Page 37 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Gideon turned to see Lady Hetty and her sister. Against his will, his heart lightened at the sight of Hetty, who looked lovely in primrose yellow. “Lady Henrietta, Lady Cecilia, a pleasure to see you both,” he said politely and then glanced at his brother, who was regarding him steadily, an expectant glint in his eyes.

Damnation.

Damian quirked an eyebrow. “I’m waiting,” he murmured.

Gideon glowered at him, he would need to warn Hetty about his brother, though he suspected she could hold her own. “Lady Henrietta, Lady Cecilia, might I present to you my brother, Viscount Rivington.”

Damian took off his hat and gave an elegant bow. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last,” he said politely.

Hetty snorted. “By hook or by crook,” she muttered, turning her attention back to Gideon.

Gideon smiled, rather delighted by her response to his too handsome sibling. But Gideon noticed Damian was not looking at Hetty, but at Cecilia.

“How goes work on the hotel?” Hetty asked, oblivious to the conversation going on behind her.

“Very well, I think,” Gideon said, though he’d had several complaints from the men today. Minor things only, missing tools, and minor discrepancies in the latest deliveries. There was nothing of note, and such irritations were commonplace, especially when such large quantities were being delivered, and on a busy site things were easily mislaid or lost, and yet… He needed to look into it.

“I still haven’t seen the plans for the bedroom suites,” Hetty said, giving him a direct look.

Gideon smiled. “No. I’m afraid I’ve had a lot on my mind. I would appreciate your observations, though, if you have the time?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know very well that I do and that I’m champing at the bit to find something else amiss. How it delights me to vex you,” she said, her eyes alight with devilry.

“Really? I had not noticed,” he replied blandly.

Hetty pulled a face at him. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. We can discuss the plans after.”

“Oh, I don’t…”

“Yes, you must. You look like you could do with a good meal, and Gee-Gee will love to see you again. There it’s settled.”

“Indeed, it is,” Lady Cecilia said in her soft voice before Gideon could protest. “We shall look forward to seeing you both tomorrow. Good evening, gentlemen.

Gideon saw Hetty’s mouth fall open, registered her desire to protest strongly against her sister extending the invitation to his brother, but she could not do so. Instead, she returned a tight smile, shooting a glare at Damian, and then one at Gideon that suggested he had better keep his brother in line.

Oh, bloody hell. Well, this ought to be fun.

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 1st August 1816

Damian glanced at his brother as they walked up the drive to Hatherley Hall. Deon could never have been accused of being loquacious, but he seemed quieter than ever, and so tense Damian wondered if he would snap like a bowstring at any moment.

If the poor fool didn’t let off steam soon, he really might go the way of their mother. He ought to find himself a comfortable widow, someone to dote on him and make love to him when the world looked bleak. But Gideon would rather spend his blunt on keeping their bedlamite of a mother in high style.

No doubt he was fretting about what manner of inequity Damian had planned, how he would scandalise this fine family and go about debauching their guests. Irritation simmered beneath his skin. Admittedly, he’d earned a good deal of his wicked reputation, but he wasn’t the bloody devil either.

“Worried I might steal the silver, brother dear?” he remarked, slanting Gideon a sardonic smile.

Gideon glowered at him. “Not the silver.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Virtuous young ladies have never held any appeal for me.”

“You ruined Miss Bradford.”

Damian felt a shaft of pure rage strike deep in his soul. He supposed he could not blame Gideon for believing the worst of him. He’d gone out of his way to make such stories credible, but it still stung. “I never laid a finger on that bloody harpy, and I was not about to marry her when she created the entire scene.”

“Honour be damned,” Gideon said quietly.

Damian stopped in his tracks. His chest felt tight, and it took considerable effort to unclench his fists and adopt an expression of careless indifference. “Indeed. You would bleed yourself dry upon the altar of honour, where I only visit on high days and holidays. I wonder which of us is the better for it.”