The Wild Passion of an Eccentric Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Emily Honeyfield

  Simon could tell that his speech had moved her. Emilia cocked her head to one side and considered his words. Her brow was no longer knit, and there was no more pain in her eyes. That was exactly the effect that Simon wished to have upon her. Was there some small chance that he had swayed her? That she was seeing the situation from his perspective? Simon greatly hoped so.

  “Let’s agree to disagree,” Emilia said with a playful smile, provoking Simon to smile, as well. There was something about that smile that could cut the tension in any situation. Simon was grateful for it. “But I must say that I admire your loyalty, both to art and to Kingsley.”

  Simon wished to tell Emilia to what extent loyalty was an important part of his character. But doing so just seemed like bragging, so Simon merely nodded his head. Yes, he was a devoted man. He had been all his adult life since coming to Montgomery House.

  There was no explanation for the kindness that Kingsley had shown him, and because of that, Simon saw the power and importance of fidelity. He’d do anything for Kingsley, even though the artist’s methods were not traditional in any sense.

  Simon watched as Emilia walked back over to the waterfall painting; the original one that he had shown her. She examined it once more, and as she did so, Simon examined her. Something swelled in his chest as he watched her from behind. Her physical form was perfection in every way, in Simon’s estimation.

  She was delicate and womanly, and Simon found that he was increasingly needing to look away so as not to be caught staring. But having her back to him, Simon could feast his eyes and not care whether or not he was being found out. Simon viewed Emilia from the ground up, taking in every inch and curve. There was so much that he wished to explore, with his hands, his mouth; everything.

  Such carnal thoughts were nothing new. Simon had already imagined him and Emilia in all kinds of situations, and finally being alone in a room with her, this habit was compounded. There was so much that he wished to do to her; in that very room, at that very moment. But to even suggest that they should do such things would be the height of impropriety, and Simon willed himself to collect his thoughts and take a breath.

  Still, how long had they been in that room together, alone? How much longer would they remain? Simon had never been more aware of time and space. Emilia brought all of this into perspective. Time stood still and was moving impossibly fast all at once.

  “It really is marvellous,” Emilia finally said, snapping Simon out of his daydream.

  “Better than the original,” Simon said.

  “Do you suppose that he enjoys making these replicas?”

  “I think he does. Very much so. Even though the motive behind it all is wayward, he still experiences a great deal of joy painting these.”

  “He has told you so?”

  “Kingsley hasn’t said it in so many words, but I know from observing him. There is a religious sanctity to it.”

  “And I thought you said that there is no sanctity in art,” Emilia said, challenging him.

  “It’s profound and profane at the same time, as all the best things are.”

  “You should have been a poet. You use words well.”

  “I’m an avid reader.”

  “As am I,” Emilia said.

  Simon could feel himself moving towards her. He wished to place his hands on her shoulders, around her waist, anywhere that he could. To prevent him from doing so, he clasped his hands behind his back and held them tightly, thinking that if he let go, he might do something that he could possibly regret.

  “Do you wish to go down to tea?” Emilia asked, turning to him.

  “No,” Simon said softly, making it clear that he never wished to leave that quiet room where just he and Emilia resided. Emilia smiled at this, catching his meaning, and then turned back towards the painting.

  That was when something extraordinary happened. Although they had been in close proximity before, it was always with others around and often a great deal of commotion. But this was the first time that Simon could smell Emilia’s hair.

  It smelt of rose water and lavender, and the effect was so intoxicating, Simon feared that he might lose his senses. Should he step away to recollect himself? Or should he allow himself to be overwhelmed with need and desire?

  “Will you take over one day?” Emilia asked. “Making these copies?”

  “No,” Simon replied. “This is Kingsley’s work, and when he’s no longer with us, I suppose I shall have to return to the streets,” Simon quipped.

  “I have a strong feeling that you will not end up there.”

  “Then, perhaps, a happy, frugal household.”

  “Covered in splashes of paint,” Emilia said.

  “That would make me very happy, indeed.”

  “That would make me happy, as well,” Emilia replied.

  Damned if Emilia didn’t have as much sway over his heart as she did over his body. When had this occurred? At what point did it overtake him? He had not known Emilia for long, and already she was his conqueror. Lady Susana had never made him feel such things. Even though Simon had constantly longed for her, there was never a point in which he felt haunted; body, mind, and soul. That was the way in which Emilia was making him feel.

  Chapter 14

  Emilia was feeling impossibly conflicted. She knew that what Kingsley was doing was wrong. She firmly believed that there should be no copies of art; only originals. But she was willing to lay aside the power of her convictions for one moment as she admired the waterfall painting.

  When Simon said that he didn’t wish to go down to tea, she could understand what he was implying and felt much the same. Emilia didn’t wish to leave that room and be surrounded by other people. Her desire was to remain in that room, with Simon, for as long as they possibly could.

  Yet, she was trying hard to hold her tongue. She had made her argument, and Simon fought back, albeit in a gentleman-like fashion. His steadiness and measured tones helped her to hear what he had to say. Had he fought in a more belligerent way, his argument would have gone on deaf ears.

  But Emilia took some delight in hearing his own side of the story, and sensing the passion and sincerity of his words. She, as well, was happy that Kingsley took Simon in. How else would she have ever met him if the artist hadn’t? Still, Emilia’s opinion remained fixed.

  There was no changing Simon’s perspective; that much was clear. But if she could gently sway him, even a small bit, then Emilia felt like she had done a bit of good.

  “I am happy that Kingsley paints at all,” she finally said, after enjoying a bit of the delicious silence. “But lying is lying, Simon. I need to again express that point.”

  “But aren’t we lying, as well?” Simon asked, and Emilia was struck dumb because he made a remarkable point. They were lying. They had lied to everyone around them. Emilia had lied to her own family, but it was for a good cause. It was for her freedom. “This engagement is a lie that we both created.”

  “Yes, I know,” Emilia said, turning back to the painting. A beautiful lie. For truly, the lie had created such profound feelings within her that Emilia wished that the lie would never end. “So, the point that you’re making is that there can be benefits to a lie?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying,” Simon replied. “Sometimes a lie is necessary.”

  Oh, but if only it weren’t a lie! If only their engagement could be the truth. How happy that would make Emilia. But to think such thoughts was vanity, at best. There was a very good chance that Simon didn’t share her sentiment. From the way that he looked at her and behaved, Emilia could sense that Simon fancied her. But what if this was only a physical attraction and not an attraction of hearts?

  Were that the case, Simon could have his way with her and be done with it. But he didn’t seem the type of fellow to do such a thing. Emilia would risk her honour if she threw herself into his arms once more, but if she admitted to her growing love, she risked her heart. Emilia did not know what the future held, but
she very much wished that their lie was not so.

  “The lie is working quite well,” Emilia said casually, hoping not to convey any of the emotions she was truly feeling.

  “Yes, I must admit that it’s going better than I thought it would.”

  “I have not heard a word from Lord Pendergast. I think that I might have fully liberated myself from his affections,” Emilia said with enthusiasm, in no way missing the duke’s former advances.

  “And I think that I have managed to fill Lady Susana with jealousy,” Simon said with a boyish grin.

  That was when Emilia’s heart sank. So, yes, perhaps she was right all along. If Lady Susana flung herself at Simon, he would embrace her. But why should Emilia be upset by this? He had told her that was part of the plan from the start. Yet, Emilia had never expected to fall in love. That was something that she did not foresee. And was she even in love? Emilia had to ask herself. Perhaps her feelings merely stemmed from the titillation of their situation and not from anything solid. Not anything substantial. It was all rather confusing, and Emilia told herself that time would be the judge of what the real nature of their relationship was.

  “Has she sent correspondence to you?” Emilia asked, instantly feeling guilty for proposing the question.

  Simon paused. He was being careful with his words. “She has not,” Simon replied.

  “And does that upset you?”

  “In truth?”

  “Yes, in truth.”

  “I’m still trying to understand it all. The more that I think about it, the more it seems that Lady Susana only had the hold over me that she did because she withheld. It’s not easy to explain the effect that has upon a man. But for me, it was utterly crushing, especially after what we had been through. There’s a good chance that if she were to come back, my feelings would vanish entirely. This is difficult to admit to, but a man’s heart can be a treacherous thing.”

  Emilia couldn’t believe that Simon spoke so eloquently of something that she had observed in her own life. She knew that he was a vastly intelligent man, but it was the first time that Emilia was struck by his level of self-awareness and astuteness. “That was well-said,” she finally replied. “Yet, still, you did not answer my question,” she added with a smile.

  “Oh, right,” Simon replied, pulling his hand through his wayward hair. “No, I have not felt disappointment due to not hearing from Lady Susana.”

  Emilia’s heart leapt in her chest upon hearing these words. So perhaps her assumptions were untrue? Perhaps there was truly no more space for Lady Susana in his heart. Was it because there was someone taking up all of his heart’s space? And if so, was it Emilia, herself?

  She felt a blush come to her cheeks and something changed in Simon’s expression as he saw this. Emilia brought a hand up to it, wishing to cool her skin, and then turned away. Simon was staring her down, and Emilia enjoyed the feeling of it and wished to flee at the same time; flee because of the intensity of her emotions.

  “Do I fluster you?” Simon asked.

  “Not in the slightest,” Emilia replied, lying. “It’s just a tad warm in here.”

  “You fluster me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Emilia asked, thinking that she didn’t hear properly. A devilish smile came to Simon’s lips.

  “I said, you fluster me.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s hard to describe.”

  “Do your best,” Emilia said, wishing to know why it was that she flustered him. In truth, she knew that Simon got under her skin, but she was unsure whether it was the same for him.

  “I have to keep my hands behind my back to keep from touching you,” Simon said softly. Emilia’s blush went from pink to positively bright red. How could he have the courage to admit to such a thing? It was awe-inspiring. Emilia wished to say that he didn’t need to keep his hands behind his back, but to do so would be remarkably unladylike.

  “I hope I have not provoked this.”

  “Not intentionally,” Simon replied.

  “Because I do not wish to cause any harm,” Emilia said.

  “There is no harm.”

  “But there could be harm if we were to —”

  “If we were to what?” Simon asked, interrupting her speech.

  “If we were to . . . push the bounds of decency.”

  “Do you wish to?” Simon asked.

  “Simon!” Emilia protested, surprised by his probing speech.

  “I’m teasing you,” Simon said and then laughed. A wave of relief came over Emilia as she realized that Simon must have been teasing her all along. What a brute to fill her with so many emotions! And he was doing it entirely on purpose.

  “I shall have my revenge for this,” Emilia said playfully.

  “I’d like to see you try,” Simon replied.

  A moment of silence followed as Emilia smiled to herself warmly. Yes, Simon must have sensed her ardour, and now he was intent upon making a show of it. Men must enjoy doing such things, but Emilia had never experienced such delightful flirtation in all her life.

  “You asked me of Lady Susana,” Simon went on. “And so, it’s my turn to interrogate you about Lord Pendergast.”

  “There’s no need to bring up the Duke of Westmoreland,” Emilia said dismissively.

  “So, you have no further affections for him?” Simon asked, expectation in his gaze.

  “How could you think that I would after I have told you the entire sordid tale?”

  “I suppose I was . . . mildly unsure.”

  “Well, take my assurance and know that I wish never to hear from him again, as I have said.” Emilia was more than mildly curious as to why Simon felt the need to ask such a question. She had already told him that no correspondence had occurred. Was it that Simon still clung to doubt about what was in Emilia’s heart? There was something charming about it. If Emilia was worried that Simon still had thoughts of Lady Susana, then Simon was also having similar worries about Emilia.

  “We should go down for tea,” Emilia finally said, not wishing to go but thinking that their being alone for so long might not look favourable.

  “A little while longer,” Simon said softly. Emilia sighed to herself. Yes, it was exactly the response that she was hoping for. She caught Simon looking at her once again, and in an unabashed way. Before, he would always turn to look elsewhere when caught, but now, he wasn’t averting his gaze. Although it filled her with nerves, in much the same way as it had on the night that he painted her, for the first time she really allowed herself to feel the pleasure of being so fully examined by one she fancied.

  “You like to stare at me,” Emilia teased.

  “I do,” Simon replied, with no hint of irony in his voice.

  “Very well, then I shall stare at you,” Emilia added, crossing her arms in front of her chest to play the interrogator.

  The two of them began to laugh as the whole ordeal turned into a kind of staring contest. Emilia was determined to win and not blink her eyes, but through her laughter she found it impossibly difficult.