Page 67 of A Scot Is Not Enough

Gideon removed his hat and set it on a hook. “You were detained by a woman, I collect.”

“An entrancing woman.” His chest might’ve expanded, which drew attention to the button he’d skipped while hastily buttoning his waistcoat.

Gideon eyed the incriminating button with arched brows and innuendo.

There were a lot of questions in that expression, as only brothers could convey. Questions of birth and breeding, status, and similar items of note would top his older brother’s list.

“Your new life must be exhausting,” Gideon said.

“I work long hours to earn my keep.”

Gideon smoothed his gray velvet coat. “Are you going to introduce me to your guest? Or do you plan to keep her hidden away?”

“Another day, perhaps.”

Alexander crossed the room and touched a taper to smoldering embers in the fireplace. As he lit the sconces, an alluring rose scent lingered. Gideon had to smell the same gentle perfume. He was curious how Miss MacDonald would see his brother. It was possible she was peeking through the keyhole. They shared the same height, though Gideon carried a stone more muscle and was meticulous about his hair and his place in the family hierarchy. It might be the two sausage curls above his ears, an affectation which had consumed his brother since he’d discovered their father’s pomade. Alexander rarely touched the stuff, a divergence there. An appreciation for a woman with a mind of her own was another. Gideon preferred the gentler sex in tidy categories: doting mothers, sainted virgins, and wicked women one engaged for entertainment purposes only.

Thus, it was no surprise when Gideon lowered his voice to ask, “Have you hired a Covent Garden doxy?”

“Who says I hired a doxy? Perhaps the lady hired me?”

Gideon’s jaw unhinged and there was a muffled laugh behind the bedchamber door. Alexander couldn’t say what possessed him to suggest such a thing. The goddess of Swan Lane’s influence? Or the residue of her sensual kisses?

He tossed the taper into the fire and settled for vague truth.

“She propositioned me a few nights ago,” he said. “A business arrangement, as it were.”

Gideon’s eyes rounded. “A womanhiredyou—for sexual congress?”

Alexander cracked a laugh. “No, I mean the lady is here to discuss something of a delicate nature. I do hope I can count on your discretion.”

“Of course.”

A solicitor to the marrow of his bone, Gideon grasped nuance. London’s good folk parted with hefty sums to buy his discretion and his shrewdness.

Alexander took pity on him. “Have a seat. Should I call down for tea? Or do you prefer something stronger?”

Gideon planted himself in the chair like a new sailor thankful for terra firma.

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

Alexander took a spot on the pine settle as laughter from the street drifted through the open window. “You see, brother, I have a few secrets of my own.”

He might’ve been playing deep but he had nothing to lose. Gideon had stolen one woman from him.Instinct told him never in a million years could Gideon steal the goddess of Swan Lane. She was a gift—her laugh, her scent, her soul. The lady might be tucked behind a door, but her radiance touched him. And he needed to be worthy of her. A humbling prospect. A drink, he decided, was a good idea after all. He rose from the bench and splashed port into a cup. The chair creaked behind him. Gideon was restless too. When Alexander turned around, his brother was by the fireplace, his well-shod toe toying with a pebble-sized lump of coal.

“Something bothering you?” Alexander asked.

Gideon reached into his pocket. “I am here to deliver this.”

Foolscap, the paper folded appropriately, was in Gideon’s hand. A stylizedSstamped in white wax showed—the color for private festivities, especially weddings. The invitation a token of greater things. His brother’s eyes glowed with the peculiar awe of a man in love.

Alexander was measured, crossing the room.

“Felicitations to you and Phoebe.” His voice was rusted. “I am happy for you, truly.”

“Thank you. It means a great deal to hear you say that.”

Emotions tumbling thickly, Alexander deposited the invitation on the mantel beside the list of names and businesses from his visit to Westminster. Evidence concerning Miss MacDonald on one paper; evidence concerning another woman on the other. When he looked up, his brother’s face was inscrutable above his perfect cravat. It was Gideon’s solicitor’s mien when treading lightly.