Page 17 of The Hero

“If you are about to do anything other than tell me the truth, then I advise you to rethink that decision,” Harry told him coolly. “A lie, once it is told, cannot be unspoken.”

Gideon’s mouth closed, his shoulders falling slightly. “It is not my secret alone to tell.”

She eyed him quizzically. “Your reason for being here has something to do with the other four remaining Ruthless Dukes?”

He tensed. “What makes you say that?”

She snorted. “As far as I am aware, they are the only people to whom you have given your unconditional allegiance.”

“My mother also has it.”

Her brows rose. “Your mother is still alive?”

“I am not so old for you to have assumed my parents must be dead!”

“Your father is deceased; otherwise, you would not have inherited the Oxford title,” she pointed out practically. “Besides, my own mother died when she was only one and thirty.”

Gideon could kick himself for having introduced a subject which so obviously still caused Harry emotional distress. He missed his own father still, of course, and he had been gone for a dozen or so years now.

“My mother is alive and well, and chooses to reside at her house in Brighton all year round,” Gideon confirmed. “I visit her there once a month.”

Harry nodded. “I have no doubt you are a good and dutiful son.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I do not believe your being here this weekend has anything to do with your mother.”

“It does not,” he conceded.

“Then we are back to your friendship with the other Ruthless Dukes being the likely reason for your uncharacteristic actions. Although I cannot for the life of me understand what they have to do with your acceptance of what is nothing more than a few days spent at a small country estate, many of the guests local and so parochial. We have already established it is not for the after-dinner entertainments,” she derided.

“No,” he conceded dryly. “What if I were to offer some information, but reserve the right not to reveal all?” he prompted grudgingly.

She appeared to wrestle with that suggestion for several moments before giving a terse nod. “Very well.”

“We will remain friends?” Gideon prompted.

She looked taken back. “I had no idea that’s what we are.”

Gideon thrust out his hand. “We shall remain friends,” he insisted.

Harry placed a gloved hand into the warmth of his palm. “Friends.”

“Very well.” He released her. “It has come to the attention of myself and the other Ruthless Dukes that Plymouth did not die, as we had always believed, under the sword of a French soldier in the woods near Waterloo.”

She studied his expression for several minutes. “How did you come to this conclusion?”

As Gideon had expected, Harry instantly went straight to the heart of his statement. “Someone recently came forward who saw Plymouth being run through with a sword held by an English soldier rather than a French one.”

Harry frowned. “But Waterloo happened over a year ago.”

“This…person had been press-ganged into serving aboard a French ship. They were only able to make their escape a few months ago and return to London.”

Gideon felt his chest tighten, and remain so, as he watched Harry pace for several long minutes as she considered this information.

She came to a halt in the middle of the room. “Only officers are allowed to carry swords.”

“Yes.”

“An English sword, you said?”

“Yes.”

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