When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,102
interpret.
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then said, “I’m happy to read to you. I rather enjoy it, in fact.”
“As do I,” he replied, perhaps too intently. “You have a lovely voice.”
He watched a small smile curl her lips before he returned his gaze to the auctioneer.
* * *
Messalina reverently cradled the illuminated Irish psalter in her hands as their carriage started forward an hour later. Gideon had arranged to have the crates of books delivered to Whispers, but she couldn’t help but claim an illustrated atlas and the psalter at once.
The psalter was a tiny thing, barely as wide as her palm, but inside, the pages glowed in jewel colors. Tiny, meticulous illustrations, many picked out in gold, headed every book within. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.
And Gideon had bought it for her.
She looked up at him in wonder. He sat across from her, watching her with a faint smile curling his lips. Usually his smiles were cynical, but this one was entirely forthright. How had Gideon known she would want—would love—this little book? He’d tried to win her with flowers only days ago—a ridiculous misstep—and now he gave her something utterly perfect.
An entire library.
The gesture made her feel shaky somehow. As if she were uncertainly balanced between hope and despair. Because if he knew that the library was the perfect gift for her, did that mean he might actually care about what she wanted?
That he might care for her?
It frightened her—the possibility of hope—because it also brought the possibility of pain again. She’d yearned so helplessly these last few days since the ball and his betrayal of her trust. If she once again believed him, if she gave in to the tiptoeing return of desire, she would be devastated if he betrayed her again.
She wasn’t sure she could believe her own senses.
She realized that he was watching her now with a little wrinkle between his winged brows.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you liked my gift,” he said carefully.
She tilted her head, trying to read him and failing. “Are you?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened, but he replied evenly enough. “I did it for you, after all.”
“Why?” she asked, and held her breath.
He tilted his head back against the seat, those clever eyes pinning her. “I want you to be happy, Messalina. Simply that.”
The words lit a small flame within her breast, flickering uncertainly.
He looked weary all of a sudden, his eyes closing as she stared at him, and she worried that the trip had been too much too soon.
The carriage jolted to a halt, nearly sending her to the floor.
“Damn,” Gideon exclaimed, reaching across the carriage to catch her arm and steady her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “And more importantly, the psalter is as well.”
He cocked an eyebrow pointedly. “It’s not the psalter I worry about.”
She bit back a delighted curl of her lips at his words, like a veritable ninny right out of the schoolroom. Her heart seemed unable to remain indifferent to his pull, no matter what her mind told her.
He leaned forward and wrenched open the window, muttering, “What’s the delay?”
As soon as he opened the window, Messalina could hear the shouts and the sound of tramping feet, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. “What is it?”
The voice of their driver rose above the clamor. “’Anging, guv. Can’t get around the crowd. We’ll ’ave to wait them out.”
Gideon made a small sound.
Messalina’s gaze darted to his face.
He was white.
She remembered the last time they’d come across a hanging march. “Gideon?”
He sat again heavily, his fists clenched in his lap, his eyes closed. He didn’t seem to have heard her.
“Gideon?” she asked again tentatively.
He shook his head. “I can’t…”
She was alarmed now and rose to cross the carriage and sit beside him, her psalter forgotten. “Are you well?”
He made a noise that was not at all a laugh. “No.”
“It’s the hanging, isn’t it?” she said softly. “Can I help?”
He shook his head and opened his eyes, his expression bleak. “You must think me mad.”
“Not at all,” she murmured, laying her hand on his shoulder. “Will you tell me why it hurts you so much?”
He stared at his fists. “Eddie.”
Who—? For a moment her mind was blank as she tried to remember where she’d heard the name before.
And then she recalled. Eddie had been Gideon’s younger brother. “What about him?”
Gideon said stonily, as if he didn’t feel at all, “They hanged him.”
“What?” She simply couldn’t comprehend. “Who hanged him? Why?”