“Your stepfather has the patience of a saint, I think.”
“He adores her. But Lord Trent is not without his own eccentricities. My mother has threatened him with bodily harm if he purchases one more horse. The stables are already full. Don’t change the subject. You have a duty to your family to consider.”
“I like being alone. Solitude suits me. I was an only child, remember?” Gideon tossed back a mouthful of scotch. “And I feel no sense of duty.”
The very idea of duty was laughable. Should he feel obligated to his parents? A distant father who seemed to exist only to play cards and entertain his mistress? Or maybe his frivolous mother, who after birthing Gideon, had promptly forgotten his existence and returned to her endless parties in London. Though, he supposed he would need to find something to do now that he could no longer lead an expedition or even join one.
“You should marry,” his friend intoned.
“They’re all nitwits.” Gideon gestured to the young ladies hovering about.
“You’re jaded.”
“I’m not. The very thought of some mindless ninny floating about my house sets my teeth on edge. What would I do with a wife like that, Montieth? Debate the ribbon on her new bonnet? Discuss how fetching her new riding habit is?” What Gideon didn’t say to Montieth was that he doubted any of these gently bred, demure, little twits would welcome the sight of his mangled leg. Even his former mistress, who’d welcomed him with open arms when he’d first returned to England, had been unable to hide her disgust at his disfigurement.
“I’m sure notallof them are empty-headed. There’s got to be one or two you can converse with.”
“The vast majority are,” Gideon shot back. “I doubt you could find a woman in this ballroom who even knows where the Amazon is, let alone what continent it’s on.”
A memory nagged at the edge of his consciousness, of an overweight girl with blemished skin, clothed in lavender.She’dbeen bloody interesting andnota nitwit. At the oddest times, the thought of that girl would come to him, along with Tarrington’s wager. He couldn’t really recall the details of her face any longer except for those exceptional jade eyes. And how he’d unintentionally hurt her.
His fingers curled tighter around the head of his cane.
“You converse with your mistress, South. Not your wife. I barely spoke to Alice.”
Montieth hadn’t loved his late wife, nor had she cared for him, which was a perfectly acceptable state of affairs among their peers. Unfortunately, Alice had died before providing Montieth with an heir.
“I don’t need a wife at all,” Gideon assured him. “I’ve several cousins, any of whom would be more than happy to be the next Earl of Southwell. The difficulty will be in choosing which one is most suitable, since they’re all about the same age. That is my sole duty along with having another glass of scotch.” He caught the eye of a servant passing by with a tray of goblets. He’d have to coerce the man to bring him a scotch. No easy feat. “But I know you have to remarry, Montieth.”
“I do. I have a duty to the earldom. I’m not blessed with a tangle of cousins, and Elizabeth, though I adore her, cannot inherit.”
“You’ll find someone suitable. What about Miss Benton?” Gideon pointed to a fair-haired young lady who was watching Montieth from beneath her lashes from across the room. “Ancient pedigree. Nice dowry. Loves horses. Your daughter would like her.”
“Maybe. Elizabeth is rather picky for a child.” Monteith’s granite features hardened. “I’ll find someone suitable. As should you. I know that things have…changedfor you, South.” His gaze dipped to Gideon’s leg. “But you’re in danger of becoming dourer than I am. I can’t begin to understand—”
“Then don’t try,” Gideon snapped, cutting off the rest of Montieth’s sentence. His friend meant well, but he’d no idea what it had been like to be pulled into all that black water. Unable to see. Or breathe. The terror of feeling the caiman’s teeth tearing at your flesh. The heat of your blood swirling around you as it spilled into the water. Gideon still woke up some nights, covered in sweat, a scream on his lips.
“South.” Montieth nudged him, eyes full of concern.
“I’m fine. I’m only considering Miss Benton.” Gideon flashed him a smile. “Idon’t wish to marry, but we’ll find you a lovely bit of fluff to wed, one with limited conversation skills, which shouldn’t be too difficult. But right now, let us to retire to the room set aside for cards. It may be the only way I can get another glass of scotch, because I don’t think Pemberton’s servant is returning.” He pushed himself up from the wall, pain lancing up his leg to his lower back.
“How’s the leg?” Montieth said quietly.
“Passable.”Excruciating.“I just need to stretch a bit before we sit down to a hand of cards.”
“You’re a terrible liar. In fact—” Monteith stopped midsentence. A low sound of approval came from him.
“Has that servant returned with my scotch?” Gideon followed Montieth’s line of sight, disappointed to see only Lady Pemberton’s guests.
A seductive flash of crimson flitted into Gideon’s field of vision, weaving in and out of the closely packed crowd. Gentlemen’s necks craned. Conversations quieted to low whispers. He watched as the crimson slid along the wall before bursting through the crowd of guests.
Christ.
Hair so black it shone blue in the light of the chandeliers was piled elegantly atop her head. The crimson gown clung to her generous curves in exactly the right way, the skirts waving seductively as she walked. Her bosom, magnificent even from across the ballroom, strained against the tight, fitted bodice of her gown. She strolled about the guests gathered, in a casual manner, as if she was doing no more than walking through the park on a sunny afternoon, not causing a stir at a ball attended by half of London.
The woman turned her gaze in Gideon’s direction, delicately curved chin lifted as she boldly assessed him with eyes the color of jade.
Arousal, the sort Gideon hadn’t felt in ages, wound itself around the entire lower half of his body. His cock, which had preferred the company of scotch as of late and not beautiful women, hardened against his thigh.
