Already she asks about my memories of the past. I cannot answer her… Devil, I almost envy my brother.
“It will be pleasant to reminisce with my oldest friend about our childhood,” she sighed.
Her voice sounded as weak and wan as her complexion. Gideon wondered again if it was an illness or what he actually suspected it to be.
“There will be no reminiscing. Nobody in this house was employed here during my father’s time. They did not know me as a child. Nor you. And enough has happened to me since then that I dislike thinking about the past.Intensely. There will be no conversations about the past.”
He stared at her, daring her to challenge. She looked back, blinking and bemused.
“Of course, I—I understand. I am sorry that there is anything in your past that causes you pain. It is not so for me, except for the pain of craving better times.”
He scoffed. “There are no better times. There is only the moment in which we live now. Do not waste your life wishing for the past.”
“How can you consider it a waste?” she argued, propping herself on her elbows.
The strap of the chemise she wore fell down her soft upper arm, and the garment slipped enough to reveal the swell of one breast. The rest was covered by the material, which clung enough to reveal the shape beneath.
Gideon held her gaze, unflinching. Was this deliberate? Some practiced art of seduction?
“Then you’re a fool,” he said flatly, letting his eyes drop with pointed precision.
If you think exposing yourself will bend me to your will, you will find me made of a harder metal than most.
She followed his gaze downward—and gasped. Her hands flew to her chest as she scrambled for the sheets, yanking them to her chin. Color flooded her cheeks.
Gideon grinned wolfishly, knowing it would unsettle.Good. The sooner she realized that, contrary to who she thought he was, her friend had changed beyond all recognition, the better. It would protect his secret. That he was not Aaron Tarnley, rightful Duke of Winchester. But Gideon Tarnely, thetruerightful Duke, returned from exile.
“That may be true. My actions last night might have been amongst the most foolish of my life…” she murmured.
If she was seeking reassurance by that statement, he was determined not to give it.
Foolish beyond question but also brave. I cannot deny that.
“Agreed,” he nodded once.
McKay knocked at the door, three precise taps in a rapid cadence. Gideon opened it. The butler bore a tray on which a small glass held a tiny amount of white fluid and a pitcher of fresh milk.
“I find it helps as a means of delivery,” the butler spoke in a low tone, looking at the milk.
Gideon accepted the tray and kicked the door shut with a heel. He went to a sideboard and put the tray down, blocking Catherine’s view with his body while he mixed the ingredients into the milk. Then he poured her a glass and carried it over.
“My butler swears by this as a cure for all aches and pains,” he said, “drink.”
“I suppose if you wanted to poison me, there is little I could do about it,” she whispered, taking the glass.
He kept his face marble smooth. Her comment had been too close to reality.
I am not poisoning her. Just easing her symptoms. And if they come from the source that I suspect, then this will cure everything. For a time.
Catherine drained the milk, leaving a white tinge around her mouth. Gideon gestured to his own mouth, and her eyes widened. She grimaced as she wiped away the residue, cheeks coloring. It was a very pretty look from which he tore himself before it could sink into his memory too deeply.
“Aaron?” she said as he put the tray on the sideboard.
He turned, having trained himself to answer to that name long ago.
“I am most grateful for everything you have done. It is beyond my expectations.”
She looked so pale and vulnerable that something in him wanted to reassure her. To protect her. He wondered if that chivalric instinct had been in his brother.
