Catherine smiled, once more reminded of the boy. Aaron wanted to protect her against the threat of his brother. The only way he could see to do so was to marry her, make her his Duchess. But that would mean giving up Meredith.
Life as Aaron’s Duchess would be safe and secure. I do not need to love him. Or be excited by him. He would protect me. At the cost of his happiness and Meredith’s.
Life as Gideon’s Duchess? Exciting. Passionate. Full of thrilling desire and tumultuous love. He was strong. Fierce. Quick to anger.
There is no question. I love the memory of Aaron, but the reality of Gideon.
Gideon woke late. Sunlight penetrated the fog that enveloped his mind. Birdsong followed by the pain of hours spent unmoving in a chair and the protesting ache from an abused head.
I feel like I am hungover, but I barely touched a drop last night. Mr. McKay gave me a glass of brandy when he saw that I had no intention of sleeping. One glass!
He went to Catherine’s room and found the door unlocked and Sally hard at work, cleaning.
“Where is she, Sally?” he asked, keeping his voice civil despite an instinct to snap.
“Her Grace went out earlier, Your Grace. Just after sunrise.”
Gideon ran a hand through his hair and over his face. He wanted to slap himself awake.
“Why so early? Where has she gone?”
“I do not know, Your Grace. She did not tell me. But she was escorted by Mr. McKay.”
“Mr. McKay?” Gideon was confused.
A butler always has duties to attend to. McKay never forgets his duties. Why would he escort Catherine anywhere that takes him away from the house?
“Will that be all, Your Grace?” Sally asked.
Gideon had forgotten her presence. He blinked.
“No… yes… thank you, Sally,” he said, remembering to add the last and receiving a smile and a curtsy in response.
Sally left the room with a bundle of laundry. Gideon stood there, looking around and seeing nothing. Then his eyes came to rest on the bureau.
Didn’t she accuse me of stealing a letter from her bureau? I did not, but someone must have.
Gideon trusted Mr. McKay. He always had. But something was curdling in his gut.
He strode to the butler’s office, calling himself ten different kinds of fool for having any suspicions of his most trusted servant. The room was empty, the desk neatly stacked. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the small room, looking about, unwilling to intrude on Mr. McKay’s privacy.
But the butler’s inexplicable behaviour worried him. No message left for his employer—he just abandoned his post.
That should be anathema for an ex-soldier. I think McKay still saw himself as a soldier. He would not do that without informing me.
He sat down at the desk and began to ruffle through the drawers. There were ledgers and accounts relating to the running of the house. Bills from suppliers and invoices for payments made. The more paper he came across, the more haste drove hismovements. He stopped stacking things neatly, tossing paper over his shoulder, dropping it to the floor when it ceased to be of interest.
In his haste to close a drawer and open the next, he jammed it. There was a crack of wood, and the drawer would not move, remaining open, blocking the opening of the one beneath.
Frustration bubbled, and with one brutal wrench, he ripped it out of the bureau. He was about to toss it aside when he glimpsed the corner of a paper sticking out of the back. It was sandwiched between two layers of thin wood.
He realised that the drawer had a false bottom.
In his haste, he had disturbed the mechanism that kept the secret layer hidden, exposing something within.
He swung the drawer against the wall, and it disintegrated from the impact. Anxious faces appeared at the door, peeking in at their agitated master. Several pieces of paper had been concealed within the drawer’s secret compartment.
The first was a letter, addressing Isabella—Merrickhe assumed.
