Simon frowned. Jace wasn’t fond of the young lady and thought Simon a fool for pursuing her. “You are treading on treacherous ground, friend,” Simon warned. “You know my reasons for the courtship.”
Jace sighed. “I do. Though I do not think Brenna is headed for spinsterhood. She is still young.”
“That is my concern, not yours.”
“Then I shall put aside my misgivings and help you, old man,” Jace said. “I am well known for my success with women.”
Simon shook his head as Jace focused on Jeanette. Perhaps it would take his friend to see what mistakes he was making. He couldn’t. The courtship was failing.
A minute or two passed before Jace spoke. “Do you see how the eager bucks are ignored and the more aloof fellows earn the most interest? Lady Jeanette sees a challenge in drawing out attention from the less engaged among her admirers.”
Why hadn’t Simon noticed that before? Perhaps it was his own confidence that his charm would bring her to heel that kept him from seeing the sly way Jeanette manipulated the men around her.
“Of course.” He had played the game from a wrong angle. She was used to men chasing after her. He’d show disinterest and see what happened.
“A woman like Jeanette would despise being ignored,” Simon said, more to himself than to Jace, and then grinned at his friend. “Well done. I bow to your superior knowledge of the fairer sex.”
With this new idea in place, he spent the next two hours searching out other women who fit his requirements for a bride. He wholly ignored Jeanette and, upon doing so, added two names to his list of potential wives. Though neither was as well placed or as wealthy as Jeanette, they were both acceptable.
Simon collected a glass of wine from a passing servant when a clatter behind him brought him around. Jeanette stood one pace behind him, her body turned just enough to allow her to pretend she didn’t see him.
He followed the path of her eyes and spotted her fan just off the tip of her right slipper.
“Oh, dear,” she said prettily and bent to retrieve the item. Simon was quicker. He scooped up the fan and handed it to her with a flourish.
“Your fan, Milady.” With that, he turned and took a step away from her. An exasperated breath sounded. Simon smirked.
“Mister Harrington.”
Simon sobered before turning about for a second time. He cocked a brow. “Milady?”
Her pouty lips showed her displeasure and he knew his plan had worked brilliantly. She was displeased with him, even after refusing his suit only days before.
For the third time.
A dawning came then. Jace was correct. She had refused him in order to pique his interest. She’d wanted him begging for her hand like a queen on a throne. She wanted a pet who would come when she whistled and who’d totter along on her heels like a well-trained mutt.
Anger welled.
“You have not yet asked me to dance, Mister Harrington.” The lip pulled in and her pout melted into a smile. “You must correct the matter soon before my dance card is filled.”
Simon reined in his temper. “You made your position clear the last time we spoke. As I recall, you called me untamed and lacking charm. Then you called for a footman to put me out.” He watched her flinch and took satisfaction from her reaction. “I thought it best if we had no further contact.”
Chapter Six
Simon knew his abrupt dismissal forever harmed his cause. However, all he could think about was the scar on Laura’s collarbone. Dancing in attendance to the spoiled child was a grim prospect when his mind was engaged elsewhere.
“I was correct about you, sir,” said the pouting pink confection. “You are boorish and rude.”
He shrugged. “I’m a Harrington.”
The chit left him in a huff. As he headed home, he knew he’d suffer for his callous behavior.
There was little chance of ever repairing things with the girl.
Worse, he realized that until he recovered from his fascination with Laura, there would be no other woman in his life. This did not bode well for his sister.
Brenna might never get a chance to marry Chester Abbot. That was his biggest regret as he wandered to his room and readied himself for bed. The match would have been perfect for his sister.
After a night spent staring at the ceiling and counting the minutes until dawn, Simon finally eked out two hours of rest before dragging himself from the bed.
Dunston, his valet, helped him dress and poured some coffee into him. The dark brew did nothing to ease the threads of red in the whites of his eyes. He looked like he’d spent the evening drinking and wenching, without the rollicking good memories of doing either.
“Is there anything else you require, sir?” Dunston asked when Simon was properly tucked into his coat and the item smoothed out over his shoulders. That man was nothing if not efficient. After eight years of loyal service, the valet was worth his extensive experience in gold pieces.
“You have done all you can, my good man, unless you have a tonic for red eyes?” Simon looked into the mirror. The haggard face peering back at him would probably terrify dogs and small children. “Have I ever told you how much I value your service?”
“Sadly, I’ve no tonic, and once or twice.” Dunston answered both questions with a patient grin. “Usually you speak of your appreciation when well into your cups.”
Simon chuckled. “Ah, yes. My misspent youth.” He had more than earned his Wild Harrington title. But those days were behind him. At twenty-nine, it was time to grow up.
Sleeplessness had given him clarity. He had to untangle his life, and quickly. Brenna was withering.
“Do you have sisters, Dunston?” Simon asked.
“No, sir.” The valet smiled. “Though my pa was a faithless scoundrel, he produced no other issue. Thus far no one has come forward to claim him as kin.”
Simon clapped him on the back. “You are a lucky man. Sisters have a way of aging a fellow. I will be lucky to get Brenna wed before I am stooped and gray.”
Chester Abbot’s father, the duke, was said to be near death from consumption. Chester would soon be required to find a wife and produce heirs, a feat that Simon wasn’t entirely certain the man could accomplish. Still, if Simon couldn’t find Brenna another acceptable mate before the old duke died, he planned to throw his sister at Chester’s oversized feet.
Simon dismissed Dunston and called for his horse. It was a fine morning for visiting his new estate in Surrey. Though he’d been pleased to find a home far enough from London to be considered a country estate, it was close enough to visit and return in a day’s ride.
With his day planned, he urged Horse onward for several minutes until he realized he was traveling in the wrong direction. He pulled Horse to a stop, taking a second to orient himself. Somehow, he’d sent his horse toward the courtesan school, as if somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he couldn’t let another day pass without apologizing to Laura.
He smiled and nudged the beast forward. “Off we go.”
The town house was as he remembered as he approached the door, again without an invitation. He’d made certain he hadn’t been followed, nor did he intend for these visits to continue.
He just had to assure himself Laura hadn’t suffered any ill effects of their prior conversation.
It was a thin excuse to see her again, but he hadn’t the time to come up with something more substantial.
What he hadn’t counted on was Noelle’s face at the door.
“Simon.” Her voice was heavy with censure, and his name was spoken through gritted teeth.
“Cousin. Again I find you here,” he said, biting back a smirk. “Your husband must miss having you at home.”
She expelled a breath. “Not that it is any of your business, but Eva had a household emergency so I offered to come this morning in her stead. And though I appreciate your concern for the state of my home situation,” she said tartly, “Gavin is quite content with our marriage.”
Grimly, he nodded. “The man clearly has low expectations.”
He knew by the look on her face she was teetering on the brink of killing him. He fought a grin. He shouldn’t tease her, but found a lifetime of doing so hard to change.
“What do you want, Simon?” she asked impatiently, though they both knew the answer.
“I have come to see Laura,” he answered in a matching tone.
She scowled. “I know who you’ve come to see. The question is, why can’t you leave the poor woman alone?”
“If you let me in, I’ll explain.” He waited for her to let him pass. However, that was not her intention. She blocked the narrow opening. Only her face and a thin bit of her gray-clad body showed.
“You’ll explain from there.”
For the second time in recent weeks, he wished for a more biddable female relation. “I bumped into her on the road the other morning and I fear that our conversation, though unintentional I assure you, upset her. I have come to apologize.”
“And that is all?” Suspicion edged the scowl. “Her loveliness has nothing to do with your continued interest?”
This time the door opened and Noelle stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She crossed her arms and looked up at him. “Laura is not the sort of woman you can play games with, Simon. Her life has been difficult. If you intend to do her any sort of disservice by taking advantage of her situation, I assure you Eva and I will not be pleased.”
Her words took him aback. “You think I want to make her my mistress?” She said nothing. “You do.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “That is not my intention.”
Noelle stared for a long moment. Finally, she spoke. “In spite of her circumstances, Laura was not a courtesan by choice.” She paused and her eyes clouded. “I’ll not break her confidence when I say that she was meant for a better life.”
Not once had Simon considered the reason why Laura became a courtesan. He assumed she sold herself for the same reasons most women did: money, sex, or desperation. Obviously, he’d been wrong. There was much more to his courtesan than he’d seen thus far.
His curiosity rose. “I fear I have mistaken her situation. Still, my intentions are not dishonorable.” What were his intentions? That was a question he couldn’t answer. “In some cultures, when you save a life, you are responsible for that person forever.” He smiled. “I suppose you can consider me her champion.”
“Hmm.” Her scowl faded but her suspicion stayed put. “Laura grows stronger every day. She needs no one to fight her battles, Simon. But you may see her, if only to ease your mind. Then perhaps you’ll never again darken this stoop.”
Laura should have been surprised when Miss Noelle announced that she had a visitor, and who it was, but she wasn’t. For some unfathomable reason, Mister Harrington had decided his presence was needed in her life. And unfortunately, her frequent dismissals were not enough to dissuade him from that notion.
The courtesans whispered among themselves, a flock of hens anticipating the arrival of a fox. They’d been curious about her rescuer since the night she’d arrived, and his visits did nothing to quell their interest.
Laura ignored their whispers, brushed bits of flour off her dress, and walked to the parlor. She was hot from the kitchen and did not want to make frivolous conversation with an unwelcome guest. He had to be sent away.
Forever.
He was examining a painting over the fireplace, his back to the door. She noticed immediately how much he imposed on the feminine space. “Mister Harrington.”
He turned. “Miss Laura.” His smile warmed the room.
She ignored his charm. “I believe I have made myself very clear, Mister Harrington,” she said sharply. “I no longer need your assistance or companionship. And yet here you are again. Were my wishes unclear?”
“Indeed they were not.” He shrugged. “My family calls me stubborn. Sadly, it’s an incurable trait.”
A lock of damp hair fell over her right eye. The strands were too short to stay tied in the ribbon at her nape. She tried to brush it back, but the hair was persistent. Frustrated, she dropped her hand.
“Stubbornness is no excuse for ignoring my wants,” she countered. “You must stay away.”
Mister Harrington took a few steps forward. She forced herself to remain still under his regard.
“I felt compelled to come,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I had to make certain you suffered no ill-effects of our argument.”
Fatigue from the morning’s work took some of the starch out of Laura. It was baking day and the smell of fresh bread filled the town house. She found the coolness of the parlor refreshing after hours in the kitchen. It was Mister Harrington who kept her from completely enjoying this brief respite.
She scanned his handsome face, and her heart beat a little faster. It was impossible not to notice how well he fit the cut of his clothing. This observation added to her aggravation. Next to his polished perfection, she was a wet cat.
Sticky dough clung to her fingernails. She frowned and hid her hands behind her. “As you can see, I am quite well. Truly, there is no more need for you to concern yourself about my welfare.”
Light twinkled in his eyes. “I can see you are a step up from the bedraggled young woman who clung so valiantly to the back of my horse.”
Reluctantly, she followed the downward path of his eyes. There was a damp patch in the center of her dress, marred by flour and a trio of red strawberry-filling finger marks.
Though she’d assured him she was well, she looked a fright. No wonder the man had his concerns. It appeared as though she’d been under attack by a tray of strawberry tarts.
Somewhere deep within her, laughter began to well. Before she could catch herself, giggles broke free as she reached up to rub at the stains. She heard his chuckle and lifted her eyes to his face, their laughter mingling in the small room.
“When you arrive unexpected, you must accept whatever condition I am in.”
His chuckle faded to a smile. “I am not disappointed.”
Beneath her corset, her stomach flipped. His warm eyes reconfirmed his words. He wasn’t the least bit horrified by her condition. It was the intensity of his stare that rattled her emotions. She didn’t need him to gather her into his arms and kiss her to feel a surprising and most unwelcome attraction to this appealing stranger.
She sobered and cleared her throat. “Don’t come again.”
“I can’t make that promise.”
Impatience flared. She glanced over her shoulder. There was no sound of chatter coming from the kitchen. The women likely had their ears pressed to the door. “Men are welcome only at the party. You are breaking Miss Eva’s strict rules.”
Beneath unruly dark hair, his face sobered. “Then I should leave at once. Miss Eva can be positively frightening.”
Laura’s lips twitched. The man was a rake. An utterly charming rake. Why couldn’t she hold on to her anger? “Only because she cares.”
“Yes, she does.”
Silence fell between them. Then, “Mister Harrington—”
He interrupted, “The real reason for my visit was to ask you a favor.” He crossed the room and stopped a respectable distance from her. “I have purchased a property in Surrey and it requires renovations and a woman’s eye for decoration.” He leaned back on his heels. “Would you ride out with me and give your opinion on what needs to be done to make it inhabitable?”
Laura stared. She couldn’t get rid of the man no matter what she tried. “Don’t you have a female relative you can press into service?”
“I’d ask my sister but she is put out with me at the moment.” He grinned. “Right now she is out searching for highwaymen and pirates.”
Pirates? Laura let the odd comment pass. “I don’t think that wandering about Surrey with you is a good idea. We would be alone and Miss Eva has her rules—”
“I promise not to take advantage,” he interjected and rushed to assuage her fe
ars. “I will be a proper gentleman.”
“I suspect you have never been proper, sir.” She wanted to refuse. Knew she should refuse. However, something inside her felt an obligation to him. If not for his timely arrival that night, she’d have been returned to her nightmare. What he asked of her was small in comparison. She nodded and sighed. “I will help. But you must have me back by nightfall.”
“It is a promise.”
Another promise? Why then did she have the feeling she was about to crawl into a bucket of snakes?
Chapter Seven
Simon was surprised by Laura’s agreement to accompany him. He expected her resistance and lined up several arguments in hope of changing her mind. Thankfully, he didn’t have to use them. Though she wasn’t pleased, she’d agreed, and he was relieved.
“I can retrieve a carriage if you have an aversion to horses or would like to bring a chaperone.” He hadn’t considered that she might be unable to ride. Clinging to Horse out of fright did not make her a skilled rider. “For the sake of propriety, of course.”
A cheerless smile tugged her lips. “The maid has gone off to purchase eggs and the courtesans are better off kept away from you. Besides, I am well beyond the age and circumstance where I need to concern myself with propriety. Being a courtesan allows me the freedom to wander about as I wish.”
Simon grimaced. There was no bitterness in her words, just cold acceptance. How had she come to this? He found that he wanted to know her story—every last detail.
“You are no longer a courtesan,” he said tightly. It annoyed him to think of her that way. As if “courtesan” was all she could claim. She was so much more.
She settled her beautiful eyes on him, and an undercurrent of desire shifted through his body. He tamped it down.
“Current or former, it really matters not, does it?”
He wanted to say it did matter, but she was correct. It didn’t matter if her father was a king or her mother a duchess. Once she was labeled a courtesan, she’d always be considered tarnished in the eyes of society.
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