When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,11

eye and glared and he had the urge to laugh, but that wouldn’t be wise—not only because it would provoke her but because it would reveal his mood to the duke.

This was a dangerous process, stealing Messalina away from her uncle. Windemere was a man who liked control—one of the reasons Gideon had wanted to leave his employ.

Had the old man offered anything—anyone—else, Gideon would be a free man right now.

But that was the point: Messalina was his weakness. There was no way he could’ve let her go.

The bishop pronounced them man and wife in a mumble, and the old man chuckled softly. “Congratulations, my dear. What an advantageous alliance you’ve made.” He caught Gideon’s gimlet stare and coughed, turning to the bishop. “Shall we celebrate with a wedding breakfast? I’ve instructed Cook to prepare a suitable repast.”

The duke sauntered from the room, the butler trotting ahead to open the door for him and the bishop trailing behind. As Gideon turned to take Messalina’s elbow, he caught Keys’s eye. The man straightened and nodded.

Gideon bit back a smirk. Keys had been in his employ three years now, and despite the carelessness of his dress, he was meticulous in carrying out Gideon’s orders. As Gideon guided Messalina from the room he glimpsed Keys waylaying the lady’s maid—apparently to the woman’s displeasure.

Then Gideon was out the door and into the hall, walking with his wife—his wife—behind the old man as they made their way to the breakfast room. The long ebony table was already laden with a feast that would easily feed a dozen hungry men.

The duke sat at the head of the table and snapped his fingers impatiently for a footman to bring him wine even as Gideon was pulling out a chair for Messalina.

The old man drank deeply as everyone else’s wineglass was filled and then raised his own when it was refilled. “A toast to the happy couple!”

“Indeed. Indeed,” the bishop murmured, and downed his entire glass.

Messalina merely pressed her lips together.

Despite the delicacies laid before them, his new bride hardly ate. Her uncle more than made up for it, greedily cracking a beef bone to scoop the marrow from it. Gideon watched both the old man and Messalina closely, and when the duke finally pushed back from the table Gideon was quick to rise.

He bowed to the duke and to the bishop. “My wife appears fatigued. I shall show her to our rooms to rest.”

Predictably, this prompted a leer from the old man. “Naturally you’ll want to get my niece alone as soon as possible, eh, Hawthorne? They do say the lower classes have stronger animal impulses.” He switched his regard to Messalina. “I suppose you’ll soon find out, won’t you, my dear?”

Messalina didn’t give any indication that she’d heard—or even noticed—her uncle, instead laying her hand on Gideon’s proffered arm.

For a moment Gideon thought the duke would make Messalina acknowledge him, but it seemed that the heavy meal had mellowed him. The old man merely waved them away with a lazy hand.

Gideon strolled from the room, leisurely leading Messalina to the stairs and down to the hall.

She frowned. “This isn’t the way to my rooms.”

“Not your old rooms, no.”

She looked around, then demanded, “Where are you taking me?”

He glanced at her and couldn’t resist a wink. “To your new rooms.”

Her brow was still knitted in concern, but she didn’t protest.

They went out the back door and through an ill-tended garden and entered the mews behind the house by a gate.

His carriage was waiting, Keys standing by the door.

Gideon jerked his chin at him. “Did you get everything?”

Keys snorted. “Not ’alf of it, guv, but all the important bits, or so the maid tells me.”

He opened the door to the carriage.

Messalina stared. “What—?”

“Oh, miss!” cried Bartlett from inside. The woman’s face was red with what looked like indignation. “I didn’t know what to do. That young scamp said as it was orders from Mr. Hawthorne, which—”

They hadn’t time for this. Gideon placed a hand on Messalina’s rump and leaned down. He could smell bergamot as he murmured in her ear, “Get in.”

She shot him an irritated glare but obeyed, climbing into the carriage with his help. He took a seat next to her and then nodded to Keys.

The man slammed the carriage door shut, and in a moment they were moving.

Messalina said impatiently. “Well? What is this?”

He could still smell bergamot—faint and elusive in the air. He wanted to turn and bury his nose in her neck. Chase