Page 24 of The Lady Loves A Scandal

For once, Sybil did not have the urge to run into his arms, to press her body against his, to have his lips warmly caressing hers. To completely lose all of herself in him; his smell, his hold…his heart.

“Damn it, Sybil.” The palm of his hand landed on the stone edge of the hearth, and he turned to face her, his eyes alight with something akin to chaos. “How am I to protect you when you embrace peril at every turn?”

Disarray. Turmoil. Utter pandemonium.

Gideon’s narrowed glare held it all.

“I have survived nearly twenty-three summers without you sheltering me; in fact, I lived nearly an entire year thinking you were dead, gone, never to be seen again. Why did you not protect me from that?”

“I left you a note.”

“Excuse my lack of decorum, but a bloody note scribbled upon crumpled paper, closed with a lopsided seal…it did nothing to assure me that you’d return.”

“I could not tell you where I was going and had no idea how long I’d be gone.”

“Just as you still cannot trust me enough to share where you were all those months.” Sybil said the last word as her breath ran out. She drew in air deeply, ready to launch into yet another volley of questions and concerns, but she got no further than, “I cried myself to sleep for months, Gideon.”

“Hurting you is something I will apologize for endlessly; however, I can make no amends for leaving that night.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his long locks hanging askew from the action and matching his wild-eyed stare. “I had no other choice.”

“If you have returned, why am I still in danger? Who poses a risk to my safety?” she begged. “I am no one of import.”

“You are of great import to me!”

The words should have filled her with a sense of security, to know that she meant something more to him than the last year had shown. Instead, the volatile lilt to his tone had her flinching away.

“I love you, Sybil, and there are people…if they knew how much I cared for you…they would seek to harm you if only to get something from me.”

“Does this have to do with Charles?”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, slumping into one of the two chairs facing the fire. Sybil moved into the room and sat on the other seat, her stare mirroring his as they both watched the flames licking at the logs. “He was taken…years ago. It was my fault.”

Taken? “Do you mean kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped, impressed, tied, bound and gagged.” His lips pressed into a frown. “Call it what you want, but he was taken when I should have protected him, watched over him, and made sure he returned home safely.”

“Where did they take him?” Sybil wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more, but she suspected this was the heart of Gideon’s secret…and she would know it.

“To sea.” Gideon’s head hung as if the entirety of the blame was his to shoulder. “We were in London, directly after I finished University, and I convinced Charles to spend an evening out and about London, doing as boys who think they are men do—drinking and carrying on.”

He fell silent, but Sybil didn’t prod him for more. He would speak when he was ready.

Finally, he pushed to his feet and strode to the sideboard.

“Pardon my horrendous manners,” he called over his shoulder as he took the stopper from a decanter and poured a drink. “I have spoken of this to no one in many years.”

“I will have one, too,” she said.

His back straightened, but he removed a second tumbler and poured her a small portion of scotch before returning to his seat.

“We were both so deep in our cups that we stumbled to yet another tavern, this one far too close to the docks, and a man bought us another round of drinks.” He took a sip from his glass, his eyes staring unseeingly into the hearth as he re-lived the moment. “We were young with no funds to our names other than what our fathers gave us, and we’d spent that far earlier in the night. So, we accepted the drinks without question. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a rubbish heap with the sound of the lapping waves on the dock pillars causing my head to swirl and my stomach to churn.”

“What of Charles?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

“Gone.” Gideon leaned forward, setting his empty glass on the table between their seats. “Taken without a trace. It took me a fortnight to learn what had happened to him and where he was likely headed.”

All manner of notions collided in her head: taken by the magistrate, imprisoned at Newgate, banished to the colonies for some sordid crime.

“He was snatched up by a press gang and forced into service on the Centurion for our Royal Navy. From there, he was traded from ship to ship, whenever the need for sailors shifted when the entire British forces were sent to handle Napoleon and his troops.”