Lori Brighton - [The Seduction 02] (28 page)

Gideon took a drink of his own ale. “You have nothing to say to me that I’d find of interest.”

Mr. Smith drummed his fingers atop the scarred wood. “I didn’t want to tell you, but when Elizabeth heard, she insisted.”

As if he could trust anything Elizabeth had to say. She had known about his identity, and she had known about his father the entire time. Aye, he wasn’t the only one guilty of deceit. He briefly closed his eyes, his hand tightened around the glass. To think that he had started to trust her when he’d trusted no one. It served him right for letting his guard down.

“Are you not the least bit curious?” Mr. Smith asked.

Gideon’s gaze flashed to him. “I don’t give a shite what either of you have to say, and if you knew what was good for you, you’d leave now.”

“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. Although 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.