Page 63

His lips curved. “I am home.”

She took in his appearance. His coat was a different hue from this morning, his linen crisp and clean. He smelled of starch and soft leather, not the sweat of a mount.

“You changed?” she asked, tilting her head with gentle curiosity.

His smile dimmed slightly. “I thought it would be dinner soon,” he said. “So I scrubbed Valor’s sweat from my skin … that I might find you.”

Gwen leaned back to glance at the casement clock. “I shall have to prepare for dinner myself, I suppose.”

“Or,” he murmured, his voice lowering into a rumble, “we can have a tray brought to your room.”

His fingers brushed the back of her hand. Bare, ink-smudged, warm. The touch was light but adoring.

“Truly?”

His eyes roamed with undisguised appreciation. “Oh, yes.”

Gwen beamed, shoving her chair back with eager delight. “Yes!”

Aidan rose in kind, but she halted suddenly, her hand suspended in midair as a remembered thought flared in her mind.

“Oh, wait!” She plopped back into the chair, skirts rustling about her ankles.

He paused mid-step, brow lifting with curiosity as he eased back into his seat. “Something amiss?”

“Your mother paid me a visit,” Gwen said, folding her hands atop her notebook, the edge of her thumb smudged faintly with ink.

His brows rose slightly, but he said nothing.

“She told me about what happened with Lily.”

A subtle shift crossed his features. It was barely perceptible, but Gwen saw it, the narrowing of his eyes, a faint tensing in his jaw. “Lily?”

“She thought I ought to be told now that I am family. About the footman who attacked her.”

Aidan inclined his head slowly, though his expression remained carefully neutral.

“I was horrified,” Gwen continued, voice low with feeling. “She is so small and kind. What sort of brute could think to harm her?”

Aidan’s lips curved faintly, but the smile was shadowed. “Lily is far sturdier than she appears. She has borne all with admirable resolve.”

“I can see that. One would never guess such a thing had occurred. Still, to hear it from your mother was a great shock.”

He nodded, gaze drifting away for a heartbeat before returning. That familiar veil of distance flickered across his eyes again. “Was there more to the conversation?”

“Well …” Gwen hesitated. “She told me that you carry guilt over Lily’s scandal. That she stepped forward to protect Lord Filminster by giving him an alibi, one that was not entirely true.”

At that, Aidan straightened, rubbing a hand through his hair in agitation. “That is rather a wealth of family confidence to be shared in a single afternoon.”

“She spoke with love and concern,” Gwen said gently. “Not gossip.”

He exhaled sharply. “You do understand, I hope, that word cannot get out about what Lily did? Filminster was under heavy suspicion, but he could not have committed the crime. Lily witnessed enough to know he was innocent. She merely … shifted the details to ensure the truth would be accepted. If anyone were to uncover the full truth, if she were accused of perjury, it could destroy her. And Filminster.”

“She is safe with me. I have no desire to spread tales … and no one to tell, even if I did.” Gwen paused. “But your mother was right, was she not? You blame yourself for Lily’s scandal.”

Aidan’s brown eyes fixed upon her, and Gwen saw his discomfort ripple behind them. He was clearly disconcerted by the bluntness of her question, but how else could she have asked it?

“I have felt regret,” he admitted slowly, “that I chose to go out that night, carousing with friends. Had I been at home, I might have stood as Filminster’s alibi instead.”