Lucretia murmured, distracting her. She was seated next to Messalina, with Gideon sitting across from them.
Pea and Reggie left as Gideon began carving the chicken.
“Thank you,” Lucretia said, accepting her plate from Gideon. “I suppose you still do my uncle’s dirty work?”
Messalina nearly choked on her wine.
Gideon, though, seemed unperturbed, continuing to carve the chicken. “Yes, I do.”
He handed a plate to Messalina.
“Isn’t that rather awkward?” Lucretia asked with feigned concern.
“No more than it ever has been,” Gideon replied.
“Ah, I forget,” Lucretia said sweetly. “You’ve worked for my uncle since you were a youth. He found you in St Giles, didn’t he? Rather like a stray cur.”
“Lucretia,” Messalina hissed, mortified. She tried to kick her sister under the table and missed when Lucretia deftly moved her leg.
“Oh, exactly like a stray cur,” Gideon said very softly. “He found me in a back alley fighting a man twice my size with a knife.” He sipped his wine before carefully replacing his glass on the table. “I won. No doubt that’s why he decided to hire me at once—he wanted a savage. Someone without morals or remorse to do the things an aristocrat couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.”
Messalina stared. Was that how Gideon saw himself? As someone beyond the bounds of humanity?
There was a clatter of silverware from Lucretia. “Our uncle is a beast. He’s the savage.”
And Messalina remembered again why she loved her sister so much.
But Gideon looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we’re both savages.”
Lucretia stared at him as she slowly took a sip of her wine, her eyes narrowing. “For your sake I hope not.”
* * *
Gideon studied Messalina from beneath his eyelashes as he sipped his wine. She looked embarrassed by Lucretia’s veiled threat, but not displeased, which made sense.
They were closer than most sisters.
He’d watched them when he’d first come to Windemere’s house. Seen how they sat together, so close they were almost on top of one another. Sometimes Lucretia laid her head on Messalina’s shoulder.
He’d seen also how both girls would straighten when the duke entered a room. Draw apart, their expressions blanking until it was impossible to tell how they felt.
They’d been each other’s shield and protection against Windemere.
He needed to win Lucretia’s favor in order to win Messalina’s.
Gideon turned to Lucretia. “Do you have everything you’ll need to stay the night?”
Lucretia nodded as she buttered a piece of bread. “I think so, but I can borrow from Messalina if not.” She looked up at her sister, her brow wrinkling. “Have you brought all your things from Windemere House?”
“Yes,” Messalina said. “Tomorrow we can send for your clothes and such.”
Lucretia raised her eyes. “Shouldn’t I go to make sure everything is packed?”
“No,” Messalina said overloudly. “That is, I think it best that you stay here, darling.”
“I’ll go,” Gideon said.
Both women looked at him in surprise.
Gideon spread his hands. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No,” Lucretia promptly replied.
Messalina seemed conflicted. “Erm…”
Her hesitation shouldn’t hurt. He’d hardly done much to make her trust him. More, he intended to betray her.
He intended to murder her brother.
The thought gave him pause. How would she look when the news that Julian Greycourt was dead reached her? Would she weep?
Would she suspect that it was he who was the assassin?
Lucretia interrupted his dark thoughts. “Why would you want to help me at all?”
Gideon raised his eyebrows. “You are my sister-in-law now.”
Lucretia picked up an apple and for a moment looked as if she wanted to throw it at Gideon’s head. “That was hardly my choice—or my sister’s.”
“Perhaps I’m a nice man.”
Lucretia snorted in a very unladylike way as she began to peel the apple. “No. You are not. You have some dark reason to offer, I know.”
Gideon smiled with gritted teeth. “Perhaps my dark reason is a desire to enjoy your lovely company at every supper.”
Messalina made a choking noise.
His gaze swung to her, and he saw her eyes were filled with mirth as if she were just barely holding back giggles. Strange. Her eyes were the same shade of gray as her brothers’ and her sister’s, but somehow they were completely different. For a moment he lost himself, contemplating their depths, their beauty. Messalina’s eyes were ever changing, betraying her emotion while the rest of her face often remained stoic. He might spend the rest of his life studying them.
Messalina’s cheeks were turning a deeper pink even as he watched her. “Perhaps you simply wish to be done with this conversation.”
His voice when he replied was husky. “Perhaps I do it for you.”
Those eyes widened, her rose-red lips