Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor Book 3) (5 page)

S
imon scratched
the edge of his cards against the stubble on his chin. The night was growing late and he’d been playing cards at White’s for the past four hours.
One more hand
, he told himself, blinking his stinging eyes. Was it just him, or was the smoke thicker than usual? He waved his hand through a thick cloud of smoke and placed his bet.

Next to him a chair screeched against the wooden floor. Simon cast a glance over his shoulder and cringed. “What are you doing here?”

His father blew out a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. He wore a pained expression, but didn’t speak right away. He folded his hands in his lap and let out another breath. “Simon, I think we need to talk.”

“About?”

“Lord Norcourt.”

Agitation swirled within him. Lord Norcourt, or the man’s sudden appearance, his overwhelming interest in Lucy, or anything to do with the man, to be honest, grated on Simon’s nerves. “I’d rather not,” he said through clenched teeth then turned his attention back to the card table.

Across the table, Lord Matthew laid out his cards.

Simon did the same.

“Devil you, Appleton,” the older man said beneath his breath.

Nodding numbly, Simon swept his winnings to his part of the table. He didn’t give a hang whether he won or lost, cards were just a distraction. One that wasn’t working at present.

Feeling a set of eyes staring intently at the back of his head, he pushed to his feet, grabbed his coins and bank notes, and shoving them into his pockets, he barked, “What do you have to say?”

“Perhaps I should just let you find out what Townson’s wife and Miss Hughes schemed up on your own.”

Simon jerked his body around to face the Duke of Gateway. His body went rigid. Gateway himself was a man not to be trifled with on any score. Throughout Simon’s few years at Eton, he’d always heard tales about the legendary Dangerous Duke and his reputation even as a boy. It was widely noticed that since marrying five years ago, the man had changed considerably. Still, Simon’s father had always been insistent that he and Simon remain neutral and amiable to all of the peerage—particularly Gateway. He opened his mouth to issue the man an apology, but he couldn’t form a single word.

Gateway stretched his long legs out in front of himself and crossed his ankles. “Was I not who you were expecting?”

Simon shook his head, reaching for the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. He turned it around to face the duke, then sat. “My father,” he said by way of explanation.

Gateway nodded once. “I passed him a minute ago when he was on his way out.” He paused, his face expressionless. “He looked about as out-of-sorts as you do,” he said quietly.

Simon pursed his lips. “He wanted to discuss Lord Norcourt.”

Gateway nodded again. Apparently the man needed no further explanation. The knowledge made Simon agitated all over again.

“But that’s not what has me so ‘out-of-sorts’, as you say,” Simon said, looking for a distraction from the uncomfortable conversation that was about to ensue. “What did you mean by Lady Townson and Miss Hughes scheming?”

Gateway’s left shoulder rose in a lopsided shrug. “You’ll find out soon enough, I expect.”

“And how did
you
find out, I wonder?”

“Our wives are sisters,” he said as if that explained everything.

“All right.” Simon drew his words out. “What the devil is going on?”

Gateway chuckled a moment, but when he stopped, his grin remained. “I don’t have all of the details—”

“Then you shouldn’t be gossiping,” Lord Townson cut in, frowning. He grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over to join them. “Why are you even here?”

“Why are you here?” Gateway countered.

“Because unlike you, I don’t get some sort of disturbed pleasure out of people having their lives ruined without them at least having a warning,” Townson said without reservation. He jerked his thumb back toward Gateway. “Now what has this coxcomb told you?”

Simon’s eyes flew back and forth between both of them.

“Well,” Townson prompted.

“Nothing he didn’t need to know,” Gateway answered for him, raising Simon’s hackles. Who did this man think he was answering for Simon? “He doesn’t deserve to be leg-shackled to someone he has no interest in just because you can’t say no to your wife.”

“Leg-shackled?” Simon repeated raggedly, narrowing his eyes on Townson. “What the devil is going on, Townson?”

Again, Gateway chuckled. Simon and Townson ignored him.

Townson raked a hand through his hair and twisted his lips. “There won’t be any unwanted leg shackling.”

“If it involves me, it’d be unwanted,” Simon said quickly. Two failed courtships were enough for one Season. A third would brand him bad luck. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing…

“Would it?” Townson asked, cocking his head to the side.

Simon started. “Would it what?”

“Be unwanted?”

“Yes,” Simon bit off.

Townson made some sort of a
harrumphing
sound in his throat. “Well then, you’ll be delighted to know that you’re not the one Miss Hughes wants to be leg-shackled to anyway.”

“I hope this discovery wasn’t a surprise to you.” Simon’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but he just couldn’t force himself to care.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Gateway said flippantly. “But that matters very little when Townson’s wife gets involved.”

Townson sent the duke a pointed glance. “Mind your tongue, or you’ll be naming a second.”

Gateway frowned. “Don’t jest about such pleasures.”

“Say one more thing about my wife and you won’t need a second. We’ll settle this here and now.”

“Sorry, Appleton,” Gateway said not a bit apologetically. “I’d tell you what the ladies have schemed up, but alas, my duchess is expecting me tonight.”

“Poor girl,” Townson muttered. “Not a day goes by that—”

“And neither of you will have another blasted day if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on,” Simon demanded, crossing his arms. He couldn’t care less about whatever private feud these two wanted to settle. “What did you do?” he asked Townson then moved his gaze to Gateway, “And what do you know?”

“Yes, Gateway, what do you know?” Townson asked.

Gateway’s lips contorted into an overdone frown, his pale blue eyes full of mischief. “Just that there will be a new Mrs. Appleton gracing the ballrooms around London soon.”

“Ignore him,” Andrew said. His frown deepened. “It doesn’t make him disappear—unfortunately. But, as usual, Benjamin doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He sighed. “He can’t help it of course—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “it’s just part of his illness.”

Gateway snorted. “You might think my being in all the right places at the right time is an illness, but I think it’s an advantage.” He quirked a brow. “Now, you.
You
have an illness. It’s called prick-in-her-reticule-itis.”

Townson shrugged. “That doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s preferable to having my head shoved up my own arse—an ailment you’ve suffered from your whole life.”

“Well, can he pull it out long enough to tell me what’s going on with Lady Townson and Miss Hughes?” Simon roared.

Both men sobered then exchanged looks.

“Miss Hughes has decided to go back to Crumbles for a few days,” Townson said.

“And?” Gateway prompted.

Townson scowled at him. “You might want to make a trip there to discuss Lord Drakely’s investments.”

Simon folded his arms. Never in his life had he been so damn irritated. There was something they still weren’t telling him. “Why would you think I need to do that?”

“Because it might have been implied that you and Miss Hughes have been courting,” Townson said matter-of-factly.

“Courting?” Simon echoed.

“With a strong prospect of marriage,” Gateway supplied helpfully, making every drop of Simon’s blood to drain straight to his toes.

I
f Rae had thought rushing
to bed would dissolve her sister’s questions, well, she had thought wrong.

Contrary to her mother’s favorite words that everything looks better in the morning—it didn’t.

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true.

Simon Appleton looked awfully handsome standing in the doorframe of the dining room. Sure, his brown coat and dove pants were wrinkled and his cravat askew, and perhaps his face was a little flushed, but he was rather dashing for a man who’d clearly traveled all night.

Traveled all night?
Her body constricted from head to toe. What was he doing here?

“You look like hell, Appleton,” Drake commented around a bite of kippers.

“That can happen to a man when his lady disappears from Town,” he drawled. His green eyes swirled with something she didn’t recognize.

“His lady?” Juliet said, grinning.

Drake said something that sounded oddly like ‘besotted fool,’ then raised his voice, and motioned toward the chair next to Rae, “Join us.”

Locking eyes with Rae, Simon strolled over to the unoccupied chair. He flashed her the widest grin she’d ever seen then took a seat.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered behind her napkin while the footman set out a plate in front of Simon.

“I was concerned about your safety,” Simon replied for all to hear.

Rae clenched her teeth. What did he care about her safety? “Well, now that you’ve seen for yourself that I made it here safely; perhaps you should be getting back to London.”

“Henrietta,” Juliet admonished.

“He’s an important man in London,” Rae defended.

Simon coughed. Rae ignored his quirked eyebrow. “What would all of those lords do if he wasn’t there to advise them on their investments?”

“Talk to his father?” Drake suggested.

Rae frowned.

“Oh, Henrietta dearest, no need to be bashful.” Juliet reached across the table and patted Rae’s hand. “I think it’s sweet he came here to see you.”

Rae would just bet Juliet did think it was sweet. She could see the wedding bells chiming in Juliet’s grey eyes.

“You will stay with us a few days, won’t you?” Juliet asked Simon. Without waiting for his response, her face lit and she said, “Oh, you must! On Saturday night the village is having its annual fair. You cannot miss it. Everyone in the village will be there—”

Rae's mind spun. She needed to stop this madness. Now. She opened her mouth to object to Simon staying, but nothing coherent came out.

“—perfect time to announce your betrothal.”

* * *

S
imon hadn’t considered staying
at Crumbles longer than the fifteen minutes it’d take to throttle her. She might not understand all of Society’s rules, but even she had to know that insinuating to her family that they were courting could have some serious ramifications for him.

However, watching her blush and shift in the seat next to him made a brief stay far more appealing.

“I don’t know if I can stay so long,” Simon said as innocently as he could. “I’d hate to impose on your generosity.”

“It’s not an imposition at all,” Juliet countered. “Is it, Patrick?”

“Not at all,” Lord Drakely said, his apparent amusement was growing by the moment. “He’s practically family, after all.”

Beside Simon, Rae looked like she wanted to explode. He schooled his features to remain impassive. “Indeed,” he agreed, boldly pressing his thigh against hers, delighting in the way she nearly leapt out of her skin at the gesture.

A dark red blush covered her cheeks. “Nothing has been decided, yet.”

“Decided?” Lord Drakely snapped his fingers. “Right. Appleton, now I understand the reason for your visit. You want to discuss the contract.”

All humor left Simon. The last thing he wanted to discuss with Lord Drakely was a betrothal contract. He was vaguely aware of the ladies taking their leave. His chair held him captive. “I don’t see the need to rush to make any arrangements,” he said as evenly as he could.

Lord Drakely gave a slow nod and drained his glass. “Well then, Appleton, why don’t we go talk about some of my investments in my study and then rejoin the ladies in the drawing room so they can drive you to the edge of tedium with talk of wedding frippery.”

Simon swore under his breath and followed the viscount to his study. Investments were better than betrothal contracts and far preferred over
wedding frippery
.

Or perhaps not.

“What the hell are the two of you about?” Lord Drakely said without ceremony as soon as the door to his study banged shut.

“Perhaps I’m not the one you should ask.”

Lord Drakely flopped down onto his black leather divan. “But you’re the one I asked.”

Simon released a breath. “The truth?”

“Is always preferred.” Lord Drakely yanked off his cravat with a grimace.

“Then you’d better ask Rae, because I have no bloody idea what that hoyden is about.”

“Rae?”

Simon scowled at the grinning jackal. “Henrietta.”

Lord Drakely’s eyes glistened with humor. “You must be genuinely smitten.”

“No,” Simon countered. He leaned against the edge of Lord Drakely’s desk and crossed his ankles. “She doesn’t like her name so I helped her find one she preferred.”

Lord Drakely choked on a cough.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Simon said, frowning. Why was everyone of Rae’s acquaintance fit for Bedlam?

“Then what is it?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Simon threw his hands into the air. “But I know as much—or less—as you.”

“How is that possible?” Lord Drakely asked.

“Because I’m not privy to female scheming!”

Lord Drakely roared with laughter at that. “Female scheming, indeed,” he said on a chuckle, slapping his open palm on his knee. “I can assure you Henrietta is the last young lady you’d have to worry about trying to scheme her way into marriage with you.”

A dull pain stabbed Simon in the chest. Grimacing, he shoved that traitorous feeling away. “That might have been before you sent her to live with Lady Townson.”

“Juliet was right,” Lord Drakely said quietly. “Lady Townson was good for her.”

“Good for her?” Simon echoed with a snort. “You think scheming about how to trap men into an unwanted marriage is a good trait for a young lady?”

“Unwanted?” Lord Drakely scoffed. He waved a hand through the air. “Actually, I do think it’s a good thing. When I first met Henrietta, I thought she had a personality akin to my quill.”

Simon snorted. “That’s not the Rae I know.”

“No, it seems not.” Lord Drakely shook his head. “You’re like the fine musician who can make the old, dusty pianoforte fill a hall with music.”

“I’m not sure if I’d consider Rae old or dusty.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear that,” Lord Drakely said dryly.

“Delighted to hear what?” Lady Drakely asked, coming into her husband’s study, Rae right behind her sister. “Can we assume the arrangements have all been made, then?”

Simon caught Rae’s eye, daring her to speak up and settle this. When she didn’t, he smiled at her sister and said, “I’d say everything is in proper order.”

* * *

R
ae scarcely heard
whatever inane comment Simon just said over the blood thundering in her ears.

“Arrangements?” she said flatly.

“Your dowry,” Juliet said. She looped her arm through Rae’s. “Now our part is to plan the wedding and…”

“May I speak to Simon alone?” Rae cut in.

Drake and Juliet exchanged a look that ended with Drake lifting his left shoulder. Juliet turned back to Rae. “I suppose that’ll be permissible for a few moments.” She bit her lip. “But the door is to remain open.”

Well, of course it was, Rae didn’t want to actually have to marry Simon!

An amused expression on his face, Simon strolled over to her and offered her his arm. “Where shall we go, m’dear?” he asked as they walked toward the door of Drake’s office. He slowed his steps. “The creek?”

Her face flushed thirty degrees hotter.

“Your bedchamber?” he offered again.

Rage shot through her and she dared not chance a glance over her left shoulder to see if Drake and Juliet heard his scandalous statement. She squeezed the crook of his arm as hard as she could and started walking forward.

Ever the gentleman, he walked forward.

“Just who do you think you are to suggest such a thing?” she hissed as soon as they were in the hall.

“Your betrothed,” he said with a wide grin.

She pierced him with her eyes.

He laughed.

“Why must you always mock me?” she burst out, yanking her hand away from his arm.

Simon folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t always mock you.”

“Yes, you do.”

The wretch rocked back on his heels. “When?”

“Just now.” She ground her teeth. Did he require a reminder? “The creek? My bedchamber?”

“Such a fetching color.”

Rae pressed her lips into a thin line. “What are you about?”

“Pardon? Did you mean what am I
talking
about?”

“No, I meant exactly what I said: what are you about?”

Simon poked out his bottom lip and tapped his index finger against his chin. “Well, if I were given a vote, I’d be in favor of legalizing whiskey stills and fiercely oppose being served turtle soup every time I am invited to a dinner party. I’d like to see taxes abolished and our country to do something to stay at peace with France. I’d also be in favor of doubling the portions of clotted cream served with biscuits and fewer servants present at dinner—”

“If you don’t answer my question
you
won’t be present at dinner.”

“Oh?” Simon waggled his eyebrows at her. “Will you be joining me—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “wherever I might be?”

“On a steam packet bound for the unknown?” She shook her head. “No, I’ll be here.”

Simon leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’d sure like to see you try to force me on a steam packet.”

Rae’s breath caught at his closeness, her nostrils filling with his spicy scent. “I—I wouldn’t,” she stammered, taking a step away from him and pressing her back up against the wall. “Drake would bodily put you there.”

A sharp bark of laughter reverberated through the hall. “And why would he do that?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“And would you ask him to put you on the same steam packet, my love?”

Rae’s pulse raced. “Don’t call me that.”

Simon closed the gap between them again, leaving her nowhere to go. “Why not?”

“Be-because I’m not.” She licked her lips and lifted her hands up to his shoulders to push him away.

“Then why would you tell your sister that you are?”

Her eyes widened and her hands clutched his shoulders as if they were the only things keeping her from falling to the floor in a boneless heap. “P-pardon? I did no such thing.”

Simon’s green eyes searched her face. His face softened and his hands came up and gently covered hers. “Then why…”

Rae lowered her eyes. “There’s another.”

“Another?”

“Another gentleman,” she clarified. Well, he wasn’t a true gentleman in any form of the word, but Simon didn’t need to know that.

Something flickered over Simon’s face, but what it was, she couldn’t identify. “Is he here?”

“Yes.” She blushed. “I mean, no.” Closing her eyes for an extended blink, she took a deep calming breath. Why was it he made it so hard for her to articulate? “He’s in the village. Not
here
at Crumbles.”

She half-expected him to make some glib remark about her having a
tendre
for Drake, but he surprised her, when instead he said, “Is he the reason you've been so elusive in London?”

Biting her lip nervously, she nodded once. “He has my heart.” She swallowed the bile threatening to choke her. “Always has.”

“Well then—” Simon curled his fingers under hers, flipped their hands over and took a step back— “we need to make a plan.”

Nervous excitement and hesitation warred within her. “Plan? What plan? The last thing I need is another plan.”