The Hero, page 3
Which did not prevent Gideon from resenting being the reason for the younger man feeling he needed to act so protectively toward the sister of his childhood friend.
Admittedly, it was known that the Duke of Oxford did not fraternize with Society ladies beyond being polite. Nor did he single any of them out for his particular attention.
This evening, he had spent fifteen enjoyable minutes or more alone in Harry’s company. He had even laughed aloud at one of her comments. Some might see that unusual behavior on his part tantamount to a declaration of intent.
With that in mind, Gideon spent the majority of dinner talking to the lady seated on his right side. She was the wife of the local squire. Her conversation was parochial at best, and she tended to gush with enthusiasm over the accomplishments of her unmarried daughter, one of the single young ladies seated farther down the table. But at least it ensured he and Harry had ceased being the speculative focus of the other diners.
Which was not to say he did not mentally mull over the fact of Robert Granger having known all the members of the Church family for several years.
When previously questioned, Granger had denied any involvement in his cousin’s murder. But this new information, of Granger’s friendship with the family of one of the officers under suspicion, must at least open up the possibility that the younger man could have either paid Henry Church to carry out the deed or possibly used some other form of inducement to persuade the older man.
As far as Gideon was aware, Henry Church was not in financial difficulties. Nor, despite his eccentricity, was there any indication he had ever done anything for which he might be blackmailed.
But could the same be said for his son, the Viscount Henlow?
Edward Church was part of the same circle of reckless young gentlemen as Granger. Which put Granger in a position to know the viscount’s secrets, and so leave him open to blackmail. It was an avenue of investigation which would require looking into further.
Neither those thoughts, nor the conversation with the squire’s wife, prevented Gideon from being completely aware of every movement and remark made by the young woman seated on his other side.
Harry was both beautiful and vivacious, a combination which easily succeeded in attracting the attention of the young and single gentlemen seated on her other side. She also continued to exchange banter across the table with Robert Granger.
Dunhill’s absence this evening was irritating, removing at least one opportunity where Gideon might have questioned the other man without alerting anyone else to the fact he was doing so.
Although he knew there was every possibility Harry wouldn’t want to talk to him again after he had spoken to her father on the subject of the previous Duke of Plymouth’s murder.
If innocent, Dunhill would no doubt forbid any further acquaintance between his daughter and the man who had accused him of such a heinous deed.
If Dunhill was guilty, chances were he would hang for his crime. Having heard the warm indulgence and affection with which Harry spoke of her father earlier, Gideon doubted she would ever forgive him for his part in sending her father to the gallows, if it should occur.
Neither prospect was particularly palatable.
“Where are you going?”
Harry was surprised to realize Oxford had followed her from the dining room. She came to a halt in the cavernous hallway to turn and face him. “The ladies have withdrawn after dinner to enjoy tea and gossip in my aunt’s blue salon until the gentlemen join them for the entertainments.”
He nodded. “And when the ladies left the dining room, you turned left as they turned right.”
Her top lip curled. “I do not care for tea or gossip. And why were you watching me rather than enjoying brandy and cigars with the other gentlemen?”
He shrugged broad shoulders. “I have already drunk sufficient wine with dinner. Nor do I feel like smoking a cigar,” the duke dismissed. “I also predicted you would not enjoy the inane chatter of the ladies.” A slight smile curved his lips.
Harry frowned at him. “I am no longer surprised at your unmarried state when you obviously hold females in such contempt.”
“On the contrary,” he drawled. “I have a great respect for women.”
“Name one.”
“You.”
Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment. “Any others?”
He gave the question thought for several seconds before answering. “Four of my friends have recently married, and I do not find the company of their wives overly tedious.”
Harry was completely unable to repress the laughter that burst from her throat. “I do not find the company of their wives overly tedious.” She deepened her voice to echo.
Oxford looked alarmed. “I trust that was not an attempt to impersonate me? If so, you have made my voice several octaves higher than I believe it to be.”
She considered him for several long seconds. “You are not quite what you appear to be, are you?”
His brows rose. “What do you mean?”
Harry wasn’t sure. There was just something about this man, glimpses of him she had seen during their conversation before dinner and now, that hinted at him not being entirely that pompous and arrogant ass her father had said he was.
The fact Oxford was amused by her, as evidenced by his laughter earlier, rather than decrying her lack of manners and avoiding her company, was also interesting.
So no, she did not believe Gideon Harrington, the Duke of Oxford, to be quite as toplofty and contemptuous of others as he wished people to believe he was.
“Where were you going?” he repeated.
She smiled. “To check that my father has not become so engrossed in his stargazing that he has fallen over a parapet.”
“I shall come with you,” Oxford instantly offered.
Harry doubted that was a good idea, considering the opinion her father had expressed earlier regarding the other man.
An opinion Harry only partly agreed with.
Oxford could be pompous, yes, but his arrogance appeared to be inborn rather than deliberately affected. Nor did it prevent him from being considerate of the feelings of others, as demonstrated by his considerable patience with the twittering of Mrs. Pierce, the squire’s wife, during dinner.
No, so far in their acquaintance, she continued to disagree with her father’s assessment of the Duke of Oxford’s character.
Even so, she suspected, as her father had foregone one of the sumptuous dinners always provided by her aunt’s cook in order to avoid this man’s company, that he might choose to throw himself from the parapet in order to continue avoiding a man who reminded him of the four months of turmoil and death that had followed Napoleon’s escape. Especially the final battle, which had resulted in her father being shipped home with a head injury that had left a deep scar upon his left temple.
The escape of the Corsican meant her brother and several of his friends, not previously having served, had immediately joined one of the Regent’s regiments. With the ignorance of youth, they had considered the whole thing to be a grand adventure they might tell their grandchildren one day.
Harry’s father, more of a scholar and a romantic than a fighter, had nevertheless decided he must also join a regiment.
Harry had tried to dissuade him from doing so, knowing that his gentle nature was more suited to bird-watching and stargazing.
She has been proved correct when her father had returned home, injured from that blow on the head during the final battle, with whatever horrors he had seen locked tightly inside a mind that refused to relinquish them.
“Best not,” she answered Oxford.
“Because your father disapproves of me?”
“He did not name you specifically…”
“Was anyone else seated at the table this evening in the same regiment as your father?”
“No.” Harry saw no point in avoiding telling the truth.
Oxford stared at her for several seconds before smiling. “Perhaps before you go to check on your father, we might take a stroll about the garden together?” He offered her his arm. “I saw from the window of my bedchamber earlier that several lamps have been lit along the pathways, presumably so that guests might enjoy a walk outside in the balmy evening air.”
Harry raised her brows. “If we go outside together, the gossips will have us betrothed before morning.”
“Then they will be disappointed,” he rasped.
“I think I might like you, after all, Your Grace.” Harry chuckled as she placed her gloved hand on his forearm. The two of them escaped into the garden through a side door rather than returning to the dining room to leave through the open French doors.
She immediately became aware of the stillness of the late summer evening and the heady perfume of the flowers.
Oxford’s mouth quirked at her statement. “You only think that you might like me?” he drawled. “And after I have been so charming and obliging to you too!”
She spluttered with laughter. “Goodness, if this is you being charming and obliging, then I hate to think how cold and difficult you must normally be.”
Gideon knew he had a reputation in Society for being cold and haughty as one of the Ruthless Dukes and in his own right as well. But he found he did not care for having Harry think of him in such an unattractive light.
“I should like you to call me Gideon when we are alone,” he invited huskily as he escorted her down the steps into the garden.
She snorted. “And we both know that it is not acceptable for me to address a duke with such familiarity, when we are alone or otherwise.”
“It is acceptable to me,” he rasped.
She eyed him from beneath lowered dark lashes. “And is everyone always to agree with what the Duke of Oxford decides is acceptable?”
“It would be exceedingly arrogant of me to think that should be the case.”
“Really?” Her shock was obviously feigned as she came to a halt beneath a bower of perfumed flowers. “I cannot imagine why anyone might think that.”
The light from the lamp hanging in the bower allowed Gideon to see the laughter shining in Harry’s deep blue eyes. “You really do enjoy playing these word games with me,” he observed mildly.
Small and even white teeth gleamed briefly as she grinned. “I admit, it is fast becoming one of my favorite pastimes.”
“Indeed.” Gideon looked at her from beneath hooded lids. “Would you be surprised to learn that I wish for my own new favorite pastime to become kissing you?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Harry’s shock was very real this time. Enough so that, for once, she could find no words to say in answer to such an outrageous statement.
Unless…
Had Oxford decided to play her at her own word game?
Of course he had. He had said as much earlier.
But it appeared he did not know how to play this game as well as she did!
Because a man as sophisticated and worldly as Gideon Harrington would not be in the least interested in kissing a young miss from the country who, because her father had been away in the army the previous year and not inclined to travel to London this year, had not yet been given a Season.
In truth, Harry had been the one to persuade her father against having her presented this year. She could imagine no worse torture than having to travel to London, followed by a Season of always dressing and behaving as a polite and accomplished young lady. Especially when the only reason for doing so was to find herself a suitable husband.
Harry did not wish for a husband, suitable or otherwise.
Luckily, her father harbored no such ambitions on her behalf either. He was no more eager to see her depart their home than she was to leave it.
Her mother had died when Harry was aged only twelve and on the brink of becoming a woman. In the physical sense, at least. It had been an emotionally difficult time for all the family. Even Edward had come home from school for the funeral and stayed for several weeks after. But eventually, he had returned to Eton, leaving Harry and her father alone together at Dunhill Park.
Her father had not remarried in the seven years since, nor had he sent Harry away to finishing school or to attend a London Season with her aunt. As a consequence, Harry was now closer to her father emotionally than many other girls of her age and circumstances.
She knew from talking to some of other young ladies at the local assemblies they occasionally attended that most fathers did not visit the nursery nor otherwise spend time with their daughters. That they only took an interest in them when it came time for them to make an advantageous marriage.
Her father, thankfully, was not of that ilk, and the two of them often spent their evenings together once she was old enough to discuss such things as books and politics with him. This past year, after Harry’s governess, Miss Pettigrew, had retired to the coast to live with her widowed sister now that Harry no longer needed her services, she had also become her father’s hostess at his Gloucestershire estate for the occasions when it was necessary for him to entertain the local gentry.
In truth, there were not many such occasions, because her father no more enjoyed dinner parties, or really any sort of social event, than she did.
But if Oxford thought he could toy with her because of her lack of experience in those social skills, he was going to be sadly disappointed.
She looked up at him unflinchingly in the moonlight. “Then what is stopping you?” she challenged.
Gideon frowned, unsure of the reason for the anger he discerned in Harry’s beautiful blue eyes. Her lips were inviting him to kiss her. The sparkle in her eyes was daring him to do so.
His own gaze became riveted on the sensuous softness of her lips.
He noted that rather than the top lip being bigger than the bottom as many peoples were, Harry’s were of equal fullness. Causing Gideon to ache with a need to thoroughly kiss and then suck on the perfect cupid’s bow of her top lip, before licking and tasting the sweetness behind those lips.
Another glance at the challenge in her eyes warned him against attempting to do so. “Which part of what I said upset you?” he prompted instead.
Her brows rose. “Saying you wished to kiss me is not outrageous enough?”
He shrugged. “I do not believe I have ever known a woman to react in that way to that suggestion before now, no.”
She huffed. “Perhaps those other women were all so overwhelmed by the thought of being singled out that way by the distinguished Duke of Oxford that they were simply too in awe of you to do anything other than submit.”
Gideon was well aware that he had just been complimented and insulted all in the same breath. He refused to accept either. “Then I shall wait until you grant your permission before I take the suggestion any further.”
Harry looked chagrined by the comment. As if she did not know whether to be relieved at the reprieve or upset by Gideon’s restraint.
Her next comment answered that question. “You are nothing at all like the forceful but romantic heroes in the novels I have read.”
“Thank God!” Gideon held back his smile at her disgruntled expression. “But, to be fair, I am sure none of the heroines in those books were quite like you either.”
She frowned. “Did you just insult me?”
“Not in the least.” Gideon found himself once again chuckling in this young lady’s presence. “Indeed, I meant to compliment you on not being anything remotely like one of the empty-headed misses usually depicted between those pages.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.”
“You are not toying with me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You really wish to kiss me?”
“More than anything,” he acknowledged huskily.
Her expression brightened. “In that case, you may do so.”
His mouth quirked at this sudden about-face. “I may?”
“Yes.” Her gaze was again challenging.
He was tempted, oh so tempted, but first… “Only if you will first call me Gideon.”
“Gideon,” she obeyed in a husky tone that curled around and then invaded Gideon’s senses.
Making him totally aware of everything about her. Her softness, her perfume, the pulsing of the blood through her veins visible at the base of her throat, her breasts a creamy swell over the scooped neckline of her gown.
His gaze held hers as he slowly lowered his head to press his lips against her slightly parted ones.
The heat of desire raged through his body at the first taste of the softness of her lips, causing his heart to leap and his cock to engorge.
Physical reactions that were all the more surprising because he was not touching Harry in any other way. Not with his hands, nor his body. There was just the meeting of two pairs of lips that merged easily together before slowly moving in a dance of discovery. Testing, tasting, devouring.
Gideon’s body felt on fire with that last emotion, and he groaned softly as he kissed and licked those pillowy lips. His arms moved about the slenderness of Harry’s waist to pull her in tightly against the hardness of his body as he continued to kiss and lick and bite those responsive lips.
“You, down there! What do you think you are about with my daughter, you young scoundrel?”
Gideon staggered slightly at the abruptness with which Harry wrenched her lips from beneath his to turn her head and look up at the roof of the house.
A large and shadowy figure could be seen standing at the edge of the parapet.
A man Gideon knew without a doubt to be Henry Church, the Earl of Dunhill, and Harry’s father.
Gideon scowled his displeasure when Harry gave a dismayed gasp and pulled out of his arms. She then turned quickly on her heels and ran across the garden to enter the house through the door from which the two of them had left a short time earlier.
He glanced up at the parapet.
“Good God,” the man above gasped incredulously. “Is that you, Oxford?”
