Far Beyond Scandalous (9 page)

Amy wasn't certain she liked the
way he allied himself with Michaels in that moment.
 
It smacked of deceit, since she knew full well that Gibson was of
aristocratic blood himself.
 
Then again,
he was doing what was necessary.
 
He was
playing a role, just as she did every day of her life.
 
She needed to remember that and do the same.

"That we do."
 
Michaels' gaze focused on Amy for a moment,
and she felt herself blush.
 
She did not
like the way he looked at her and never had.
 
She wished she could simply toss him out, but then, she would truly be
stuck.
 
"No matter how odd or
distasteful we might find it."
 
Then, he turned away, and she could breathe again.
 
She was not normally a shy or retiring
woman, but there was just something about that man that unnerved her.
 
She supposed that it was because he reminded
her of someone else that she preferred not to think about.

Amy could not allow Gibson to see
her discomfort, however.
 
Knowing him,
the moment Michaels departed, he would poke and pry in his best medical
capacity, and she would, most likely, give in.
 
He did not need to know the source of her fear.
 
Not yet.
 
Most likely not ever.

Then the men were saying their
final farewells, and Towson was there to see Michaels out, followed closely by
a maid bearing a fresh tea tray, obviously requested by the ever-interfering
butler.
 
Not that Amy could be overly
upset about something as silly as an un-requested tea tray.
 
Her mother's illness had upended the entire
household.
 
It was natural that
everyone, including the normally stoic butler, would feel the need to find some
degree of normalcy.

Once the maid had departed, Amy
turned her attention back to Gibson who was still lingering by the door, his
hand on the brass knob as if he wanted to run.
 
But he did not.
 
Instead, he
stood perfectly still, waiting, though she had no idea for what.
 
He looked as handsome as ever in fawn
colored breeches and a dusty blue colored waistcoat, both fitted to perfection
on his muscular form.
 
He might not have
the means that others did, but his tailor was just as exceptional.

"That was tedious," he
finally said, pushing away from an ornately carved section of wall where he had
been leaning as he watched Michaels depart.
 
His eyes held a dark look, but she could not interpret it.
 
Then it was gone, and she wondered if she
had been imagining things.
 
She was
tired after all.
 
"Perhaps I should
be thankful that I no longer have an estate to run.
 
It's downright boring."

She snorted, feeling herself relax
for just a moment, unafraid to be truly herself now that they were alone.
 
"At least you paid attention.
 
I am certain that I fell asleep at least
twice, if not more."

He chuckled at her words, and she
watched his shoulders visibly relax.
 
"Four times, my lady, but who is counting?
 
At least you did not snore over
much."
 
With the entire situation
improving, he felt that he could tease her just a bit.
 
Oh, how he had missed that.

Amy loved the light and almost
flirtatious tone in his voice, and for a moment, her heart panged with the
injustice of everything.
 
"A
gentleman would not mention such a thing."
 
Then she sniffed a little, but smiled so that he would know she
was joking as well.

"But we both know I am no
longer a gentleman."
 
The words,
though laced with humor, were still true, and Amy looked up to see the regret
in Gibson's eyes, as if he wished he could take those words back.

She shook her head and rose from
her chair to face him, unable to keep from stretching a bit, no matter how
unladylike she appeared.
 
"To me,
you are more a gentleman than most who lay claim to the title."
 
Then, unable to help herself, she yawned,
though she did her best to stifle it.

"I take it you did not sleep
well?"
 
His voice was husky, as if
he, too, had spent a rather sleepless night, just as she had.
 
His eyes flicked to the well-stocked
sideboard that her father kept.
 
"It is rather early, but I can pour you a scotch or perhaps
something stronger if you need it.
 
I
don't believe that Madeira will be quite enough to calm you."

She pleated the fabric of her skirt
once more, a habit she had picked up as a child when she was nervous.
 
"Thank you, but no.
 
I will be fine.
 
The night was passable."
 
Then she forced herself to smooth out the wrinkles in her spring green
day dress trimmed with bits of lace.
 
With the matching slippers, it was one of her favorites, and it would
not do for her to ruin it with her worrying hands.

Gibson raised an eyebrow and
smiled, his lips tipping up at the corners in sensual lines, as if he was
unable to help himself as well.
 
"Merely passable?
 
As a
physician that is not something that I like to hear.
 
A proper night's rest is essential.
 
For everyone.
 
Even you,
my lady.
 
I can assist you if you
wish."
 
There was a twinkle in his
eyes that she could not ignore, just as she could not ignore the way he shifted
his body as if to shield her from anything that might seek to cause her harm.

That was all it took for Amy to
lose all of her good intentions once more.
 
One heated look from him, and she was lost.
 
Foolish, silly, sap-brained girl that she was.

Shaking her head, she sat down in
the dark blue damask-covered chair that Michaels had just vacated, and
indicated that Gibson should take the other chair in front of the desk.
 
"Gibbs, please.
 
We can't.
 
Not yet.
 
This isn't the time or
the place.
 
We agreed.
 
Remember?"
 
The she sprang up again as if she was on a spring, and began to
pace again, just as she had the night before.

Pointedly, he looked at the chair
she had just vacated as she flitted about the room nervously.
 
"The settee, if you please," was
all he said, and she found that she had no choice but to do as he asked.
 
She was simply too tired to argue.

Gibson looked vaguely like a jungle
cat as he stalked across the room towards her, and it occurred to her then that
she had never seen him in his natural setting - a man's study.
 
Or it would have been his natural setting
had his father not been stripped of his title.
 
Yet watching him now, she had some idea of just how predatory he would
have been, how strong and powerful, how completely in command of everything and
everyone around him.
 
He would have made
a marvelous viscount.
 
He could have
possibly been considered the catch of the season.

This man, the one now gazing at her
with inscrutable golden eyes, was a peer of the realm.
 
He flirted with grace and skill, as if he'd
been born to it, which, she realized, he had been.
 
He commanded every situation, including her mother's care, which
was, at the moment being overseen by one of his younger partners so that he
could attend to estate business with her.
 
This man was one to be respected, possibly even one to be feared if he
was angry.
 
Because there was something
inside of him, something simmering just below the surface that told her he
could be deadly if he chose to be.

The role of affable Dr. Blackwell
was just that she realized suddenly.
 
A
role.
 
It was meant to charm and disarm,
particularly the high sticklers of the
ton
.
 
It was meant to garner acceptance from everyone so that people,
particularly men, would not view him as a threat.
 
It was how he had survived for so long flitting just at the edges
of society but never truly being a part of it.
 

The man before her, however, this
one that slowly strolled across the thick
Aubusson
rug and watched her with a shrewd, all-knowing gaze?
 
This was the real Gibson Blackwell, the one that nobody saw.
 
Perhaps had never allowed himself to be
seen.
 
How had
she
not known, considering what they had shared?
 
There was, it seemed, a good deal she did
not know about the man she had nearly given her body to once upon a time.

"You
know that we cannot continue to indulge the way we did last night.
 
There is too much at stake for us to be so
careless."
 
She needed to make that
perfectly clear.
 
In the hours before
dawn as she lay staring up into the darkness, Amy had come to that
decision.
 
It was time to grow up and
leave her dreams behind.
 
That included
the dream of Gibson by her side, growing old together.

The
predator's smile shifted, and once more, Amy saw a new facet of the man she
thought she knew.
 
This man was serious,
all business, the teasing, flirting man of mere moments earlier gone as if he
had never existed.
 
"I agree,
despite my actions moments ago.
 
Please
forgive me.
 
When I'm with you, I tend
to forget.
 
So much."
 
Gibson did forget.
 
He meant that more than she could ever know.
 
Amy treated him as an equal, not someone
beneath her.
 
For that, he owed her a
great deal.
 
He would do whatever she
asked, including staying away from her if that was what she wanted.
 
"I will not take such liberties
again."

Though
once he informed her of what he had learned that morning, staying away from her
might not be possible even if that was her heart's desire.

"Fine.
 
Excellent."
 
Amy had exacted the promise she wanted from Gibson with no fuss,
so why did she feel as if she had somehow been cheated?
 
"What comes next?
 
I need to know so that I can get about the
business of running Cheltenham.
 
That
needs to be my priority."

He
moved farther away from her, back towards the window and her father's heavy oak
desk, allowing the early morning sun to catch the dark highlights in his hair
and the slight smile on his lips.
 
Suddenly, he was the good doctor again - a little sad, a little stiff
and clearly aware of his position in life.
 
"Now I study the documents Michaels has left us.
 
There doesn't seem to be much that requires
immediate attention.
 
Most of what he
provided are status updates, as your father was far more hands-on in his
management than most lords tend to be.
 
Still, I want to be certain that the estate can function on its own for
a few days, or possibly longer if necessary.
 
I gather that your father wanted a say in nearly every decision made,
rather than leaving them to his steward as most lords do."

"Is
that a bad thing?"
 
Amy honestly
had no idea but to her relief, Gibson merely shook his head in the negative,
though he would still not turn to face her.

From
her position on the settee, she could not see his face, but she could see his
profile.
 
His lips were pulled taut in a
thin line, and it appeared as if he might be grimacing, though she could not be
certain.
 
It was the same look he had
given her the night before when discussing her mother's health.
 
What was he not telling her?

"No,
but it is not common.
 
It simply means
that he cares a great deal for those he is responsible for.
 
Once I make certain that there is nothing
hidden in these documents that we are not aware of, I think it will be safe to
allow Michaels to run the estate as he has been, providing the daily
updates."
 

Then
Gibson frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
 
Amy wondered if he might be suffering from a megrim.
 
She supposed doctors could have them, too.
 
"I am not certain what your mother was
doing that caused her so much stress, but from what I can see, whatever it was
is not contained within these papers.
 
Or if it is, it is written in such a way that I do not see it for the
threat to her health that it clearly was."

Finally,
he turned back to her, and she expected to see his normal, smiling face.
 
She didn't imagine he would be happy,
precisely, given her mother's still-tenuous medical condition.
 
But she had expected at least the same sad
smile he had offered her earlier rather than the grim slash of line that was
his mouth.