Gideon wanted to curl his lip and respond with disparaging contempt. He wanted to take Catherine away from the greedy eyes and the compliments that came loaded with baggage. Instead, he forced his expression into something approximating civility.
“Ifmy wife is agreeable—”
“I certainly am,” Catherine cut him off, accepting Sir Obadiah’s arm before Gideon could finish.
She swept onto the dance floor as the music swelled, leaving him standing there blankly like a fool.
“You’ve fallen on your feet there, old chap,” Jeremy whispered.
Gideon watched her move through the figures of the dance, that elegant neck tilted just so, her smile gracious and warm for aman she’d met for all of five minutes. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Don’t,” he said through his teeth.
He had no reason to feel this way. Sir Obadiah was elderly, devout, harmless. But watching another man's hand at Catherine's waist, seeing her laugh at something the old peacock said, made something dark and possessive coil in his gut.
“Another touchy subject perhaps?” Jeremy’s tone had gone carefully light. Too light.
“What?”
“Your brother.”
The world seemed to tilt. He turned his head slowly, a pleasant smile freezing on his face even as every nerve came alive with danger. His voice, when it came, was deceptively mild.
“Mywhatnow?”
“I feel it is only fair to warn you that I have detectedcertainrumors passing through the society of our peers lately. Like bad smells wafting from the fields in the morning.”
“And what kind of rumors, pray tell?”
“You know what kind. That the true Tarnley did not inherit. Thathewho was believed dead has returned. The usual.”
“I have no brother. And if I do, he is long dead,” Gideon muttered.
“Of course, of course. Just relaying the rumors, old boy.”
The music ended. Applause rippled through the room as Sir Obadiah escorted Catherine back, mopping his flushed face with a handkerchief. Catherine was breathless, her cheeks pink, smiling—until her gaze landed on Gideon. Then the warmth vanished, replaced by cool indifference.
“You danced beautifully,” he offered.
Her cheeks darkened further, but she said nothing.
“Splendid, splendid.” Sir Obadiah tucked away his handkerchief. “We’ll speak more later, Your Grace. About coal and such.” He tapped his nose conspiratorially before waddling off.
The musicians were preparing to play again. Gideon spotted Jeremy draw breath, looking at Catherine, as though to ask her to dance.
The infernal impudence of the man! He is becoming a nuisance.
“My turn, I think,” Gideon said, stepping between them. He offered Catherine his hand. “May I?”
Her eyes met his, cool and assessing. “If you wish.”
He led her onto the floor as the music began.
This close, it was impossible not to drown in her. The soft hazel of her eyes, those impossible gold flecks catching the candlelight. His anger dulled against the reality of her beauty, her nearness.
She watched him, waiting. Guarded.
And there, in the subtle tightness around her lips, the wariness in her gaze—pain. Pain that hadn’t been there hours ago.
