Page 10 of The Duke of Pain

“Perhaps an arrangement can be made,” Gideon murmured as his mind crafted a cunning plan. This would be one way to extricate Whinstone from Foxmont permanently. “If I go ahead with this scheme, Mother, you will have to give up your townhouse rental. I cannot afford to keep numerous households.”

His mother gasped. “Where am I to go? Not here, with you.”

“God forbid,” Gideon stated drolly. “Stay with your sister, or after Whinstone vacates Foxmont, you may stay there in the east wing, well out of my sight.”

The duchess jutted out her chin and pursed her lips. “I hate Foxmont, you know that. The country? I cannot abide that sort of dull life. All my friends are here.”

“Then stay with one of your many friends if Aunt Mirella will not have you. Aunt is a widow and all alone in that huge townhouse. Uncle left her a nice nest egg. I will set you up with an allowance and pay a yearly stipend to Aunt for your upkeep. Granted, you will have to tighten the belt as it were—”

“How dare you,” his mother interrupted, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. “I am a duchess.”

“Then have your duke husband pay your bills. Oh, wait. He cannot as he is as poor as a church mouse.” Gideon sat forward. “You listen to me. It is my price. Do you wish for me to consider doing Whinstone this favor? A man I loathe with every fiber of my being? A man who beat me on a near-daily basis while you stood nearby doing nothing? I have the scars to prove the abuse, inside and out. How dare you come here and make such a request. Have you no shame, madam?”

“But Mirella lives in Lambeth,” his mother whined.

How typical that his mother did not even acknowledge what he had said about the beatings. She always looked the other way.

When had she ever cared about him? Why would she change now?

“There are sections of Lambeth that are respectable enough; get used to it.”

“You are so harsh and unyielding, no wonder no woman will have you, no wonder—”

“Is there a time that you ever loved me, Mother?” Gideon interrupted. “Because I cannot recall one kind word or show of affection, even before Father died.”

“Oh, poor you,” his mother spat venomously.

Gideon stood. “This conversation is at an end. You have forty-eight hours to give me your decision. Send a message through to my steward, Mr. Chapman. And a word of advice, you do not wish to anger me because I will stop the rental payment on your accommodations, regardless.” He bowed stiffly. “Good day, Your Grace.”

Annoyed beyond belief, Gideon strode from the room, his fists clenched. His insides were in knots, as they always were when dealing with his mother. He cursed himself for mentioning the loving detail.

With such a blackened heart, he was not supposed to care—about anything.

Revealing that vulnerability would be a mistake he would never make again.

Chapter 3

Gideon paced the room for the twentieth time, a snifter of brandy in his hand. The Gold Room—he could understand the reference. From the gold brocade curtains and matching silk bed linens to the fleur-de-lis gold wallpaper, the room was plush and Georgian in its decor.

He had barely any sleep last night in anticipation of this meeting. Just the thought of being with this Olivia had him hard as stone, and it was damned uncomfortable. Never had such a swift reaction to any woman in all these years. The fact he still experienced desire at his advancing age was a relief. Not just lust, but an actual physical yearning.

Quite astounding, really.

Olivia’s cold, implacable gaze countered with the soft, feminine body intrigued him to no end. Gideon wasn’t exactly sure how to approach this situation.

Submit, or demand that she submit to him?

He downed the rest of his drink and placed the snifter on the table.

If he were smart, he would not pursue this unknown attraction. But he was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Gideon had to know more. Frustrated and warm, he tore off his coat and waistcoat, pulling his cravat from his neck. He unbuttoned his shirt down to his waist, then reached for one of the towels and wiped the perspiration from his torso.

Get control.

But how could he?

He was hot and bothered, aroused and restless. Pacing as a lion kept in a cage. The conversation with his mother yesterday also was the cause of the uneasiness. But the last place he wished to think of his mother was at a brothel. Gideon would deal with that particular drama later.

The door opened, and he whirled about to find Damon Cranston, Marquess of Brookton, standing before him.