Nine
Anne’s heart pounded in her chest at the heat in Simon’s gaze and his fervent words. “You are a superb rake, for in this moment, I almost believe you.”
“Anne,” Simon began, but when she shook her head he fell silent, for which she would be eternally grateful. She had come here wanting to learn who this man really was and to discover the part of the story that her grandfather, Mary, and Simon himself had told her that seemed to be missing or not making sense. And at the same time, she could also guarantee that Simon had more inducement to aid her in helping Fanny.
She took a deep breath. “No more talk of why you wish to try to seduce me. Let us simply proceed. If we have a bargain, that is. Do we?”
She gazed up at him, her stomach fluttering at the way his blue eyes pierced her. He stood there studying her for so long that she began to worry he was going to decline her offer—or suggest another.
He scrubbed a hand across the hint of stubble on his face. “And if I were to say noo?”
“I’ll depart and not return,” she replied, her stomach roiling at her boldness.
His eyes narrowed. “That would be rather dishonorable of ye, considering our original agreement was that ye would allow me to teach ye to dance if I offered Rutledge a position and suggested he marry Lady Fanny.”
“No,” she said, thinking quickly. “We never agreed how long I would allow you to teach me to dance. I am here now, and you have all day to instruct me, but if we have no agreement in regard to our friends, then you only have today to attempt your seduction.”
“I better start immediately,” he replied, pulling her to him so that their chests brushed. The unrelenting hardness of his body sent a shiver through her and almost made her forget that she had just wagered and lost. It seemed he would not agree to her proposed bargain—that he would rather lose the guarantee of her returning here than attempt to persuade his friend to marry a woman Simon thought deceitful. Anne was both glad and disappointed at once, but there was no time to think of either feeling as Simon began to talk to her, his Scottish accent like a whisper of allurement causing gooseflesh to cover her arms.
He slid one of his hands to the small of her back, where he gently pressed it against her while his other hand held hers up as he gave directions. “When I move forward, ye need only move back in the same way. Do ye understand?”
She nodded, believing she did, but the minute Simon stepped forward with his right foot, she did the same with hers, her slipper landing squarely on top of his hessian. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped, clumsily moving off his foot. Heat burned her cheeks and her neck.
“What for? I did not feel a thing. Let us go again,” he said in a kind, reassuring voice.
For the next half hour, she tried and failed to follow his lead, stepping on his toes more times than she cared to count. He was endlessly patient, and she was mortified, so much so that she finally shoved him away and turned from him. She crossed her arms in front of her, all the frustration with herself from the past—not being able to run, skip, or even hop properly as the other children had done—threatening to drown her. Self-pity rose in her chest.
“I cannot dance. I’ll never be able to dance. You are an excellent teacher, but I—” She swallowed hard, shame clogging her throat. She was a young child once more, wishing so hard to be like the other girls when it would never be so. And she was afraid to try, afraid she would look foolish as she so often had, and then what would Simon think of her? Would he inwardly laugh? Suddenly, she was tugged around to face Simon, and he captured her chin in his hand while staring into her eyes.
“Ye need only to trust me and to let go of yer fear of what I might think.”
“How am I supposed to—” Before she could complete her sentence, Simon gripped her waist, lifted her, and set her feet on top of his. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
He grinned at her. “Seducing ye, remember?”
And then he did the most amazing thing: he started humming to her as he danced her around the room. He twirled her around once, twice, a dozen times. He leaned close to her, his stubbly cheek brushing hers, and whispered, “Close yer eyes.”
She complied without hesitation, feeling no fear at all, only a sense of exhilaration.
“After I put ye on yer own two feet, when I step forward, ye will step back. We’ll go right, then left, aye?”
“Aye,” she teased, attempting a Scottish accent.
The sound and feel of his chuckle tightened her belly as he twirled her around the room again and again. He paused and was lifting her, but this time he set her on her feet. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found him smiling at her. “Shall we dance?”
She nodded, praying she would not misstep. He waltzed her very slowly the first time, and when they completed the turn about the room, he said, “Ye are the most beautiful dancer I have ever had the pleasure of partnering.”
She looked up into his beguiling face. Desire for this man made her tingle all over. “And you are the most persuasive rogue I have ever had the pleasure of dancing with. Shall we continue?”
“By all means, Anne,” Simon said, his words sliding over her like silk. “Yer wish is my command.”
He took her once more in his arms, but this time the waltz was effortless, and she laughed at the feeling of joy it brought her. They waltzed for so long that the light filtering into the ballroom from the tall windows began to fade and her foot, which sometimes pained her a bit from the way the rise in her shoe chafed at her heel, started to bother her. Even with the dull ache in her foot, though, she was reluctant to stop. So when Simon suggested he also teach her a country dance, she agreed enthusiastically.
This dance was much livelier, and after she had learned the steps and they went through the dance twice, uncontrollably laughing together, she realized that her foot was now aching too much to continue. “I must stop,” she said breathlessly. She came to a staggering halt as a shaft of pain shot through her bad leg. Quite suddenly, her knee buckled, and she let out a shocked gasp as she fell.
But she did not hit the floor. Simon caught her, scooped his arm under her legs, and brought her up against his chest, her feet dangling in the air. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his concern warming her.
She tapped her bad leg. “It’s my leg.” She glanced down, embarrassed. “I must have overtaxed it.”
“Why did ye not say anything?” he scolded. He strode across the room to a chair and set her in it. Then he surprised her by coming to kneel before her. “Well?” His incensement at her overtaxing herself made her want to laugh.
“I didn’t want the dance to end,” she admitted.
“I’m pleased to hear it, but ye must heed yer body’s warnings. Where did the pain start?”
“In my foot. My grandfather had a special shoe made for me not long after I came to live with him, and it has been wonderfully helpful. It… Well, it evens my gait.” She could feel the heat of her mortification to the tips of her toes.
“Anne,” Simon said, taking her hands in his. “None of us are perfect. Our imperfections are what make us interesting, and it is in overcoming them that we grow and develop good character.”
She gaped at him for a moment. “Who told you that?”
“That is a lesson I learned myself when I was sent away from England and had to start from nothing to build my company,” he told her. “Rowan was a huge part of the reason my grandfather sent me away, ye know.”
“I do know,” she confessed. “My grandfather told me as much last night.”
Simon’s brow creased. “Ye spoke to yer grandfather about me?”
She nodded. “I told him I’d met you.”
“And what did he say?” Simon’s tone was soft but with a sharp edge to it.
“He warned me to stay away from you as he recalled your vow to seek vengeance against him.”
“Then why the devil are ye here?” he asked, studying her.
“The bargain,” she immediately replied, though it had become much more complicated than that this very day. She was drawn to this man, foolish as it was.
“Only the bargain?” He stroked the back of her hand with his finger, and her heart thudded as his face came a hairsbreadth from hers.
“No,” she whispered. “I think perhaps there is more.”
He captured her mouth and kissed her hungrily while his hands delved into her hair and cradled her head. He ravaged her senses, and when he pulled back, she wound her arms around his neck to keep him close.
“Sweet Anne,” he murmured, brushing his lips down her neck, over her collarbone, and to the space where her pulse frantically raced. He traced his tongue over her skin, and she shivered at the exquisite desire it unleashed in her. She wanted this man, this rogue, as she had never wanted another. And it was that knowledge that had her pushing him away.
“I cannot,” she rasped, aware that she was supposed to be making him think he could seduce her so he’d do what she wanted. The problem was that he was seducing her. God above only knew how long she would remain strong and with her good senses intact.
He pulled back, a bemused expression on his face. “Of course not. I’m sorry that I became carried away.”
“Did you?” she demanded, frustrated. “Were you carried away with me or simply pretending?”
He cupped either side of her face and kissed her lips, her nose, and her forehead. “Ye beguile me, Anne, and that is the truth.” He sat back on his haunches and glanced from her foot to her face. “Might I look at yer slipper?”
“Whatever for?” she asked, horrified at the idea.
“I know a bit about creating things with wood. It’s a natural part of the timber business, and beyond that, I have always been skilled with wood and iron. I might be able to make yer shoe more comfortable.”
“Truly?” she asked, unable to stop the burst of hope in her chest. When he nodded, she held her foot up. “No doubt this will make seducing me much less palatable to you.”
“Ye are very wrong, Anne,” he replied with a roguish bend to his words as he removed her slipper. He took her now-shoeless foot in his hand and splayed his palm against the sole as if judging the length of her foot. She tried and failed to control a giggle at his light touch, at which he grinned.
“I am sorry,” she said, curling her toes against his palm and laughing again. “I had not realized I was so ticklish.”
“Do ye mean to tell me the rogue ye spoke of earlier never held yer foot in his hand?”
“No, he did not,” she said, shamefully pulling her foot away and tugging down her skirts.
Simon turned her shoe this way and that before returning it to her foot. He set his hands to his powerful thighs and gazed at her for a long moment. She had the distinct feeling he was trying to decide something.
“What was the name of the man who deceived ye and used ye, Anne?” he asked.
“Lord Cad,” she said, answering in the only way she ever thought about Mr. Ian Frazier, the Scot and self-made railroad tycoon whose company had apparently been in desperate need of her dowry.
“No, I mean his true name. I’d hate to think my sisters might someday meet the man and that I’d have no notion of his nefarious past.”
She snorted, and when Simon frowned at her, she said, “I cannot help but find your words ironic, given that you are a self-admitted rogue.”
His frowned deepened. “An honorable rogue,” he growled. “I have never deceived an innocent.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is that the only thing that you believe makes you an honorable rogue and not simply a rogue?” She was quite enjoying learning Simon’s many layers.
“Well, no.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as if working out the knots. “I have also never seduced a woman whom I did not explicitly inform of my purpose, therefore giving the woman every chance to deny my advances.”
As if one could, Anne suddenly thought as she looked at him. He once again was missing a cravat and the collar of his shirt was tugged open to reveal the top of his chest, which appeared bronzed by sun. He had no coat on, and his broad shoulders more than filled out his fine shirt. The sculpted muscles of his thighs were scandalously visible beneath the tight breeches that were the current fashion. His accent alone made her heart flutter, but it was his way of looking at her—as if he truly found her beautiful and could get lost in her eyes—that made her breath catch and made her want to throw all caution, all sensibleness to the wind. She imagined he had that effect on every woman he turned those keen, delving eyes upon.
“How very noble of you,” she finally said, instilling a teasing note in her voice.
“In all seriousness, Anne, I’d very much like the name of the scoundrel so I can ensure he never gets near my sisters.”
“I very much doubt he ever would. I don’t believe he is even in England any longer, and honestly, I cannot fathom why I even told you what I did. No one truly knows my secret, except my sister and her husband. Not even my grandfather knows. He thinks Lord Cad merely broke my heart. I was very lucky not to be scandalously ruined in the eyes of the ton. It would have devastated my grandfather.”
When Simon flinched, Anne stilled, realization hitting her like a cold bucket of ice. That was what Simon intended to do—ruin her publicly to strike the only blow he could at her grandfather. She felt betrayed, angry, hurt, and disappointed all at once, but most of all, she felt a desperate need to flee before Simon succeeded in his revenge. “I need to take my leave,” she blurted, scrambling to her feet.
Simon was standing in a flash and caught her fingertips with his hand. “His name, Anne.”
At this moment, she would have told him almost anything to be allowed to depart. “Ian Frazier.” She tugged her hand away, and fled the ballroom and Simon without looking back.