He merely looked at her, pained. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you have a choice.”
“I can’t lie about this, Beatrice.”
“I’m not asking you to lie.” Not really.
Only moments ago, Gideon had been kissing her senseless on this very settee. His hands had been on her. His breath had been against her throat. She had come apart in his arms with a complete lack of shame or sense.
And now they were arguing.
Gideon’s jaw pinched. “Your brother trusts me. He trusts me, of all men, not to take advantage of you.”
Beatrice nearly lost her breath hearing those words.
“Take advantage of me?” she repeated.
His eyes closed briefly, as though he heard the mistake as soon as she did.
“I do not mean?—”
“You did not take advantage of me,” she said again, more fiercely this time. “Do not make what happened between us into something done to me.”
His gaze came back to hers.
“And yes,” she continued, before he could speak, “Dash is your oldest and dearest friend. But he does not need this. Not now.”
“Beatrice—”
“No. He is already not himself. You know that. I know that. Everyone in that house knows it and pretends not to. What possible good would come from placing this at his feet as well?”
While Gideon said nothing, Beatrice’s pulse skipped a beat.
Because beneath her genuine concern for Dash, another fear was already stirring.
Would her brother be angry?
Not merely with Gideon.
But with her.
For complicating the one friendship he had always depended upon. For making herself a problem between him and a man who was like a brother to him.
Her stomach twisted.
“This… you and I…” She faltered beneath Gideon’s steady gaze, because the truly maddening thing was that one look from him nearly made her forget why they were arguing.
Nearly.
“We can wait. Can’t we? Until Dash is… Dash again?”
Gideon frowned, though something like amusement flickered through his eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“Then you agree that telling him now would be a mistake.”
