Amused in spite of himself, he crouched down and scratched behind her soft, furry ears and tickled her warm tummy. After bestowing a frenzy of kisses on his hand, she abandoned him and turned her attention to Caesar whose wagging tail thumped furiously against the doorjamb. Gideon stood and allowed his besotted pet a moment to reacquaint himself with his lady love, then commanded softly, "Caesar, guard." Caesar immediately ended the frivolity and posted himself in the doorway. Princess Buttercup plopped her bottom next to him and stared adoringly up into his jowly face.
He turned his attention back to the pianoforte. Julianne had risen and stood beside the velvet tufted bench, her hands clasped in front of her. Her sheer beauty struck him insensate for several seconds, but he quickly recovered himself and walked toward her, his boots muffled against the thick carpet. He stopped when six feet remained between them. His gaze raked over her, and he clenched his hands. Bloody hell, her lips still looked kiss-swollen, and his own lips tingled at the memory of that which he wanted nothing more than to forget.
She said nothing for several long seconds, just looked up at him with those big blue eyes that surely would have melted his insides if he hadn't steeled himself against them. Then she said, "My father told me about his arrangement with you. I'm very glad and relieved you'll be here, especially given Lady Daltry's robbery and death."
"He's paying me extremely well."
Disappointment flickered across her features at his cold words, but then her spine seemed to stiffen. "I see. Well, money is the one thing of which Father has plenty, and he's an expert at discovering how much of it is required to get what he wants. He's fond of saying 'everyone has their price.'" She raised her chin. "Clearly he found yours. I'm not certain which of you to congratulate."
A flush of shame heated Gideon's face. Damn it, he'd purposely made it sound as if he'd accepted the job of protecting her because of the pay-as opposed to anything personal between them-and she'd neatly hoisted him on his own petard. "You're insinuating I was bought."
"I'm not insinuating it. I'm stating it outright." She gave an elegant shrug. "'Tis of no importance. You're in very exalted company. Father's latest acquisition is the Duke of Eastling-as a husband for me. But you already know that."
"Yes. Your engagement is something you conveniently neglected to mention." He tried to keep his tone bland and impersonal, but the words came out harsh and abrupt.
Scarlet suffused her cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver. "Would it have mattered?"
No. "Yes. I'm not in the habit of making a cuckold of another man. In fact, I've a strong aversion to it."
"He is not yet my husband."
"He is your betrothed and will be your husband in a fortnight." Anger mixed with unwanted jealousy spread through Gideon like a poison infecting his entire body. "Bad enough that I compromised your innocence. In my ignorance of your engagement, I also compromised my honor. I don't take things that belong to others."
Her bottom lip trembled, and she seemed to deflate, as if all her bravado leaked out of her. "You didn't take anything. Still, you're right, of course. I… I should have told you, but-"
"There are no buts," he broke in coldly. "You should have told me. As for last night-it didn't happen."
Her eyes glistened, twin pools of distress that threatened to melt his resolve like ice left out in the sun. Before he could succumb, he advanced a single step, using his size to full advantage, and pinned her in place with his stare. "It did not happen."
To her credit, she didn't back away. She pressed her lips together, jerked her head in a tight nod, then looked at the floor. Silence swelled between them. Then she raised her head, and this time her eyes resembled burned-out ashes, left dead after a fire. "Did my father tell you the engagement will be officially announced at our party here next week?"
"No." Bloody hell, this investigation had better be finished by then, because the thought of being here to witness such an announcement, to see the duke formally claim her, was something he hadn't the stomach for.
"It's going to be the social event of the year," she said, her tone as flat as her expression. "I suppose you think I'm very fortunate."
"Aren't you?" he asked, a bitter edge to his voice.
She looked away, trailing her fingers over the piano keys, then moved to the fireplace where she stared down at the low-burning flame.
"Fortunate… I'll be a duchess. By virtue of marrying a man I barely know. A man I care nothing for and who cares nothing for me. Fortunate… I'll live in a magnificent home. That is hundreds of miles away from my dearest friends and everything familiar to me. Fortunate… I'll have more baubles and gowns than I could ever wear and will never want for anything."
She turned to look at him, and the combination of anger and hopelessness in her eyes seemed to reach inside his chest and squeeze his beating heart. "I'll have everything except a husband's love. A husband I love in return. Laughter. Friendship. Companionship. Passion."
Her expression tore at him, replacing a portion of his anger with an unwanted compassion that compelled him to say something, anything, that might offer some comfort. "Perhaps you'll come to care for him." He forced the words out, and they tasted like sawdust on his tongue.
A humorless laugh escaped her. "Obviously you've never met the duke."
"I've met him." And disliked him on sight.
"Then I fail to see how you can suggest I'd ever come to care for him. If I had to describe him in one word, it would be humorless. Still, given his exalted position and handsome visage, most anyone would consider me very fortunate indeed."
"But you are not 'most anyone.'" He hadn't realized he'd spoken the words out loud until she nodded in response.
"Apparently not, as I consider myself trapped. Although not by His Grace himself. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered which of my suitors Father had chosen, as they are all interchangeable with the duke: men I barely know who don't care for me beyond my dowry, nor I for them. None of them inspire the least excitement. Light the slightest spark within me." Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and heat shot through him as if she'd stabbed him with a hot knife. "Do you know what I am talking about?"
Did he know? Bloody hell, the mere thought of her made his heart pound. The mere sight of her set him on fire. "Yes, I know."
She took a small step toward him, and his heart jumped. "How?"
Because you're here. Close enough to touch. "I've experienced lust. Passion. Desire." His eyes narrowed. "As recently as last night. As you damn well know."
"What about love? Have you ever been in love?"
An image flashed through his mind. Dark hair, dark eyes. He shoved it back, but he couldn't deny it. "Yes." And he had loved Gwen. Yet still, what he'd felt for the woman he'd known and loved three years ago seemed utterly tame compared to the maelstrom of conflicting, unwanted, confusing emotions Julianne inspired. But then, what he'd felt for Gwen had been… simple. Uncomplicated. While it had lasted.
"Was it… wonderful?"
"No. It was painful." He dragged his hands through his hair, ruthlessly battering back the memories that shoved at him. "Your romantic notions are unrealistic and will lead you only to heartbreak."
"Was your heart broken?"