voice betrayed her. “I will never marry your henchman, nor shall my sister.”
Gideon cleared his throat and gave the duke a pointed look. “It is chilly, Your Grace. Would you not like to talk with your niece inside by that fire you mentioned?”
The duke hesitated, clearly not pleased by Gideon’s suggestion, but he grimaced and strode into Windemere House.
Messalina didn’t move. Her head was held high, but her eyes were wide and frantic. She was obviously shaken by the threat to her beloved sister.
Gideon said quietly, “Will you stay here until you turn to stone out of pride?”
“You wouldn’t care,” she shot back viciously.
“You have no idea,” he said truthfully, “how much I’d care.”
She stared incredulously at him.
He held her clear gaze. Those eyes would be the death of him. “Better to go in, yes?”
Messalina blew out a breath and muttered, “I don’t think I have a choice.”
“No,” he said gently, “you don’t, but I’ll make it as easy as I can.”
She huffed and went in.
Windemere waited in the entry, his happy mood returned.
Messalina eyed him warily, then said, “I need to refresh myself. If you’ll excuse me, Uncle.”
Gideon let his hand fall, and she jerked away to hurry up the grand staircase.
He fought a sigh. Now was not the time to tame her. That would come later.
The duke growled, “She’ll try to escape out the back.”
Gideon didn’t bother looking at him. “My men are already guarding the doors, Your Grace.”
Windemere grunted. “Good. Come with me.”
He turned and walked across the red-white-and-black marble floor of the entry hall, servants falling away before him. Gideon followed silently. A footman pushed open the door to the great library as the duke approached.
“Shut that door,” Windemere snapped to the footman once they’d entered. “And make sure no one disturbs us.”
The door closed without a sound.
The duke sank into a high-backed chair. Gideon didn’t bother taking a seat.
Windemere eyed him with a disgruntled expression, and Gideon felt his upper lip lifting.
It was almost funny.
His work under Windemere had been both unlawful and at times brutal. Gideon probably knew more about the old man’s dealings than any other person alive, which gave him a certain amount of power over Windemere. But at the same time, the duke knew exactly what Gideon had done in his service. Gideon had no doubt at all that the old man had kept records and whatever evidence there might be. The duke could have Gideon hanged with a word or two in the right places—if he didn’t mind falling with Gideon.
Their past was a double-edged sword neither was particularly anxious to handle.
Windemere grunted. “If she escapes, I’ll not offer her to you twice.”
Gideon let a mocking smile twist his lips. “Which is why I’ll not let her escape.”
“You had bloody well better not,” the duke growled, obviously irritated by Gideon’s insolence. “The wench is worth a fortune. Not only will you lose her as a wife, but I’ll take her dowry out of you if she runs.”
Gideon didn’t bother replying. He’d heard this all before, an endless, dusty rant filled with grievances and threats.
Windemere suddenly smiled, making Gideon come to full alert. “Although if Messalina were to disappear, it might save me much trouble.”
“I would protest violently if that were to happen,” Gideon replied softly. “You’ve promised to give me Messalina.”
The duke scowled at his threat and then waved his hand. “A fortnight locked in her room with naught but water and pap should make her soften. The gal has never wanted for a meal or anything else. She’ll soon come around.”
“No doubt,” Gideon said carefully. If he showed too much concern, the old man would follow through on his threats, and Gideon didn’t want Messalina starving—or worse. “But you said you’d already sent for the bishop. Was that a bluff, Your Grace?”
“No.” The duke scowled. “I’ll have to send him away again, and the bishop will want his guineas even if he does nothing in return. Churchmen are a greedy lot.”
Then it was up to Gideon to convince Messalina to wed him if he didn’t want any further delays. He started for the door.
“Where are you going?” the duke called peevishly from behind him.
Gideon turned. “To persuade Miss Greycourt to attend her own wedding.”
Windemere snorted. “Easier to find a Wapping Docks whore without the pox than to win over the chit.”
Gideon lifted an eyebrow before turning back toward the door.
The duke called behind him, “Just remember: no matter what she decides, you’ve already made the bargain and given your