Page 94 of Not his Marchioness
Her eyebrows rose. “Gideon? At this hour? Pray, where are you going?”
“To his home. His parents have invited me for tea.”
“Just you?” she asked, tilting her head.
Damn. Of course, his parents would invite her as well. She was his wife; she had even been to their home once before. He had to think quickly.
“Yes—well, I meant his father. A gentlemen’s gathering of sorts. Other gentlemen will be present as well.”
“I see. And who?”
Why was she pressing so? Did she suspect something?
“I am uncertain,” he hedged. “I imagine Lord Woodhaven, perhaps some others of our acquaintance. I thought it would be wise to join them, seeing how I must continue to cement my reputation as an upstanding gentleman.”
She bit her lip, color rising as she released it. “Such a peculiar day for a gathering. Between Christmas and New Year’s Eve? Could it not have waited until January?”
He shrugged. “I suppose these gentlemen are merely seeking a respite from the press of family for a few hours. Most already have children and grandchildren, so perhaps they crave a little quiet amongst their fellows.”
She nodded, though he noticed her gaze remained fixed on the canvas rather than on him.
“I see. Do you think you will be back in time for dinner, or will you dine with them?”
“I hope to return by nine,” he replied. “But please, do not wait up for me, should it grow late. I would not have you inconvenienced. I shall come by your chamber once I return—after dinner, if it be so—merely to let you know I am safely home. If that suits you, of course.”
“If it suits you, it suits me.” She shrugged.
That tone was still there—halfway between steady and suspicious. Or was it merely his imagination?
“I can cancel,” he blurted.
Truly, he did not wish to, for he needed to resolve this matter. But he could not bear for his wife to be suspicious, not when all he sought was to put the past behind them once and for all, to clear a path toward a brighter future.
“No,” she said quickly. “If you have already given your word, it would not be gentlemanly to break it. I will wait up for you, no matter what.”
He opened his mouth to protest. He did not want her to wait up for him. He hoped this business would be finished within minutes, but if it took longer, he did not want her to fret into the night. Yet there was no arguing with her, not now.
“Very well,” he relented. “I suppose I ought to put aside my brushes, since I am hardly using them. I should change as well. I do apologize if this causes you any inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” she said. “My family has already departed and will not return for days. So it is only the two of us. I had rather looked forward to an evening alone.”
There was no suspicion in her tone now, no hidden meaning, only genuine regret. Rhys raised his hand and laid it gently on her cheek. For a moment, he thought she might pull away, but then she leaned into his palm.
“I beg your pardon. I long to be alone with you as well,” he whispered. “There is much we must speak of—many things on my mind. But we have the coming days. The ball is not until New Year’s.”
“You are right,” she said softly, placing her hand over his. “Wrap up your business, and then we shall take time just for the two of us.”
“Yes, my dear.” He leaned forward, intending to kiss her lips, but the very lips that had spoken so many half-truths in the past minutes felt unworthy. Instead, he kissed her forehead. “I will be back in no time.”
“Very well.”
He moved to the table to clean his brushes, rinsing the paint in the basin. He could feel her gaze on him until, at last, the sensation faded.
Her footsteps retreated, and she disappeared through the door, leaving him behind to stew in the uncertainty he had brought upon himself.
CHAPTER 37
He was leaving.
