Rising to her tiptoes again, Gideon’s lips met hers in the dark, and their mouths moved in a rhythmic rightness that always seemed present when she and the viscount were together.
It was rather advantageous she’d fallen in love with a man her family not only approved of, but whom society also held in high regard; although, even if Gideon were the son of a tailor, Sybil would love him still.
He broke away from her. “Now, hurry home.”
With a final laugh and smile for her soon-to-be betrothed, Sybil turned and ran to the waiting hack, climbing back up without any assistance.
“Hanover Square, please,” she called after taking her seat. She would do all in her power to remain safe—and that meant risking being sighted when the driver deposited her before her brother’s townhouse. “Dering Street.”
As they pulled away from Gideon’s drive, she glanced over her shoulder. A groom had come from the stables and was nodding vigorously in response to whatever the viscount said.
Something was amiss. Sybil was certain of it, even if Gideon thought her concerns were eased.
“Pull over here,” she called, her voice rising above the clop of the mare’s hooves and the creaking of the hack wheels. When the driver did not immediately heed her command, she yelled. “Stop. Here. Please. Stop now.”
Relenting, the driver pulled up on the reins.
Sybil turned to face Gideon’s drive, the neighboring properties now blocking his house from view.
“Miss,” the driver said, not bothering to hide his irritation. “It be late.”
“Do shush.” Sybil held her finger to her lips. “Only a few more moments, I promise.”
If the late-night visitor had only come about a business matter, he would leave in quick order, allowing Gideon to find his bed. The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes as the night wind howled down the street, trapped between the rows of townhouses on both sides.
The driver passed the reins from hand to hand, and the resounding jingle was nearly masked by the wind.
Sybil kept her eyes trained on the drive a few houses back.
Finally, the sound of hooves rang out once more on the cobbled ground as not one but two horses raced from Gideon’s driveway and headed in the opposite direction of her stalled carriage.
One was the lone horseman from before, but the other…
Sybil’s breath stuck in her throat, her lungs burning as she attempted to swallow.
The ebony horse accompanying the other rider was Goliath, Lord Galway’s prized stallion.
She was helpless to do aught but watch the pair ride off into the night.
Chapter 1
20 March 1816
My fair readers! It is with abundant relief that I am the first to inform you of the latest on dit. Spread the news far and wide, I beg of you. Viscount Galway has returned—alive, unscathed, and unwed. If you will remember, Lord Galway was all but betrothed to Lady Sybil Anson when he mysteriously disappeared. Alas, he has returned. Though I dare say he will now be called upon to answer my questions, be he a thief, pirate, in financial ruin, or simply a runaway bridegroom. This author awaits the viscount’s reasons for abandoning the fair Lady Sybil in such a deplorable manner.
~ Lady X
London, England
March 1816
Gideon, Viscount Galway, slipped through the crowd in the entrance, handing his coat to a manservant before using a group of matrons with atrocious headgear as a shield to enter the Lichfield ballroom—and by the Graces above, avoiding the receiving line. This included the Lord and Lady in residence. The evening was proving uncomfortable enough as it was without coming face-to-face with Lichfield. Gideon’s breeches were too tight, and his cravat had been tied so elaborately that his chin had no other choice but to tilt up an inch, making it necessary to stare down his nose at every person he passed as he skirted the fringes of the room.
He hadn’t been required to adhere to London fashion for over a year. Nearly fourteen months outfitted in sack breeches and tunic shirts the likes of which were guaranteed to gain no notice from those around him, yet were vital to survival at sea or dodging men who hunted him as he traveled through rural Scotland and England. He needed, above all, to remain invisible while in plain sight. He’d allowed his hair and facial stubble to grow for months until he no longer recognized his own countenance when he happened by a looking glass.
How were the bounty hunters to locate Gideon if he could not spot himself?
Constricting breeches, fresh, white linen shirt, and precisely executed cravat—all the fancy trimmings of a proper lord. In all his time away from London, Gideon never had time to miss such formal attire.
And now he found it highly bothersome.
Peculiarly, he was no longer the highly revered and respected Viscount Galway, but the itinerant stumblebum who kept to the shadows by the docks, who asked outlandish questions at the alehouses, and the nomad known to stow away on any ship leaving port.
Shouts of good cheer and celebration sounded behind Gideon, causing him to flinch and duck his head before the action restricted his breathing. He must keep moving. No one gave him any notice as he searched the room. Easily, he spotted Lord and Lady Lichfield as they departed the receiving line and accepted flutes of sherry from a passing servant. Wisely, he kept in the direction that had him moving opposite of his host and hostess.
Rumors of Lady Lichfield’s talents for clairvoyance, while not known about London, had been spoken of in hushed whispers between he and Lord Lichfield’s younger sister.
He was not yet prepared to make his return known to Sybil’s elder brother—nor his wife.
First, Gideon needed to speak with Sybil.
Bloody hell, at this point, he’d be satisfied to lay eyes upon her across a damned ballroom. He’d suffered every day—no, every hour—he was separated from her. His heart had broken when he rode away from London with Giles, bound for the port in Edinburgh…their destination unknown at that point. It was still a fog of painful memories even now.
Gideon reminded himself that he’d had no choice.
Nor had his promise to Sybil come with the expectation of breaking his pledge.
He’d loved Lady Sybil from the moment they met over two years before.
He still loved her with everything within him.
Yet, he couldn’t neglect his responsibilities. The promises he’d made long before they fell in love and pledged to spend their futures together.
This night would give Gideon the assurance that the words spoken all those months ago still held true. That even after all this time—through their separation, and his disappearance—Sybil’s love for him had not changed.
One fact remained: his affection for Sybil had not waned. Not in the least bit. In fact, it had only grown stronger with time and distance. No matter the oceans that separated them, regardless of the land between them, despite the silence Gideon had lived in for the last year…he loved Sybil.
With time to explain, at least what he could at this juncture, Gideon was certain Sybil would understand and forgive his absence.
There was no other outcome Gideon could foresee.
A passing couple strolled by, the gentleman leaning in to whisper something to the finely dressed lady on his arm before their eyes narrowed on him. Averting his gaze, Gideon continued past the pair, risking a glance over his shoulder to see that both had turned to stare in his wake.
He’d heard the rumors. Giles and Charles had all but crowed with mirth at the outlandish tidbits reported by Lady X on her gossip sheet. It was one of the rare things that brought a sense of normalcy to the trio—an indulgent, insipid, haughty woman’s senseless ramblings in London’s gossip rags—as they moved about the land, avoiding the men who hunted them. According to Lady X, Gideon had been a pirate, a highwayman, in debtor’s prison, and even living with a Cheapside actress during his year of absence.
It was preposterous, insulting, and so far from any truth that Gideon couldn’t he
lp but admire Lady X’s ability to keep society’s attention away from the actual matter at hand.
There were days—and long, frigid nights—where Gideon would have given anything to be back in London, even in the dangerous area of Cheapside.
Gideon stepped back until his shoulder blades pressed into the ballroom wall and he searched the milling crowd for her familiar, dark brown tresses—not ebony like the rest of her family’s. He listened for her light laughter—not the deep, gruff chuckle of her siblings. He kept his other senses tuned to her scent: lemon and a fresh, country breeze—not the perfumed acidic aroma that most of London preferred.
Lady Sybil Anson was here, and Gideon would find her.
Finally, her familiar crown of cocoa locks came into view, and his heart swelled, his chest tightening until he thought no breath would pass his lips again until he stood before her, his arms around her, and Gideon was confident that she was safe.
Lady Sybil spoke with a matronly lady, the elder woman’s chin bobbing up and down as she seemingly agreed with whatever Sybil was saying, affording Gideon a clear profile view of Sybil’s enchanting smile. If the woman’s head moved any more erratically, her hat—complete with plumage and feathers—would be thrown to the floor and trampled.
As if Sybil sensed she was being watched, her lips pressed together into a firm line, ending her conversation with the matron. The elder woman took her cue and moved on, leaving Sybil alone as her eyes grazed the ballroom. She didn’t spot Gideon immediately. No, the moments passed with agonizing slowness until Sybil’s brown eyes met Gideon’s gray stare.
Her back stiffened, and her glare narrowed on him before the lovely pink in her cheeks drained—leaving her pale and almost sickly looking.
Anyone who noted her stark white complexion would have assumed that Lady Sybil had seen a ghost.
In many ways, that was true.
As the seconds passed, her questioning expression turned to surprise as the grim set of her mouth changed to a startled O and her eyes widened. Just as quickly, the shock left her, and her entire body hardened. Anger flared in her eyes, and the muscles bracketing her mouth tensed.
She was utterly captivating...and Gideon could not fathom how the music and dancing continued around them, groups and pairs moving about the room, oblivious to Sybil and him, not a single person affected by the wonder that was the woman Gideon loved.
Soon, they would gain someone’s attention, and word would spread of Gideon’s arrival in town. He couldn’t stop the gossip, but he needed a few more days before all of London became abuzz with the news.
Unease settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach when Sybil’s arms crossed over her chest, no doubt wrinkling the expensive silk of her bodice. Her cheeks flamed scarlet.
She had every right to be angry—furious, really—with him. He’d disappeared on the eve before their betrothal contracts were to be signed and had left nothing but a vague note. He hadn’t reached out to her since he left London. He could tell himself he did so to keep her safe, to avoid jeopardizing her well-being, and to give the men hunting him no reason to turn their focus on her, but Gideon had badgered himself every day for not finding a way to return to her sooner.
And he wasn’t safe yet. Charles was still considered a deserter. And Gideon was responsible for abducting the man from the British Navy ship setting sail for the new world. There were bounty hunters searching for both of them, and he’d rather perish than have them discover his connection to Lady Sybil.
Gideon cocked his head toward the terrace doors, but Sybil shook her head in refusal. His chest fell, and his exhaustion nearly overtook him. She didn’t want to see him, wished not to speak with him. He’d risked coming to the Lichfield townhouse for nothing.
Blessedly, she tilted her head and indicated a door nearly hidden from sight by a tall, robust palm. When he nodded curtly, she turned and moved toward the exit. She hadn’t said no to his unvoiced request to speak with her, Gideon realized. This was her home, and she knew the precise places for them to talk privately…which wasn’t the crowded terrace.
Gideon was helpless to watch her—the sway of her hips, the bounce of her hair as it trailed down her back, and the way a man stepped into her path, halting her progress.
Gideon’s entire body tensed, and he stalled himself from moving directly through the throng of dancers to Sybil’s side, slipping her arm through his, and guiding her from the room…and away from the lord blocking her exit.
Splotches of color invaded his vision as he allowed the anger to thunder inside him.
It was the only place he would allow his fury to show itself.
He’d been away from London for over a year with no explanation. Many thought him dead—or at least never to return. Why would Sybil not also listen to the gossip about town? Blaming her for his actions was unthinkable. She was an innocent in everything.
Even now, Gideon knew that his reasons for seeking her out were selfish.
Sybil patted the man’s arm, nodded, and continued on toward the door.
And just as quickly, Gideon forgot about the lord—the way he’d leaned in toward Sybil during their brief conversation, the way he’d smiled down at her, and the familiarity of Sybil’s fingers upon the lord’s sleeve.
Instead, he pivoted, spotting another door, nearly invisible, about five paces away.
Gideon had wished for this day, dreamed of this very moment for over a year.
Soon, Sybil would be back in his arms, and all would be right again.
Sure, Charles was still a hunted man. And Gideon would continue to be responsible for stealing an impressed man from a British Navy ship—the bounty looming over both their heads not going away anytime soon.
But Gideon would have Sybil once more. She would know he loved her and hadn’t forsaken her. Yet, he feared that her heart had strayed, and that Sybil could no longer pledge her entire self to him.
Chapter 2
22 February 1815
It appears that Viscount Galway has cried off, leaving Lady Sybil unattached once more. One can only assume the viscount saw the error of his ways with connecting his family, and good name, to a young woman of dubious upbringing.
~ Lady X
Sybil’s body quivered, threatening to collapse beneath her at the mere thought of Gideon…back in London. Alive. Unharmed. Whole. Tangible. Things she’d begged, pleaded, and prayed for all these months.
Glancing over her shoulder, she made certain the Duke of Garwood wasn’t trailing her as she slipped from the ballroom into the darkened corridor. The hallway was on the far side of the house, nowhere near the retiring rooms or the foyer, meaning she and Gideon would be afforded the necessary privacy for their talk—for her to berate him properly. That was after she ran her hands up and down his arms, trailed her fingers along his jaw, and pressed her body against his—all to confirm that her eyes were not deceiving her.
He was real, and he was in her family’s townhouse.
Pain shot from her hands and up her arms as her nails bit through the thin silk of her gloves and into her palms. Sybil halted, taking a deep breath, but the air stuck in her lungs, refusing to leave.
Gideon, the Viscount Galway, had returned.
It had been over a year. Countless nights spent crying herself to sleep until her brother, Silas, threatened to send her back to France to live with their mother. Endless months of gossip at her expense. And Gideon thought he could just waltz into her family’s home—during Sybil’s sister-in-law’s birthday celebration, no less—and catch her gaze from across the room?
When her stare met his, Sybil’s heart had seized in her chest, the room had turned scalding hot, and, as the seconds ticked by without the image of him evaporating like a mirage in the African desert, a soul-deep chill had settled upon her. Sybil wanted to allow the elation of seeing him to overtake her, surround her, and insolate her. She wanted nothing more than to beat a hasty path through the room and throw herself into his arms. Her need to touc
h him, speak to him, and smell him was so strong, she’d nearly thrown caution to the wind and run to Gideon, the London gossips, scandal, and the past be damned.
Everything and everyone could go to the bloody devil.
Only Gideon mattered.
And he was safe. He had returned to her.
But then the duke had chosen that moment to step into her path, cutting off her escape.
The Duke of Garwood. Odd that His Grace had set about courting Sybil over the previous Christmastide season, yet she still did not know the man’s given name, nor was she overly concerned with deepening their attachment. Certainly, he was a most dashing man. A wealthy, connected lord. A proper businessman whose staid manner extended into his courtship of Sybil. There were no late-night rendezvous outside his townhouse, no stolen kisses in his opera box, no inviting banter that left Sybil shivering with pent-up passion and lust. Her stomach had never fluttered at the sight of him, nor had her knees threatened to give way when they were close.
But the duke was available and willing, and they’d all but announced their plans to become betrothed.
With Gideon gone, Sybil hadn’t cared overmuch whom she wed, or if she ever did for that matter.
The duke had been easy enough to sidestep in the ballroom.
But not as easily forgotten here in the abandoned hallway.
The thought only increased her irritation at Gideon—and his foolish timing.
Damnation. Until a few moments ago, she’d convinced herself that he was dead, for what other reason could there be for his absence? For him staying away from her so long.
Sybil had been a fool. She’d pined for Gideon all this time. Had written countless letters, sending them anywhere she thought he could possibly be: his townhouse, his manor home by the Scottish border. She’d been so desperate, so broken, so crestfallen she’d even enquired at the London residence of the Galway solicitor. No responses ever came from his homes, and his solicitor had claimed ignorance. He stated he hadn’t heard from the viscount either. Yet, no one came forward to claim Gideon’s title. The process of proving her love deceased hadn’t been brought before the courts.
The Lady Loves A Scandal_Regency Novella Page 2
