When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,16

den. Gideon had been there for two reasons. The first was to obtain information for the duke. The second was to attend to his own small business: collecting debts for moneylenders and pocketing a portion of the money.

The two jobs had fit rather nicely together.

But Blackwell had taken Gideon’s business a step further. With Blackwell’s help Gideon had bought a coal mine in the north of England. Coal was proving very profitable, and Gideon had recently bought another mine. Blackwell handled Gideon’s accounts and his coal mines and was, for want of a better word, his business partner.

Gideon frowned. “Does Blackwell want to talk about the ledgers?”

Keys shrugged. “For your ears only.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Gideon sighed. “He probably wants to argue about the coal mines again. He’s like a dog with a bone he won’t let go when he gets an idea in his head. Tell him I’m newly married and busy.”

“As you say, guv.”

“Anything else?”

“The rest is ’Is Grace’s affairs. You’ve been gone nearly a fortnight and things ’ave been moving.” Keys squinted. “Are we still interested in ’Is Grace’s dealings? Thought you was out of that end of the business, now you’re married to ’is niece.”

Technically Gideon’s pact with the old man encompassed only the one task for the duke. On the other hand, forewarned was forearmed.

“Best to still keep an eye on Windemere’s affairs.” Gideon splashed clean water on his face, rinsing any remaining soap away, then caught up the cloth to dry himself. “Let’s visit Scratch’s Coffeehouse to break our fast. You can tell me the details there.”

“And Miss Greycourt?” Keys asked.

Gideon raised a pointed brow as he donned clean breeches. “Mrs. Hawthorne, you mean.”

Keys winced. “As you say, guv. Mrs. ’Awthorne.”

“What about her?”

“Erm…” Keys had an odd expression on his face. “Well, don’t you want to stay until she wakes? That is”—he blushed wildly—“after your wedding night?”

Gideon paused, his arm thrust into a fresh shirt, to stare at his man. “Why, Keys, I never knew you had such a romantic soul.”

Keys opened his mouth.

“No.” Gideon quickly shook his head, forestalling him. “Mrs. Hawthorne will no doubt need a day of quiet. Be sure to tell Reggie to watch her like a pickpocket with a mark.”

His tone was sharper than need be, and the realization made him pause.

For a moment he remembered Messalina’s sweet, soft face as it had appeared this morning in his bed, and a part of him wondered if he should stay. No. He firmly thrust away the vision. Messalina wouldn’t greet his presence with happiness. She’d made that more than clear last night.

He had work to do, a hard path to follow to reach the goals he’d set for himself. Not even Messalina was worth deviating from that path.

Decided, Gideon opened the door to find Pea’s worried face. The lad stood holding the arm of a younger boy. “Guv, I’ve something to tell yer.”

* * *

Messalina woke much too early, as evidenced by the absence of Bartlett and the fire being dead. She stretched her legs under the covers, pointing her toes and flexing them lazily.

Then she remembered.

She turned as quietly as possible, but there was no need. Hawthorne’s side of the big bed was empty. She slid her palm over the sheets. Cold. The only reminder that he’d lain beside her all night was the slight indentation in his pillow.

Messalina huffed out a breath.

Naturally she was pleased not to have to face her husband. However, she would have liked to tell him that he wasn’t wanted. His escape from her scorn was oddly disappointing.

Messalina glanced around the room, at a loss. She planned to leave as soon as she received her dowry portion, but what was she to do in the month until then? Make the house more livable? Write letters to various friends?

It all seemed so unsatisfying.

She sighed. She ought to go back to sleep, but she was awake now and not at all sleepy. What if Gideon returned to the room? The thought had her up and searching for her wrapper as protection.

The door opened and for a second Messalina’s heart raced.

Bartlett stepped into the room, holding a tray with a teapot, sugar bowl, strainer, teacup, and one piece of buttered bread on it. “Oh, you’re already awake, ma’am.”

She closed the door with her hip and set the tea tray on the tiny table.

“You’re a wonder, Bartlett,” Messalina said thankfully as she sat.

She poured herself a cup and then couldn’t help wrinkling her nose as she sipped the