I swear not to lay hand on either Quintus or Greycourt.” Of course, he could kill both men without ever touching them…
Julian eyed him as if aware of Gideon’s omission. “I swear not to fight as well.”
Everyone looked at Quintus.
He scowled. “Fine. Yes, I swear to you, dear sister, not to murder your husband.”
Messalina lifted her chin, but she couldn’t quite seem to hide the hurt on her face at her brother’s sarcastic tone.
Gideon felt a violent urge to force Quintus to apologize to his sister.
“Very well,” Messalina murmured. “We’ll retire to the dining room.”
She escorted Lucretia from the room.
There was a moment of silence after the ladies left.
Then Gideon took a deep breath and gestured to the settee. “Please.”
Quintus turned his face aside, but Greycourt sat and glanced around the otherwise empty room. “Your house seems to lack a basic level of livability, Hawthorne.”
Gideon shrugged. “Messalina is enjoying decorating and furnishing it.”
That prompted a snort from Greycourt. “Cut line, Hawthorne. What is your game?”
Gideon examined him. Julian Greycourt was a nobleman, born to luxury and power, yet stymied by his uncle, who held the family purse strings. Most aristocrats in his position would’ve cozied up to the Duke of Windemere and made sure to ingratiate themselves with the man.
Not Greycourt.
When Gideon had first started service with the duke, Greycourt had lived with his uncle. He’d been a silent, watchful shadow in Windemere House. When he turned one and twenty, Greycourt had either received permission to escape or he’d gathered the nerve to flee. In either case, in the years since he’d been frigidly polite with his uncle—and at the same time had made no bones of the fact that he loathed the man. That took either bravery or recklessness.
In other circumstances Gideon might have liked the man.
Might.
“I would think my game—as you call it—was obvious.” Gideon spread his hands as if showing that he held no weapons—which was patently false, since his knife was still up his sleeve. “Riches and power.”
His gaze moved between Greycourt, sitting still and watchful on the settee, and Quintus, prowling about the room. The latter’s eyes were shadowed and puffy in his red face. Did Windemere want Greycourt dead so the title would go to Quintus instead? Perhaps he thought Quintus with his rage and drinking would be a more malleable heir?
But to what end?
“You’re frank,” Quintus growled.
Gideon arched an eyebrow at the younger man. “Would you prefer I lie?”
Quintus barked a laugh. “Perhaps, since we’re talking about my sister.”
Interesting. Did Quintus actually care for Messalina?
Gideon glanced at Greycourt. The elder brother certainly didn’t seem to have any real affection for his family. His concern had always appeared to be more about besting his uncle in whatever obscure game they played.
But then Greycourt was an icy fish.
“You think I should tell you I married her for love,” Gideon said, ignoring Greycourt’s soft snort to address Quintus. “But since you know that’s not the case, I think such protestations would only make you scorn me the more.”
“I doubt we could scorn you any more than we already do,” Greycourt replied, his thin lips stretched in a humorless smile.
Gideon returned the smile—with teeth. “Oh, Brother, you wound me.”
Quintus’s nostrils flared, and he started for Gideon, but Greycourt put his hand up, halting his brother in his tracks. Julian stared stonily at Gideon. “I will have this marriage annulled.”
Gideon tutted, making very sure that his expression didn’t change. “And how would you do that when we were married by a bishop and with the Duke of Windemere’s blessing?” He shook his head gently. “We’ve been married nearly a week. I’m afraid the time is quite past when you could’ve interfered.”
Quintus paled at his oblique reference to the marriage bed. Gideon was reluctantly impressed by his obvious worry for Messalina.
But Greycourt had gone silent, his snakelike eyes narrowed and watchful, and Gideon felt a thrill of alarm. Did the other man suspect his lie? If he questioned Messalina, all Gideon’s plans would crumple to ash like a paper house set alight.
Julian could have their marriage annulled if he realized it hadn’t been consummated, and then? Gideon would lose everything. The money. The chance to prove himself equal to any aristocrat.
And Messalina. Sweet, stubborn, far-too-intelligent Messalina.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Gideon had to bed Messalina tonight.
Chapter Ten
Before her father could warn her, Bet had run to the door and opened it. There stood the fox, wearing a fine plumed hat and leaning on an ebony stick.
“Good evening,” said the fox,