CHAPTER 12
Gideon gazed at the letter on his desk. It was written in an elegant, educated hand. The paper boasted a quiet luxury, as did the ink. No address adorned the envelope—only his name. Not even his title.
It was hand-delivered. Bearing only the nameAaron Tarnley, it would never have arrived by the postal service.
Whoever plagues me has been to this house…
“When was it delivered?” Gideon asked, finally.
McKay glanced at it, his usually stoic facade faltering briefly. “Last night, Your Grace. A rap at the door and that letter left outside. Most unusual.”
“Greatly… Did Catherine leave the house at all when I was away?”
“Not to my knowledge, Your Grace.”
A woman steps into my life with knowledge of my brother, and so soon after I began receiving these damnable blackmail letters. Coincidence?
“Is the letter an issue, Your Grace?” the butler queried.
Gideon folded it sharply and pressed it into his pocket. He knew what it said.
I know of your past that you try to keep hidden. The truth will see the light yet.
“Not at all,” Gideon said, donning a wry smile. “Did the Duchess imbibe the draught I asked you to bring her?”
“Not while I was present, Your Grace. She refused adamantly. But later, when I returned, the glass was empty.”
“That will be all then.”
Upon being dismissed, McKay marched from the room, closing the door behind him. Aaron thought back to the letter in his pocket and its companion, locked in his bureau. Both said the same thing, both claimed knowledge. No threats or ultimatums. At least not directly. Just a reminder that someone knew more than he wished them to.
“Weakness,” his brother whispered in his ear, a ghostly chuckle.
Gideon stood, straightening his coat and patting the pocket in which this particular letter resided. He would not confront Catherine with it directly but would instead try to gauge her reaction. He strode through the house, resolved on this new course of action. Catherine had thrust herself into his life. Had she known that he would behave so chivalrously? It was not a question he could answer—he did not know his brother’s reputation well enough.
Did she know I would rescue her? Did she plan it?
As he entered the Gallery, a long corridor lined with windows that looked out over the lawn, he glimpsed her. She had a croquet mallet in hand and was chuckling to herself as she sent a ball careening across the short grass to disappear into a rose bush.
Gideon paused, watching her. She was dressed in cream, green, and bronze. A simple dress, but stout. It did not do her justice. Her hair had a sheen in the sunlight that put any fine thread to shame. Her skin’s pale delicacy rendered any white fabric put next to it a smoke-tainted grey.
She was slender yet possessed the suggestive curves of femininity, visible even when the inexpertly made gown failed to cling to her hips and bosom as it ought. Nevertheless, there was a luminescence about her.
She glanced up suddenly as she lined up her next shot, looking directly at the window where he stood. Squarely at him, as though she’d felt his gaze.
Gideon stepped back slightly, allowing the curtain to hide him.
Why do I hide in my own house? If I choose to look upon her, it is my right!
She looked away, forehead creasing in concentration. Her lower lip caught between her teeth—an expression that struck him as both disarming and unbearably endearing. His hand traced down the satin curtain, but in his mind it followed the elegant curve of her waist, the flare of her hip.
As she took another appalling shot, she tilted her head to follow the ball, and he studied the graceful line of her neck. Never had any part of a woman been more enticing, more yearning for a kiss.
What manner of witch are you to enchant me like this?
He immediately recognized the footsteps of Gough, his valet, and turned to watch the young man approach with a tray of letters.
“Mr. McKay asked me to bring these to you for after breakfast, Your Grace.”
