Lord and Lady Abbott.
Gwen realized she had been staring at her betrothed forseveral seconds without responding. She was woolgathering while their parents watched on.
“Aidan,” she said hastily, wrenching her hand back.
This was all too good to be true. She had a handsome, eligible heir contracted to marry her. His parents were accepting her without question, with a list of names for future issue. Her father was grinning like a cat who was preparing to pounce on a slow, overweight pigeon for his dinner.
Something was bound to go awry.
Although she had attended numerous social functions, Gwen felt entirely out of her depth, unsure what came next. Which was when God himself took pity on her—in the form of Jenson appearing in the doorway to make an announcement.
“Dinner is served.”
Aidan held out his arm—his muscular, male arm—and Gwen peered down at it in momentary confusion before hesitantly taking hold of it to accompany him to the dining room.
Beneath her fingers, his arm flexed, and she wanted to sigh and stroke it in appreciation, but, fortunately, good breeding and the presence of his parents prevented her from such an offensive act.
Aidan had been struck once moreby the beauty of his Venus, barely registering the bizarre interaction between his mother and Gwen’s maid. Her hand on his arm was steering his thoughts to lascivious activities as they walked down the hall.
Which was when Aidan noticed the missing paintings. Every second or third spot where there should have been aportrait or whatnot, there was instead an unfaded rectangle of wallpaper, indicating that it had recently been covered by something.
It was further evidence of Smythe selling off his assets, but as Aidan swept his gaze over the length of the hall, it was obvious that the man had sold far more than the list Aidan had made. Smythe must have been liquidating his assets for far longer than the two-month stack.
Entering the dining room, Aidan was torn between spending time in Gwen’s company and noticing that the shelving along one wall held very fewobjets d’art. Less than half of what one might expect in a wealthy home. He had hoped to enjoy the evening with his betrothed, celebrating their impending nuptials, but his thoughts swung to the dead baron and his sister’s safety as he took in what was not there.
What should be there.
He had promised his father to hold off investigating Smythe until the wedding in a few days, but the mounting clues to the man’s troubles made Aidan’s skin crawl with the notion that Lily was still in danger. His little sister with a big mouth and a bigger heart, who deserved better than he, a lousy brother who had failed her.
As their parents took their seats, he and Gwen walked around to the other side of the table. He pulled her chair out for her before taking his place beside her, determined to set aside his thoughts until a more appropriate time.
Trafford and Filminster had pointed out how difficult his path forward would be, attempting to be a good husband to Gwen while defending Lily from a violent killer, and Aidan blew out his breath in a puff. Gwen must have heard him as her head bobbed in his direction, curious at this sign of distress.
Aidan smiled to reassure her. Reaching under the table, he clasped her hand, gently stroking his thumb over herfingers. To his delight, her hand curled into his, and for several seconds, they held hands while his parents chattered with Smythe.
Footmen brought in the courses, laying them out while his mother offered Smythe several names from the Abbott family tree. Smythe, in turn, offered some from their history.
Gwen was biting her lip as she picked up a spoon to begin eating.
“Chestnut?” he asked.
Gwen nodded. “It is Papa’s favorite.”
“And what is yours?”
“I do not much care for soup,” she responded.
“What do you care for?”
“Fruit. Oranges, especially.”
Aidan growled in the back of his throat, recalling how she had tasted of citrus when they had kissed. Heat shot through his veins, and he considered that soon they would be joined in matrimony … which meant that soon they would be joined. He had never experienced such a visceral interest in bedding a woman, but the thought of Gwen’s hair flowing free on the sheets as he lowered himself over her … He would invite her for a walk on the terrace after dinner so he could sip on her lips once more.
Lowering his voice so their parents could not hear, Aidan asked, “Is that the scent I breathed?”
Gwen colored, a warm flush rising from the edge of her bodice to temporarily conceal her delightful freckles. “There is bergamot in my soap.”
Aidan bent his head toward her, drawing her smell in to make his mouth water. “The moon shines bright. In such a night as this. When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they did make no noise, in such a night …”
