Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor Book 3) (7 page)

* * *

S
imon choked
for another reason now.

How had she known that?

“I wouldn’t say they terrify me,” he said as evenly as he could.

She gave him a dubious look and raised her hands in the air. “All right, perhaps they don’t terrify you.” She dropped her hands. “We’d hate for anyone to think a man such as yourself has an ounce of fear.”

He frowned at her. “That’s not—”

Rae waved him off. “It’s of no account. What is—” she bit her lip and lowered her voice— “is that you don’t know what to do or say around children.”

Simon’s frown deepened. “Why does that matter?”

“Because one day you’ll have one…or ten of your own and you’ll need to know how they behave.”

“They don’t,” Simon said flatly, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cringe at the way Rae’s grin hit him like a jolt of lightning.

“You have them pinned there. But—” she sighed— “that’s where your knowledge ends.”

“And now that my shortcoming where children are concerned has been thoroughly exposed, I ask again, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” she said sweetly, running her index finger around the top of her glass. “I shall teach you how to talk to children in exchange for your help with my goal.”

Simon stared at her. “Are you cracked?”

Rae’s lips thinned into a tight line “No.”

Her stiff reply tore at his heart. Simon raked a hand through his hair. “My apologies.”

“Are as lacking as your abilities with children,” Rae commented. At some point during their last exchange the tea and biscuits had arrived. She snagged one and pulled it apart then cocked her head to the side. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, annoyed.

“Do you have siblings?”

“No,” he said through clenched teeth. He sighed. “One.”

Rae popped the rest of her biscuit into her mouth and made a rolling motion with her hand.

“There isn’t anything more to say.”

“If you treated him with the same cold indifference as you talk about him, I understand the strained relationship.”

Irritation bubbled inside Simon. “That’s enough.”

She blanched at the sharpness in his tone.

“I apolog—”

“Stop apologizing.” Rae poured them each a cup of tea then set the teapot down with a dull
thump
. “It’s a waste of breath if you don’t mean it.”

“If you’re trying to shame me, it won’t work.”

“If you’re trying to annoy me, it’s working perfectly,” she said with a smile.

“I’m not trying to annoy you.” He grabbed one of the warm biscuits off the plate and bit into it. “I don’t understand what my relationship with my brother has to do with anything.”

“All I did was ask about him,” Rae said quietly.

Simon let out a deep exhale. “I’m so—”

Rae held up a finger to stop him.

Simon reached for her hand and pushed it down. “I mean it this time. I am sorry.” He drank his entire cup of tea in one swallow then put his cup down with another deep exhale. “Giles—Lord Norcourt—is my half-brother.”

Rae folded her hands and gave a slow nod.

Simon had no idea how much she already knew, but what did it matter what he told her? “We didn’t grow up together.”

“He’s significantly older than you, no?”

“Seven years.” Simon twisted his lips. “I think.” He half-expected Rae to make a comment about his not knowing being further proof of his inabilities. “I don’t know a lot about Giles,” he admitted, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back against the backrest of his chair. “My mother once told me when she was married to Lord Norcourt, they had a son, but he’d had his life’s cord wrapped around his neck.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Foolish boy that I was, I just assumed that meant I was her only living child.” He felt his lips twist bitterly and he was powerless to stop it. “Apparently, all that time I had a brother living in an orphanage.”

Rae could understand why he’d assumed such. Mama’s last baby had been born with a similar condition and hadn’t survived the night. “And you just learned all of this earlier this Season?”

Numb head to toe, Simon did his best to nod.

“I see how that could put a strain on things,” she concluded, reaching across the table.

Simon looked down to where her hand rested on his forearm.

“He’s betrothed to a young lady who has a child, yes?”

Simon wondered how she knew that then dismissed the thought almost immediately. No doubt by now every private detail of Lucy’s life had been printed in the scandal sheets. “Seth.”

“Assuming Seth already likes you,” she said with a wink. “You need my help to keep him liking you.”

At that, Simon grinned. “Again, you have me pinned.” He covered her hand with his. “And it’s unnerving.”

She brushed her thumb across his arm. “It’s my gift.”

“Along with talking to children,” he added.

Rae snorted. “When you’re the second eldest of nine children, you don’t have a choice but to acquire such an ability.”

“Gads.” Simon grimaced. “So many?”

“My mother didn’t know how to act if she wasn’t increasing.” Rae picked up another biscuit. “Even now,” she said, breaking a chunk off and popping it into her mouth. “Enough about my family, let’s discuss yours.”

“I’d rather not.”

Rae playfully wagged her finger at him. “You won’t be finding favor in that boy’s eyes with an attitude like that.”

Simon sighed. He and his parents might not be getting along, and he might have a measure of disdain toward Giles, but Rae was right, Seth would soon be part of his family. “Do I have to gain his esteem?”

Rae wiped her lips then set her napkin down. “No. You don’t
have
to.” She reached for her reticule. “But how do you think he feels?”

R
ae might have laughed
at Simon’s unhinged jaw if she knew in her heart that his expression was borne solely of innocence.

She bit her lip, unsure if she should further explain her meaning.

“Are you ready to introduce me to your Prince in Shining Armor?” Simon asked suddenly, pushing to his feet.

Rae’s face warmed. She’d hoped by lingering in the tearoom she’d be able to avoid Simon seeing Mr. Fisher.

Simon gripped the back of her chair, his earlier befuddled expression now replaced with amusement.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not introducing the two of you,” she said as she stood.

“Mmmhmm,”
was his only response until they got back out into the sunshine, then, “All right, where is the handsome chap.”

“How much sugar did you put in your tea?” Rae wondered aloud.

“Enough to cover the bitter taste.” He guided her to the street then stopped. “Which way to your prince?”

Repressing a sigh at his insistence, she reluctantly pointed her finger to the left.

“All right, let’s go surprise him.”

Surprise him?
Rae dug her heels into the ground. “Simon, I meant what I said. I have no intentions of introducing you to him.”

Simon frowned. “And why not? Does my presence embarrass you?”

“No,” she said quickly, then frowned at him. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Because of my choice.”

“Your choice?” he echoed, the same befuddled expression from the tearoom coming back over his face.

“Mr. Fisher isn’t a prince in shining armor,” she said between clenched teeth. Swallowing the last ounce of pride she had, Rae pointed to a shop across the street and three doors down. “He’s the one who makes it.”

Simon’s eyes followed the invisible line that extended from Rae’s finger. His lips moved but said nothing.

Nervous anticipation built within Rae. What would he say about her interest in a smithy? “As I said earlier, he’s not my prince,” she whispered when she didn’t think she could take the silence for another second.

Silence was Simon’s only response.

Why is he staring at me like that?
“Not all girls dream of growing up and marrying a prince,” she said irritably.

“You’re awfully defensive of your choice,” he said quietly. Then, without allowing her a chance to respond, he started walking in the direction of the smithy.

Not wishing to be dragged behind him, Rae put her feet into motion her heart slamming wildly in her chest.

Simon snorted.

She poked him in the side with her elbow. “What was that for?”

“One minute you’re as bold as a lion and the next you’re as skittish as a house cat.”

“I’m not skittish!”

He grinned at her then winked. “No? Excited to see your lover again?”

Rae’s blood turned to ice and she nearly tripped.

“Forgive me.” Simon’s cheeks pinkened. “I shouldn’t have said…” His blush deepened and he forced a shrug. “It’s my curse, I’m afraid: speaking before thinking.” He guffawed. “Perhaps that’s why I send the ladies into another’s arms,” he said beneath his breath.

Rae squeezed his arm in reassurance. “I’m sure that’s not what it was.”

Simon pulled to a stop and looked down at her, his eyes wide and his eyebrows halfway to his hairline. “Oh? Then why
was
it?”

Despite herself, she giggled. Then quickly tried to recover her composure, unsure whether he was trying to be humorous. “Perhaps you come off a little forward,” she suggested weakly.

“Perhaps,” he allowed with a slight frown that only lasted but a split-second. He reached for the dented, brass doorknob in front of him. “Ready?”

“No.”

Flashing her wry smile, he twisted the knob and flung the door open, revealing to the pair the dusty, dank smithy shop she knew so well.

A hard lump formed in Rae's throat as her eyes wandered around the room. Scratched and dented tools she didn’t know the name of hung on hooks all over the room. Some were long and pointed, others were odd-shaped tongs. A few looked like hammers of various weights. All were dirty and well used. But each had a specific place.

Just like her.

Another round of ice filled her veins. “Let’s go,” she said—in her mind, for her mouth wouldn’t actually move.

But her feet would.

* * *

“
D
o you need something
, gov’ner?” the gruff man sitting behind the anvil asked, wiping his hands on his filthy apron.

Simon gaped at the man. Whether it was because Rae had just abandoned him alone with her beau or the fact that
this
was her beau, he couldn’t decide.

Thinning hair, leathery skin, grease smears on his sweaty face, three days’ worth of stubble on his chin, and threadbare clothes with holes that didn’t look like he’d attempted to mend. This was Rae’s
Prince Charming?

He could scarcely believe it.

Then again, Isabelle had preferred a liar with an ungentlemanly streak and Lucy had preferred Giles—that didn’t need any further explanation.

He blinked to clear his thoughts. “Yes, sir. I was wondering if you…” He looked around the room, hoping an idea would come to him for something to ask the man about. Nothing.

“Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

“Right.” Simon stuffed his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing the edge of one of his calling cards. “You’re a business man, I see,” he said easily, withdrawing the card for his pocket. “My name is Simon Appleton. I work in London and manage investments. I’m here visiting Lord Drakely and thought I might come to the village and see if any of the local business owners were interested in purchasing investments.”

The smithy scoffed and banged his hammer down against the tip of metal he was holding over the anvil. “Visiting Lord Drakely, you say?”

“That’s right.” Simon slipped his card back into his pocket.

“Do yourself a favor and go back to London.”

“Pardon?”

The smithy,
banged
his hammer three more times, then set it down on the stool next to him with all the care of a man handling a brick of gold. “Lord Drakely’s sister-in-law is trouble.”

“Trouble?” Simon echoed, cringing at the way he was starting to sound like Mr. Flanagan’s parrot.

“The worst sort.” The older man scowled. “Henrietta Hughes will do anything she can to trap a man into marriage.”

Simon let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I have a hard time believing she’d ever attempt to trap a man into marriage.” Rae might have had her cap set on Mr. Fisher, but he couldn’t picture her doing anything to trap him.

Mr. Fisher laughed bitterly. “Then you haven’t been around her long enough.”

Simon forced a shrug. “I’ve spent enough time in her company to know she hasn’t tried to lay a trap for me.”

“She might not be able to read or write her own name—” he
banged
his hammer against the anvil few times— “but I wouldn’t be so certain she hasn’t schemed up something. She’s craftier than a serpent.”

Simon’s heart ached for Rae at his unkind remarks and he chose to ignore them. “And would marriage to such a beautiful and witty lady be the worst fate to befall a man?” he asked casually.

Mr. Fisher’s lips twisted in disgust. “A man with any sense, it would.” Then before Simon could ask him anything else, he pulled the heated metal out of the fire and set it on the anvil. Taking his hammer in hand, he started pounding the piece, sending sparks flying, and effectively declaring Simon dismissed from his presence.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Simon exited the addled man's shop.

As soon as the door closed behind him, his eyes fell on Rae. She was seated on a bench across the street. Her hands were clutched in her lap and she was idly kicking her feet back and forth. Though her head was down, he could tell she was biting her lip. He smiled. So many times he’d seen others bite their lip and hadn’t given a second thought to their nervous habits, but for some reason his eyes couldn’t look away from Rae when she did it.

“Well, I’ve made the acquaintance of your Mr. Fisher,” Simon said, sitting down next to her.

“He’s not mine,” she whispered.

“But you want him to be, no?”

Slowly she nodded.

Simon couldn’t pretend to understand why, but if it’s what she wanted… “All right, well, then we need to do something for you to catch his attention.” He reached for her chin and used the tips of his fingers to tip it up to look at him. “Just his attention. The rest is up to him.”

The confused expression in her bright blue eyes confirmed what he’d already suspected: Mr. Fisher spouted poppycock. Rae had never actually tried to trap him into marriage. She was just…forward. The very thing she’d accused him of being.

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, standing. He offered her his hand. “Where to now?”

“Mr. Edwards,” she said softly.

To their good fortune, Mr. Edwards had four pair of trousers and two shirts that only required mild alterations. Adding a few pair of stockings and a cravat to his order, Simon was satisfied. Surely, Lord Drakely’s staff could iron the wrinkles out of his coat and waistcoat. They were in a little town in the country that didn’t even warrant a dot on the map, for heaven’s sake. That didn’t require being dressed impeccably at every hour of the day.

“Anywhere else?” Simon gestured toward the little shop in front of them. Hair ribbons and reticules were on display in the window. “Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” she said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. “We should get back to the carriage before Juliet thinks we’ve run off to Scotland.”

Chuckling, Simon steered them in the direction of where the carriage was parked. He might not understand how Rae could be so infatuated with Mr. Fisher, but her statement had convinced him now more than ever that she had no plans of trapping Simon into marriage.

And he couldn’t tell why, but the realization was a fraction disappointing.