Page 148 of The Lyon Returns

“No.Thisman. The one in the books. The one the books are about, Gwen. OneViscount Theodore ‘Teddy’ Arlington. I suppose I could be mistaken, but I recognize him from the description, the way he speaks—and his name on the spine, of course. As I presume he is not the author, can I also presume the one who is, numbers among your dear friends? One of the women in your club, perhaps?”

She frowned at him and nibbled the tip of her index finger. “Do you have a point?”

He closed the book and returned to the sofa to sit beside her. “Only that the viscount has been a long time on the battlefront. He recently returned home from the war. I’m afraid he came back after having suffered a serious injury.”

She frowned at him, but her mind was busily piecing together what he had just told her with what she knew.

Georgina, her dear unmarried friend, who had written the books—featuring the same two characters—and had zero interest in meeting any eligible bachelors. Who the rest of the ladies all agreed was likely pining for someone whose identity she had never revealed to them. Whosenom de plumewas, indeed, G.T. Arlington.As in Georgina Teddy Arlington?

An intriguing notion to be sure. “What sort of injury, Gideon?”

“I’m not certain. I heard something in my club. Evidently, the family’s keeping it very hush-hush. If your author friend is basing these stories on Lord Arlington, I would assume they are friends. Likely your friend knows of his return, and of his difficulty.”

“But if my friend does not…”

“You might want to inform…er…him.”

Dear Heaven. Georgina was not even in town. She had recently relocated to her villa in Brighton, following a row with her parents. Chances were, she knew nothing of Lord Arlington’s return, much less his injury.

“May I assume you’ll be calling an emergency meeting of theLadies’ Literary Society, madam?” Gideon asked, drolly.

She sent him peeved glare.

He grinned.

Then, she cocked her head in thought. “Actually, I believe the ladies and I will soon be taking a short drive to Brighton where one of our members has recently—temporarily—relocated.”

“What?” Gideon sprang to his feet, all six-foot-two, gorgeous, naked male.

“Sir, we’ve talked about this,” she said, sending him a severe frown.

He frowned at her, equally. “Talked aboutwhat?”

“I do not care to beloomedover.”

“In that case…” He scooped her up and into his arms, laughing. “My wife. My beautiful bluestocking. You have such a way with words.”

Then, he kissed her.

As Gideon andGwen whiled away their afternoon in enjoyable pursuits, the post arrived and now sat in a stack in its usual place on a silver salver in the foyer. One of the missives, written in a sloppy hand and addressed to Gideon, bore the name of no sender nor a return address. Indeed, Gideon would find when he opened it, the sender did not sign his name beyond a set of initials.

The letter was brief, no more than a one-line note. It read:

Miriam and Junior say hello. Many thanks, D.K.

The End