Regency 05 - Intrigue (18 page)

They were married in short order. Jamieson and his wife stood witness, the former straight and proud in his dark livery, the latter plump and motherly, her face beaming with happiness.

Malvina forced Gideon’s revelation from her mind, not daring to believe there was any truth in the claim. She focused on the man at her side, tried to determine how she could feel safe and threatened at the same time.

After his accusation had drained her body of color and nearly the remainder of her senses, she had been tempted to call off the wedding, such as it was.

Her immediate defense of her only child had been concise and biting; Gideon had accepted it with what she could only call relief. But there had been something in his manner that suggested he did not necessarily believe her. His relief stemmed from some other fear. And Malvina withheld the information that Wolf was as much Brackney’s victim as she was, that Wolf was the one who discovered his father, dead, all those years ago.

Shaking away the terror of that night, Malvina focused wholly on the present. She spoke the same words she’d spoken so many years before, when she was still a girl, little more than a child, words that had held meaning for her even then.

Despite her immaturity, she had been raised to believe vows were meant to be kept. Vows before God held more meaning than those before men. She had always felt a certain amount of failure when she’d never managed to love her first husband. And even though he had treated her abominably, part of her still felt guilty.

Lord Holt’s voice when he spoke was easy, lacking any hesitation. She realized with a start that he felt no qualms at all about marrying her. Which meant one of two things: He either believed her completely innocent of her husband’s activities, or he had no reservations about making vows he had no intention of keeping.

What a lowering thought that was!

She felt herself being turned, felt her new husband’s lips press briefly to her fingers, and tried to ignore the disloyal thought that she may have made a colossal mistake.

Immediately following, the reverend was invited to dine and they all shared a rather stilted meal.

Wolf darted angry little glances at his mother and new stepfather, taking bites of food between glares. He was clearly displeased that the marriage had come to fruition and frustrated that he could do nothing about it.

Malvina grimaced at the eels in cream sauce, a dish she personally loathed. She concentrated on eating bite after bite, focusing all her attention on keeping it down. It gave her some relief from the new troubles plaguing her mind.

It was her wedding night. While she had no qualms about her desire for her husband, she did not like the way he looked at her son as though he was already found guilty of some crime. Her logical mind—not to mention her experience with Gideon to date—told her that even if he suspected, he would not harm the boy. Therefore, to feel guilty for desiring his lovemaking was illogical.

Malvina drained her wineglass and accepted another helping of eels, caring little what the others thought of her sudden appetite.

Gideon ate nothing. His wine glass was refilled several times, however, each new one disappearing quicker than the last. He alternately eyed his wife and stepson, wondering dismally why he felt so strongly that she was innocent and that her son was guilty.

It would have been preferable had he suspected her. Malvina Brackney—Holt, he reminded himself with an odd twinge—was incredibly protective of her son. Far more so than most mothers whose sons neared manhood. It hinted at some sort of trauma in the boy’s past, something his mother didn’t believe he could endure on his own.

He leaned back slightly, sliding down a little in his chair, lazy and indolent, allowing his mind to dwell on the puzzle.

His focus began with young Sir Beowulf Brackney, baronet.

The young man had a violent streak, a ready temper that was likely to explode over the smallest wrongs, real or imagined. He seemed to have little control over his emotions. It was dangerous in one so large and yet so young.

Derringer’s note had been blunt. Gideon knew the duke’s sources were uncannily accurate and he hated that in implying the boy had murdered his own father, Derringer had practically convicted him of the crime.

Although, if Gideon’s superiors were correct, the late baronet was better off murdered by his son than standing trial for treason.

Allowing his eyelids to droop, he turned to study his bride.

She steadily ate course after course, as if she hadn’t eaten in quite some time. Gideon bit back a grin. He suspected his wife was more nervous than her expression let on.

He supposed he’d be nervous, too, if his only experience in the bedchamber had been with a selfish partner with whom he could not connect on an emotional level.

Firmly putting that thought in the back of his mind, he drained his wineglass again and held it out to be refilled. He nodded absently at something the loquacious reverend had to say—indeed, he’d nearly forgotten the man was even there—and continued to stare quite rudely at the new Lady Holt.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. Hers widened a little. He could only imagine what she saw in his expression. She had the eerie ability to see through him, even while he was at his most opaque.

Looking from him to her son, her face flushed with every appearance of guilt and she looked away.

Gideon’s face froze. She knew something. Or at least suspected. He would wager his life on it. Unfortunately, Lord Holt was very much afraid he might be doing just that.

“Well,” the reverend said, complacently replete. “I must be going, my lord, my lady, sir.” He smiled at each in turn, completely oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.

The room’s occupants rose as one to see the man out. He refused to be seen to the door, assuring them all he knew the way. Seconds later, he was gone.

Gideon turned to Malvina. “Well, my dear. Perhaps you are ready to retire?”

She seemed surprised by the request but nodded her head, trying to prevent the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks. Her embarrassment died a sudden death with her husband’s next words.

“I need to speak with Wolf.”

Her head snapped up. “No!”

Hiding his surprise at her vehemence, he mildly offered, “I have no intention of harming him, my love.”

“Yes, you do,” she said defiantly. “I know why you wish to speak to him and I won’t allow it.”

One blond brow arched and he opened his mouth to reply. The subject of their argument, however, decided he didn’t care to be spoken of as though he wasn’t there.

“I am not afraid to speak with him, Mother, if you would dare to loosen the apron strings long enough. Bloody hell, you’d think I was still in shortcoats!”

“Language!”

Wolf scowled at them both. “My language is probably not what your
husband
wants to discuss,” he remarked with obvious aversion.

Malvina’s mouth opened and closed. “Very well,” she finally said. Fixing her new husband with a minatory glare, she told her son, “If he hurts you, we will leave.”

The wolfish smirk that Gideon was treated to for this piece of wifely disloyalty made the earl bite back a curse. How the devil was he to get the son to trust him if the mother refused?

“I will walk you to your chamber,” he told Malvina firmly.

She felt a sinking in her midsection. The statement had slipped off her tongue without thought. Reflecting on the implications of her words—and viewing the smug look on her son’s face—she realized the enormity of the mistake she had made.

Giving Wolf as stern a look as she was capable, she meekly followed her new husband from the room. She was pleased to note the shamefaced look that came over Wolf’s countenance as she left. He was not entirely lost to sensitivity.

It was with only a little surprise that she found herself escorted almost roughly into a small salon that she realized with a start she’d never entered.

Upon entering, Gideon moved away, setting the candle he carried on a small table to the left of the door. Malvina used the opportunity to take a deep breath, preparing to explain her remark.

He turned and stared at her for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable. She opened her mouth to give some excuse, any excuse. The words that slipped out were not at all what either one of them expected.

“I love you.”

The look of stupefied shock that crossed his dimly lit face must have been a direct reflection of her own.

He recovered quickly, however, saying, “If that is true—which at the moment, I give leave to doubt—you would trust me.” He stepped closer. “You would trust me with your life and your son’s.” One more step and he was nearly touching her. His face was in heavy shadow, flecks of candle glow dancing in his brown eyes, the color a molten gold in the candle’s flame.

He raised one hand to her face, his fingers curling over her cheek in an oddly possessive caress that made her skin tingle. She fought the sensations, knowing how important it was to stay in control.

He leaned down, bringing their faces level. His words feathered across her lips. “If you know me well enough to have fallen in love with me, you would know I could do nothing to willingly hurt a child, even one as hardheaded and vexing as your son.”

“I do trust you. I am frightened.”

She moved her head the required inch that was needed for their lips to meet. He hesitated only briefly, such a small amount of time that it mattered little. Then his free hand curved around her waist and she was pressed full-length against him. Heat touched her from chest to thigh, flames licking her skin and curling into her middle. She couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers found his neckcloth, working the knot until she slid the starched linen from around his throat.

Both of his hands speared her hair, holding her head still as he ravished her mouth. Her hands slid over his bare throat, the accelerated beat of his heart fluttering against her fingertips. Moving down his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist.

A low growl rumbled in Gideon’s throat. He pulled away, his breathing labored, a look of true regret on his face.

“As enticing as it is at this moment to forget you even have a son, and simply make love to you for the next year or two, I cannot.”

Malvina stepped away, her sigh echoing his. Part of her had hoped to do just that, distract him away from his original purpose. She sighed again, nodding her head in defeat.

He pulled her chin up, forcing her to meet his shadowed eyes. “I will not hurt him, love. I want to help him.”

His fingers stroked her jaw, his eyes searching hers for she knew not what. She was unsure how he could see anything in the light from only one candle anyway.

He kissed her lightly, and pointed to a door she hadn’t noticed. “Your new room is through there. Maddy is waiting for you.”

As he turned to leave, his voice floated back to her, but she couldn’t be sure what he said. She thought she heard him say the one thing she longed to hear, but never believed she would.

It took everything in her not to chase after him and demand he repeat himself. Or explain. Or both.