Page 37 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
She pondered that question until her temples pounded but could not solve the puzzle that was herself. Yet, she did know several things for certain. She was wed now, and since she was, she did not want to live separately from Gabriel, whom she desired. She still wanted to live in Covent Garden and make a life where she felt as if she belonged. And she wanted her husband to like her as she was—no, more than that. She wanted… She wanted him to possibly fall in love with her because she suspected she could quite possibly fall in love with him.
She fell backward onto the bed and blinked up at the ceiling in amazed wonder. How could she make all that happen? She suspected the first thing she needed to do was get him to lower his guards. Were they raised because he was still in love with Georgette, or were they raised because he thought Freddy didn’t belong in his world, that he was somehow protecting her? Or was it both reasons? The second was by far the easiest to tackle presently. Perhaps if she could show him shebelongedin his world, then he’d truly let her into it, and maybe, just possibly, he’d open his heart to her, to them, to possibility.
“What are you doing here?” Blythe straightened from the ledgers she’d been hunched over at Gabe’s desk and scowled as he entered his office.
“This is my office and my club, last I remember.” He tugged off his cravat as he shut the door and then walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He needed it. He had several images lodged in his head, and he couldn’t get them out. They kept revolving across his mind, one after the other, repeatedly.
Frederica appearing so worried as she spoke with him in the parlor before their wedding. Frederica looking achingly beautiful standing by him saying her vows. Frederica sitting at the supper table as they listened to each toast, her smile fading, awareness rising in her eyes as he started the necessary and surprisingly painful process of putting distance between them. Then Frederica asleep in the carriage.
That was the worst image of all. Conjuring it sent hot heat through his veins and a pulsing need to return to her this very moment and spend himself in her arms, then watch her sleep again. Her dark eyelashes fanned her cheeks when she slept, and every so often, she would scrunch her nose as if a dream bothered her.
He would stay here tonight because of how very much he had wanted to remain with her. He hated that he’d hurt her earlier, but she’d suffer more if she came to expect tender emotions and deep attachments from him. He would do his duty, but beyond that, he would not give more and form bonds that would bring pain if he were to ever lose her. He’d had enough pain for a thousand lifetimes.
He’d not been lying when he’d said he had urgent business. He did. Now that he was wed, he was sure Hawk would return. He’d already set two men to guard Frederica tonight and tomorrow, but those men would need breaks. He wanted to pick out two other men to rotate the duty to, and that was his biggest priority—her safety.
“Pour me one, too,” Blythe said, bringing his attention back to his sister.
“You’re supposed to be learning to be a lady. Ladies don’t drink whisky. Haven’t you had a lesson with Lady Guinevere yet? I arranged it.”
He turned, holding a now-full glass, and stared at his sister, who had a decidedly suspicious look on her face for a breath before she wiped her expression clean. Blythe was exceptional at not showing what she was feeling. They’d both learned very early that to survive on the streets one could never show weakness or divulge what one was truly feeling.
Blythe stood, which alerted Gabe to the fact that she was wearing pantaloons, and then strode to the bar, stepped around him, poured a finger of whisky, and drank it down in one gulp. “She mentioned the lessons.” Blythe set her now-empty glass down. “But I told her that since you were now wed to Freddy, she could give me the lessons. Of course—” Blythe arched her eyebrows “—that was before I knew you had purchased a home in Mayfair and settled Freddy there. How’d Freddy take that? Is that why you’re here?”
Damn it. He didn’t want to talk of this. The question brought Frederica’s stricken face back into his mind. It had made him want to forget his plan to keep her out of his world. He couldn’t relent simply because he didn’t want to hurt her. That plan, two houses, two lives, would keep the walls firmly between them.
Blythe’s eyes widened. “You ran from her!”
“I did not run.” He swigged his own drink down, then set his glass beside Blythe’s. “You can come to the Mayfair house tomorrow for lessons with Frederica.”
“Gabe!” She set her hands on her hips and somehow managed to look down her nose at him, though she was a head shorter. “Don’t tell me you are planning on living a separate life from her!”
“Why are you wearing pantaloons?” he asked instead of answering the question.
Blythe glared. “I had a mission for a Cyprian.”
“No more missions, for God’s sake! I’ve enough to worry about now with keeping Frederica safe!”
“Don’t fuss like a mother.” It was something they’d said to each other often over the years. They paused and looked at each other, knowing they both wished they had their mother with them to fuss over them. Blythe broke the silence first. “I took a guard with me.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Blythe’s ambiguousness was more vague than usual. “Good God! Please don’t tell me you’ve taken up with a rookery man. I don’t want to sound like a hypocritical ass, but your innocence must remain intact if—”
“Shut your trap!” Blythe’s face turned such a shade of scarlet that he was reassured her innocence was still her own. “I’m as innocent as I was yesterday.”
“Does that mean—”
She slapped a hand over his mouth, glaring. “Yes.”
He pried her fingers away and squeezed her hand. He had played the part of brother and parent so long it was hard to recall when he’d taken up the second role. “Who was your guard, then?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Then I’ll ask around. You know I’ll find out.”
She gave him her cross look, the one that scared half his employees. “Huntley.”
