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December 4 - December 10, 2023
She deserved good things. She deserved respect. Gentle touches and soul-consuming kisses. Ana María deserved much more than polite regard; she deserved—she demanded—love.
“Marry me instead.” His words dropped with all the weight of a bomb, and all three women reared back, their mouths falling open. And Gideon couldn’t blame them. He had not even thought the words, so he was just as surprised to hear them echo about him. But they rang with confidence.
“Miss Luna, I would gain you. The chance to welcome every sunrise by your side and say good night to every sunset. Just spending my life with you, orbiting around your smile and laugh, would make me the richest of men.”
Dios mío, soon she would be Señora Ana María Luna de Fox.
Gideon huffed a breath at her side. “I need a dram of brandy before I’m prepared to hold a conversation with you, Whitfield.” Stepping between the men, he grasped Ana María’s hand with a small, private smile and pulled her after him. “My future bride needs to rest, for she has had a challenging day. Thank you for your hospitality, Dawson. I am in your debt.” “You are indeed, my friend,” Dawson said with a smile. “But I shall endeavor to make repayment painless.” “Let us hope,” Gideon replied, already leading her up the stairs.
Dawson advanced to the sideboard, studying the selection before grabbing a decanter. “Care for a dram? To celebrate, of course.” Gideon offered his thanks as the door creaked open, Whitfield appearing like a wraith in the entry. He raised his brows in question. Or perhaps in greeting. One never knew with the duke. “If we do not invite you in, does that mean you cannot cross the threshold?” Gideon drawled, accepting a tumbler from Dawson. “You really are an arse, Fox.” Whitfield kicked the door closed behind him. Sinking into a leather armchair, he propped his chin on his hand, a portrait of
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“Or perhaps stab a stake through his heart,” Dawson asked with a teasing grin. “Only if there are any stakes left after Gabriela Luna does her best to send me back to the underworld.”
“My tears are not for my upcoming marriage. I admire Señor Fox greatly. In fact, I’m certain”—her mouth trembled—“it would be very easy to fall in love with him.” Isabel and Gabby tightened their hold on her. “It just occurred to me while I was writing to Mother and Father that I may not see them again.” Her voice broke, and she paused to collect herself. “I may never see Mexico again.”
Relief and affection detonated like firecrackers in her chest. “I don’t even know if the British have bridal attendants.” “It doesn’t matter anyway”—Isabel shrugged—“because you’re Mexican and that’s what Mexicans do.” A grin pulled her lips taut. “I appreciate the reminder.”
When she had appeared at the end of the aisle in the abbey, Gideon had not been able to take his eyes from her. She wore the magenta gown. The gown she’d worn the first time he’d seen her, imprinting her likeness on the backs of his eyelids like a meteor streaking across a midnight sky. She’d been but a beautiful mirage then, always on the horizon and never quite corporeal enough to be real, the promise of her tempting him despite knowing better. But now she was his.
“You’ve overwhelmed me from the first and every day since, and I intend to exact my revenge.”
“But whatever gave you the idea that I’d be a gentleman in the bedroom?”
“People are quite content as long as there is someone else below them on the ladder or they believe climbing higher is a possibility.” “I suppose your father’s Pur . . . ?” “Purépecha.” “Pur-é-pecha,” he enunciated slowly, “ancestry did not command the sort of respect or prestige needed to elevate his status?” “Indeed not.” Ana María pressed her lips into a firm line. “Their prestige was obliterated as soon as the conquistadores defeated Moctezuma.”
While Ana María was occupied with her new husband, and Gabby was busy avoiding the duke . . . or antagonizing him, Isabel had been paying close attention to her surroundings. Being offered refuge at Dancourt Abbey had been a boon, for while she considered Captain Dawson a cad, he was also a cad well-connected within the British military.
“I’ve never seen you like this, Fox.” Whitfield folded his newspaper and set it aside. “If it wasn’t for this wretched situation, I’d be delighted to see you so passionately consumed with the welfare of another person.” “She’s my wife!” Launching to his feet, Gideon stared unseeing out the window. Pressing his forehead to the cool glass, he whispered, “I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.”
“And you feel helpless because you care. A great deal, it would seem.” Gideon glared at him over his shoulder. “Of course I care. Like I said, Ana María is my wife.” “Yes, I’m aware. I was at the wedding.” Whitfield crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at him.
“Will you get to your fucking point, Whitfield?” Gideon snarled. The duke, insufferable as the day was long, chuckled. “My point is that you seem to have fallen in love with your convenient bride.”
“That was quite rude of you, Whitfield, to call attention to such a thing when Fox hadn’t even realized it himself.” “You knew?” Gideon demanded. “Of course I did. You’ve left your chamber only a handful of times since your wedding night. Stansberry said your correspondence to London has been reduced to a trickle.” Dawson huffed an exaggerated chuckle. “I’ve never swived a woman who made me want to forgo good company and ignore my responsibilities.” Gideon didn’t know what to say.
“That wretch thought he could traverse onto Dancourt Abbey land, take the life of an honorable man, and steal away another man’s wife.” Dawson pounded his fist against the windowpane. “I would have pursued the man with or without your help, Fox.” Locking his teeth together, Gideon nodded. “And I’m here because Mrs. Fox”—the duke held up a hand—“I beg your pardon, Señora Fox, made you smile before I could. And for that, I owe her my loyalty.” At a loss for words, his throat choked with affection for his churlish friends. Gideon turned away.
“It is important. It will always be the work of my heart. But, darling, may I please have a moment to just be grateful you are unharmed? That you are in my arms, once again, where you belong?” With a gentle tug, Ana María sank onto his lap. Gideon brought his hands up to cradle her face, his eyes finding hers. “In every second since I heard that gunshot echo across the home woods at Dancourt Abbey, my thoughts have been focused on you. Your safety. Your happiness. I’ve been crippled by helplessness that I could not ensure either. I’ve always prided myself as a man who accomplished difficult
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He brushed it away with his thumb. “Because I love you. I love your clever mind and your kind heart. Your droll wit and your stunning beauty. I love your passion and your zeal, and I am the luckiest of men that you call me husband. For now, bringing you home is all I care about.
But that was before you, Ana.” Gideon pressed a kiss to her trembling lips. “You think that our marriage has caused me trouble, but you’ve only brought me joy. Strength. I have gained a partner I know will be by my side as I will be by hers. We can do the difficult things together. It’s why I’m so certain my proposal will meet with success, because we will fight for it together.” “You wonderful man. ¡Me encantas!” She chuckled against his lips. “I love you, too, so allow me to tell you how we can turn this dreadful situation to our advantage.”
Her husband rolled his eyes, but wiped his mouth with a napkin, cleared his throat, and obediently said, “Buenos tardes, mi esposa bonita.” Ana María and Isabel snorted in unison, but Gabby nodded approvingly and then gestured with her hands for him to continue. With a long-suffering sigh, he slowly enunciated, “¿Cómo estuvo su día?” “Estuvo bien, cariño,” she whispered, her voice cracking as love and affection ballooned in her breast. He always tried so hard for her. For her sisters. Because that was the kind of man he was.
