Eight
The next morning, Simon found himself too distracted to concentrate on business. Thoughts of his conversations with Rutledge and Anne filled his head. Rutledge had been thrilled with Simon’s offer of a position within his company, but the man had been chilly at best when Simon had broached the subject of wedding Lady Fanny now that he would be financially sound and able to marry whomever he wished. Simon had pointed out that Lady Fanny was now considered ruined in the eyes of the ton; therefore, unlikely to make a match. Rutledge had countered by saying it was the woman’s fault for thinking she could trap him into marriage by throwing herself at him. Given Simon’s own experience, he’d been unable to disagree with Rutledge’s argument.
Rutledge had shared that it was perplexing that Lady Fanny had not actually made a single request of Rutledge to marry her, nor had anyone in her family. He guessed that the lady assumed he would marry her when she was seen in his arms, a ruse likely of her own design, but had sensibly abandoned her plan when it had become apparent that Rutledge had no intention of wedding her. Simon found it rather ironic that the lady had thought to scheme to obtain marriage to a wealthy lord, but she’d picked a lord who was near penniless, which of course, she’d had no way of knowing. Rutledge’s family had managed to keep their near penniless state secret. Well, except now it seemed the servants were gossiping, which meant the news would likely be everywhere soon.
And as for Anne, Simon was eagerly awaiting her return—too eagerly. It made him uneasy that when he thought of her, revenge was not the first thing that came to mind but rather the skilled way she sparred with words; her fierce, albeit blind, loyalty to her friend; her incredible blazing eyes; and her radiant smile.
A scratch at his study door diverted his thoughts. He smiled, hearing his sisters chattering away on the other side of the door. “Enter,” he bid them.
Once they were both inside, Elizabeth held up a note. Simon’s first thought was one of disappointment that perhaps Anne had sent word that she was not coming, thus not staying true to her part of their bargain.
“Simon,” Elizabeth began, “The Duchess of Scarsdale sent an invitation to tea at her home. May we attend?”
He nodded, pleased his sisters were making friends—and that he would be all but alone in the house with Anne, except for the servants.
“Thank ye, Brother,” Elizabeth gushed, at which Caitlin simply rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go see what I might have to wear. The ladies’ gowns here are so…well, never mind.”
It was just like sweet, thoughtful Elizabeth not to want to burden him by asking for a new gown. “We shall purchase new gowns for ye both,” he told her with a smile.
“Oh, thank ye!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her joy apparent on her face. “Though, I wonder where one acquires a new gown here in the country…”
And Simon knew just the lady to ask…
“I’ll find that out,” he assured his sister, then chuckled as she grinned with obvious delight and rushed out the door, leaving him with Caitlin. When she stood there as if she wanted to say something, he nudged her. “Aye?”
“What are ye doing with Anne?” she asked, her hostile tone surprising him.
“Becoming acquainted with her,” he answered evasively. “Did she ask you as well to call her Anne?”
Caitlin nodded. “I like her. And I’m fearful of how ye might hurt her.” Her chiding tone and stern look she gave him surprised him further.
“I thought ye detested the English.”
“I do,” Caitlin replied, “but she seems different. Do ye not agree?”
She did in many ways, he had to admit. “Perhaps,” he answered, disliking the sudden tug of guilt he felt regarding his plans for Anne.
“Elizabeth told me that one of Anne’s shoes was odd when she took them from her yesterday.”
“Odd how?” Simon asked, recalling her claim of lameness.
“Elizabeth said the sole of one of Anne’s shoes was much thicker than the other, as if to make her legs match in length.”
By God, Anne had been telling him the truth. He felt like the worst sort of scoundrel for not believing her, and the guilt at using her increased. Yet, if he did not use her, he would not obtain his revenge. And he needed to do so for his mother, to honor her memory.
“Are ye planning to use Miss Adair somehow for revenge against her grandfather, Simon?”
His sister’s keen observation did not surprise him, though his eyes widened at her insight. Caitlin had always been one to see things others did not. “Aye,” he confessed, unwilling to lie to his sister.
She nodded. “I suspected. I want vengeance upon Rowan as much as ye for his part in mother’s death…”
“But?” he asked, sensing there was more to be said.
“But I would caution ye to be certain revenge is worth the price of destroying Miss Adair before ye take any action.”
He nodded, even as his sister turned to take her leave. Once he was alone in the quiet of his study, he stared out the window at the falling snow, thinking upon Anne, her grandfather, his own grandfather, and his mother. The last time he’d seen his mother alive was on a snowy day like this one. She’d been bundled up and waving farewell to him as he had been leaving to come to England to seek his grandfather’s help. The snow had been falling, and the sky had been heavy and gray—just as it was now. The next time he’d seen her was when he had helped to bury her.
Knots tightened in his belly. Rowan apparently adored Anne, and Simon could easily hurt him by ruining her. Or could he? If she was as good as she seemed, how could he use her? It was unsettling to be unsure whether he hoped she was truly a good person or not. His desires were at war with each other, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
“Your Grace,” Perceval said, entering Simon’s study later that afternoon. “Miss Adair is here to see you.”
“Aye,” Simon answered, getting used to this mistake of Perceval’s as he’d made it at least once daily. “I see that, since Miss Adair is standing beside ye.” As Simon swept his gaze over Anne, resplendent in her green silk gown, he wondered not for the first time why his grandfather had retained Perceval. He was a horrible butler, yet a good man, and such actions did not fit with Simon’s belief that his grandfather had been all bad. Yet the man had been. The past was proof. He had never once tried to reach out to his own son, meet his grandchildren, or apologize to Simon after forcing him from England. Simon had found some letters recently at his grandfather’s London townhome that were between his grandfather and a Bow Street Runner he had hired. It seemed his grandfather had tracked the progress of Simon’s timber company. Likely to attempt to try to swindle it from Simon somehow. Yet death had claimed the old devil first.
“If you’re too occupied for me today, Your Grace,” Anne started, capturing Simon’s full attention and making him realize his thoughts had strayed.
“No,” he quickly replied, standing. “My focus is yers now,” he added, which was the whole truth. Anne was exquisitely lovely with her hair piled up on her head to expose the delicate length of her neck. He found himself wondering what kissing it would be like, and as he gazed at her, he noted her cheeks pinked with the awareness of his stare. Desire heated him. Seducing Anne certainly would be no hardship. The difficulty came in if he even should.
“Ye may take yer leave, Perceval,” Simon said, wanting very much to be alone with Anne and begin the process of really learning who this unique creature was.
Once Perceval nodded and departed the room, Simon moved to Anne and took her hand. She did not protest, but her eyes grew large, worry flashing across her face.
“Where are your sisters?” she asked.
“Having tea with Sophia,” he replied as he led Anne out of his study and toward his ballroom.
“You really should call her the Duchess of Scarsdale,” Anne admonished.
She fell into step beside him without question as to where they were going. He found that he rather liked the feel of her hand, even gloved, in his, and the trust she was giving him by not questioning where he was taking her. Her innocently given trust also disturbed him, however. He was beginning his seduction of her, after all.
“There are many things I should not do, Anne.”
“Such as?” she asked as they entered the ballroom.
He twirled her to face him and raised her hand between them. “Such as this,” he said, slowly peeling off one of her gloves and then the other. He tossed the gloves on a table by the door, never taking his gaze from hers. He raised her hands to his lips and brushed the pads of her delicate fingertips with his mouth. Need for her strummed through him as her breath hitched and her rosy lips parted.
They stared at each other in silence for a long moment until Anne said, “A rogue turned his attentions on me once before.”
Undeniable jealously coursed through Simon at the thought of another man kissing Anne, talking to her, exchanging barbs with her, being the recipient of her smiles. “And what happened?” he asked, unable to keep the possessiveness he felt out of his voice. If she’d heard it, she gave him no indication.
She licked her lips, making him want to fuse her lips to his and kiss her. “I was young and foolish. I did not recognize that he was intent on seducing me for my dowry until it was too late.”
Was she saying she had given this man her innocence thinking he loved her? The idea sent rage at the unknown rake bursting within Simon. “But if he’d succeeded in seducing ye fully, why are ye not married?” he asked delicately, purposely probing to discover if the man had, indeed, taken her innocence.
“You seduced Mary and took her innocence, yet you are not married,” Anne replied.
Simon clenched his teeth on a wave of irritation. “If that is what Lady Mary told ye, it is a blatant lie. I took nothing from her, including her body, which she offered. I never even kissed her.”
Anne studied him for a long, silent moment. “It is your word against hers. And I don’t know you.”
“Then become acquainted with me,” he growled.
“Why? So you can seduce me as part of some sort of revenge plot against my grandfather?”
Never in his life had Simon been at a loss for words, but in this moment, he could not think of what to say. He did not want to lie, yet to tell the truth…
“Do not bother answering,” she said, waving a hand at him. “Your guilt shows on your face. You may try to seduce me. I give you carte blanche.”
“Are ye challenging me?” he asked, amazed and aroused at once.
She quirked her mouth. “I suppose I am, though I had not known I was going to do so until this second. I will permit you to try to seduce me, as I know that is what you are attempting to do, and in exchange for my continuing to come here and allow your attempts, you will do your utmost to persuade Lord Rutledge to wed Lady Fanny.”
Anne was the most shocking, the most refreshingly bold woman he’d ever met. She knew he was purposely seducing her and why, though she didn’t know that part of his plan was to ruin her publicly to hurt Rowan as the man had hurt Simon. Regardless, she had to realize it would not end well for her. Still, she was willing to be hurt to help her friend.
“By God, I want to seduce ye, but in this moment, it has absolutely nothing to do with vengeance,” he said, meaning it.