like his father. Gibson was, in some ways, a coward. He did not want to face the family that had been so good to him, not to mention so trusting. He did not want to face their censure when they inevitably confronted him about deflowering their beloved daughter and sister.
More than that, he didn't want to face Amy. He had said horrible things in the morning room, and while he hoped that she knew he had only been playing a role, donning just one more mask in a series of them, he wasn't certain. What if she thought he had been revealing his true feelings? What if he had lost her love? Not that it mattered in the end, he supposed, for he still could not have her. On the other hand, it would have been nice to know that she still cared for him, even a little.
He should have simply taken her aside and spoken with her. She would have understood. But what if she hadn't? What if she had looked at him with those same hurt-filled eyes and announced that he had wounded her greatly, to the point where he could not undo the damage? That, he knew, he would not have been able to tolerate.
So, like the coward that he essentially was, he had left. It was easier this way, really. Best for all. Especially Amy. She was better off without him. Now she had a chance to make a real marriage with a respectable man of society, one who would love her no matter what. There had to be a man out there like that, just waiting for her. Gibson was certain of it.
A knock at the door roused him from his chair, interrupting his sour mood. He didn't want to answer it, but knew he had to on the off chance that it might be one of Prinny's men. Gibson had cashed in his coin, unnecessary as it had been in the end. He had no more favors left to beg from the crown. That included putting off the man who essentially paid his salary.
A cloaked figure stood in the doorway, garbed in rough brown wool and backlit by the sun. Unable to make out any features, he ushered the person inside, deciding that even though he was at less than his best at the moment, he could easily subdue the person if they turned out to be an attacker. Not that he was expecting someone to do him harm. Then again, after yesterday, he could not discount any possibility, however fanciful.
Once inside, he stood looking at the figure, waiting for the person to speak. Unlike the night Amy had come to him in a fine cloak made of crushed velvet, something he had not recognized at the time, this was a poor man's cloak. There would be no such pleasant surprises today.
"I didn't expect to find you wallowing in pity. It is really not becoming for a man like you, Gibson. Honestly, it isn't." The person beneath the cloak spoke softly, and the figure pushed its hood back to reveal a gleaming tangle of golden curls.
Amy. His heart lurched in his chest, overjoyed to see her and wondering at the same time what he had done to deserve such good fortune. Then, he remembered the reality of their situation.
"You should not be here." He reached out to pull her hood back up, preparing to send her out the door again into the morning light, but she batted his hand away in annoyance. "If anyone finds out..."
"They will force us to marry." She waved a hand in the air and confounded him further by stripping away her cloak to reveal that damnable scarlet silk gown, the one that twinkled with the light of a thousand stars and made her look like a goddess. The same one that she had worn the very night she had seduced and bewitched him. "Yes, yes, I know. Horrible thought, isn't it? To be forced to marry a woman like me. One that has invited so many men to her bed that she herself has lost count."
Gibson glared at Amy, though he did not toss her out. He was far too glad to see her for that, not to mention that it would create a far greater scandal than their association had already. "That is not what I meant, and you well know it." Then he looked away. "And you know bloody well that I never held that incident with Overton against you. I told you that it wasn't your fault. I meant it. I would not lie about something like that."
Amy simply stood there looking at Gibson, her large blue eyes both sad and hopeful at the same time. He ache
d to simply touch her. More than anything, he longed to take her in his arms and shower her with kisses to make up for his hard words of the previous day. She smelled so delicious, like lemons and lavender, and he ached to take her as he had that one magical night. His body hardened at the mere thought of her naked form lying next to his. Then again, he had no right.
Stalking over to his chair, he sat down, afraid that if he stood too close to her, he would weaken. "You should go, my lady. It is not right that you are here." He looked away so that she would not see the lie in his eyes. "We are done. There is nothing more to say." They were once more back to where they had been a fortnight ago. Distant. Frigid. So very far apart.
Undeterred, Amy moved to stand in front of him, unwilling to let Gibson shut her out. There was one last fight left in her, and she would have it. She had not risked her life for this man only to be pushed aside because he was too fearful to admit his own feelings.
"Oh, there is plenty more to say, and I will not leave here until the words are spoken. You might be done, but I am not." She regarded him thoughtfully. This was not the Gibson she knew. This was the little boy so betrayed by his father that he did not know how to fight back. Well she knew him better than anyone, and she would fight on his behalf. Someone had to, and she doubted that before her, anyone had. He deserved better.
She also needed to convince him that he should let go of this irrational idea he clung to that he was not worthy of her. That might be trickier that she had imagined, perhaps even impossible to surmount. Still, she was determined to try. This time, she had come to his door armed with a plan.
"I was angry yesterday. Wounded beyond pain, really. To think that the man I loved would say such horrible things about me." Amy crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at him for a moment.
She had been hurt. With each word Gibson had spoken, she had felt demeaned and used, like a doxy a man picked up for a night of fun and nothing more. She had doubted not only his love, but hers as well. How could she care for a man who said such cruel things? What had happened to the man she loved? Where had her Gibson Blackwell gone?
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