Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor Book 3)

by Rose Gordon

  “Three what?”

  “Taps,” Peter said through clenched teeth, tapping his fist against his palm.

  “Did that count as one?” Simon asked.

  Peter threw his hands into the air. “Henny, it’s a good thing your toff has money because he’s lacking anything in his brainbox.”

  “Now, Peter,” Rae warned at the same time Jane marched up in front of Peter, hands on her hips and declared, “He’s not Henny’s and he’s mansome, besides.”

  “Thank you, Jane. It’s nice to know where one’s loyalties lie,” Simon drawled.

  “At her age, they lie with anyone who has something she wants,” Samuel said with a snort.

  “I imagine it’s no different at your age,” Simon said. “I work with gentlemen’s investments all day and I hate to tell you that never goes away.” He put his hands into the proper stone, parchment, shears position and said, “I also hate to tell you when I was a boy we called this game Rochambeau—and I was unbeatable.”

  “Unbeatable?” Peter asked in disbelief. “It’s a game of luck.”

  Simon lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “Think what you wish. Now let’s play.”

  One hour and more than one hundred victorious matches later, Simon was lauded the King of Rochambeau.

  “Why did you pretend you didn’t know how to play?” Rae asked as they walked back to the house.

  “At first I didn’t know what they were talking about,” he admitted. “But then, it was too fun to see their reactions. You’re right, children will believe anything.”

  “Indeed, and now you’re their hero.”

  His jaw dropped. “That’s what it takes to be their hero?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” she said, slowly bobbing her head up and down.

  “And yours?”

  “I shan’t tell!”

  13

  To Simon’s great relief, the next couple of days went by with the speed of a stallion at Ascot and it was finally the day of the fair. Were he made to spend any more time with Rae’s family he might find himself becoming one of them! Not that that would be such a bad thing, mind you. Her brothers, though younger than him, were actually rather fun. Rae’s sisters might have put him off at first with their unbridled, girlish romantic interest in him, but that wasn’t so bad.

  Simon had always liked Lord Drakely when their paths had crossed. He wasn’t so sure about Lady Drakely and her blatant attempts to put Simon and Rae together as often as possible at first, but after a few days of her antics, he was rapidly becoming accustomed to having her around, too.

  And then there were their girls. Miranda and Laura, the twins who were so young they could hardly walk across the room without falling, spent most of their day in the nursery. Though not quite as zealous as Rae’s sisters, Kate, who was of the advanced age of eight had similar expectations: a sweeping bow and a kiss on the knuckles by way of greeting—even if he’d only left the room for a matter of minutes.

  “Does the prospect of a little fair frighten you so?” Rae teased, coming into the drawing room where Simon was waiting.

  Simon stood. “Not at all.” He made a show of looking over her shoulder at the three little girls who stood in the hall waiting for their mama and papa then dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “It’s all the young ladies vying for my affections. I just don’t know which one to choose.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Drakely drawled, strolling into the room. Simon’s face heated, but before he could say anything, Drake continued, “My father died before I was old enough to really need his advice. But—” he placed both of his hands on the backrest of one of the leather chairs— “he did say one thing of import that I’ll never forget. Why make one lady miserable, when you could make scores of them happy?”

  “And which of those options do you intend to live by?” asked Lady Drakely from the open door.

  Drake whipped around to face his wife. “I make all the ladies happy, do I not?” He walked toward his wife, their five little girls surrounding her. He kissed each of the girls on the crown of their heads then brushed a kiss on his wife’s lips. Smart man.

  “Well, you just might make all of the ladies happy,” Lady Drakely allowed, favoring him with a quick smile before turning her gaze to Simon. “But the way I hear it, he makes all the young ladies swoon.”

  Simon didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t.

  “Blast it, Appleton,” Drake ground out. “Can’t you just offer for Henrietta now and spare me such misery?”

  “Misery?” Rae said softly, her face paling.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Drake speared his fingers through his black hair.

  “What my darling husband is trying to say,” her sister cut in, patting Drake’s chest. “Is that Simon charming all of the young ladies is starting to make Drake have to work harder to regain it and he’d prefer to be the only gentleman they all look at with hero-worship in their eyes.” She patted Drake’s chest again. “Sadly, just like jesting, he’s not very skilled at appropriately sharing his feelings—as childish as they may be.”

  “All right, I think we’ve listed enough of my faults.” Drake scowled and wrinkled his nose. “Let’s go to the fair before I completely fall from the pedestal I’ve imagined my girls have me mounted on.”

  A little chorus of celebration sounded from the three older girls who’d come, two of which immediately clutched onto his hands, leading a triumphant expression to come over his face. A grinning Lady Drakely shook her head and Simon and Rae exchanged a look, both on the verge of laughter.

  The fair was nothing short of odd.

  From one end of the main street that went through the village all the way down to where it ended in a field gathered every man, woman, and child who lived within no less than ten miles of the village. Smells of every kind: sweet, spicy, unidentifiable…all assailed Simon’s nose, and noise fell on his ears from every direction. Talking, laughing, shouting, snorting, and beneath it all a steady beat and the faint sound of stringed instruments.

  Simon turned around.

  “Does it surprise you those of my kind can play instruments?” Rae teased with a cluck of her tongue.

  Simon frowned. Her kind? Why did she always speak so low of herself? He’d have to find a way to get her to see her own value. “I just didn’t expect it.”

  “And what did you expect?” Rae asked.

  “To see a lady with a beard as long as Father Time’s,” Samuel said from behind them.

  Rae and Simon turned to face the rascal.

  “Did you remember…?” Samuel bit his lip and raised his eyebrows in silent question.

  Simon nodded once.

  “There’ll be no secrets,” Rae chided.

  Samuel snorted. “If we menfolk didn’t keep secrets, your kind would always be swooning and sniffing those disgusting salts.”

  “Only three days in Simon’s company and you’re becoming a toff yourself,” she teased, roughing his hair.

  Samuel ducked away from her. “I need to go help Father unload the wagon or I’ll be visiting the woodshed when we get home.” He nodded to Simon. “I’ll look for you later.”

  “What did you bring?” Rae asked Simon when the boy was barely two steps away.

  “Can’t tell.”

  An amused expression came over Rae’s lips. Shaking her head she said, “No, you won’t. There’s a difference.”

  “No, there’s not.” He offered her his arm. “I made a promise.”

  Rae looked heavenward and sighed. “Instilling a gentleman’s honor in those rapscallions isn’t likely.” She smiled warmly. “But I am quite impressed with your quick study of children and how to woo them.”

  “I’d prefer to think of it as winning them over.”

  She squeezed the inside of his arm. “Is there truly a difference?”

  “Yes. While I appreciate your helping me knock down the barrier between me and urchins, I have no desire to woo any of them. Now, as for you...” He trailed
off with a shrug.

  Rae’s heart slammed in her chest, the blood thundering in her ears. She almost tripped over her own feet. Had she heard him correctly? Her mouth ran dry. Did she want him to woo her? A sharp pang of sadness pierced her chest.

  “Perhaps I’m unwooable,” she forced herself to say around the hard lump of emotion in her throat.

  Simon snorted and guided her around a little knot of people. “Have you forgotten who you’re walking with? It seems my favorite pastime is attempting to woo the unwooable.”

  “Per’aps ye can woo her with yer archery skills,” said a vendor. He gestured behind him where five bows hung on a rack, a quiver full of arrows next to each.

  “Do you ever shoot at targets?” Simon asked her.

  “Pffffft. Are you addled?” Lucas asked bluntly, pushing his way between Simon and Rae.

  “It’s called being besotted,” Peter corrected matter-of-factly. “When a gentleman becomes besotted he takes leave of his senses. Just look at Drake and Juliet.”

  All eyes went over to where Drake held a purple, lace parasol in one hand and was using the other to help his wife adjust her coiffure.

  “Not the same,” Simon said. “I was merely asking Rae if she’d ever had a turn at shooting at targets—” he gave her brothers a pointed stare— “a pursuit that isn’t only for gentlemen.”

  “As I said, pffft,” Lucas said then snorted. “Henny couldn’t hit the Tower of London from ten feet away.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Simon’s free hand pressed softly into the small of Rae’s back. At the boys’ silence, Simon continued, “I’d wager your sister could get it closer to the center of the target—blindfolded—than either of you.”

  The two boys howled with laugher and Rae’s face heated. “Simon, please.”

  “It’ll be all right,” he whispered against her ear, rubbing his thumb on her back. “I have confidence.”

  While his words were sweet, she wasn’t convinced. After all, she was the one he’d just stated would be given a bow and arrow…and a blindfold!

  “And what will you give us when she injures someone?” Lucas demanded before releasing another howl of laughter.

  Simon shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

  “One hundred pounds?” Peter asked.

  “If that’s what you want.” Simon’s tone gave nothing away.

  Peter’s grey eyes widened to the size of his fists. “You have yourself a wager.”

  “Not so fast,” Simon cut in. “If your sister wins, you—and everyone else who has the last name of Hughes—must refrain from calling me a toff ever again.”

  Rae started. She looked at him—truly looked at him. Did their reference of him being such effect him so much? He’d frowned the first time it was said, but surely if it bothered him that much he’d have said so before now. Wouldn’t he? Odd.

  “All right,” Peter said with a jerky nod.

  “Good. Now go round up all of your rapscallion brothers and anyone else who shares your surname to bear witness.”

  Simon’s final word was barely past his lips and Peter’s feet were stirring up a cloud of dust.

  “All right, Rae.” Simon grabbed one of the bows from the rack and handed it to her. “Let’s see what we’re working with.” He held an arrow out to her.

  Rae stared at the offending arrow as if he intended to shoot her with it. “I—I can’t.”

  “Nonsense.” He closed the space between them and encircled her with his arms as he placed the arrow. “Take a step back,” he murmured in her ear, moving backward.

  She stepped with him, his strong arms, spicy scent, and body warmth making it nearly impossible pay attention. “Simon, I don’t think…”

  “That’s all right, you don’t need to think.” His hands covered hers and he lifted their arms. “Just aim.”

  Rae released a shaky laugh. “I don’t know how.”

  Simon pressed his body so closely against hers she could all but feel the steady beat of his heart. He pulled their right hands backwards, drawing the string of the bow tighter. “Lower your arms just a little,” he whispered against her hair. “Good. Now, close your left eye and use your right to look over the top of your arrow.” Her hands trembled beneath his, and he gave her hands a light squeeze. “You’re doing fine. Just look down your arrow toward the tip.”

  Rae wiggled to get more comfortable in her stance and lowered her head. “It’s very long.”

  Simon choked.

  She craned her neck so she could see him. “Is something amiss?”

  “No,” he croaked. “Now stop moving about and shoot.”

  Rae frowned, then started to wiggle out of his embrace. “If it’s an imposition then I’ll tell Peter…”

  Simon hardly heard the rest of her nonsense over the steady tattoo of blood and desire pounding in his head as she unintentionally pressed her breasts against his arms. “You’re no imposition.” He winced at the roughness in his voice then tightened his hold on her. “It’s a gentleman’s curse, I’m afraid. Nothing for you to worry about. Now let’s shoot.”

  “But I’m bothering you.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said firmly. Truly, what man would think having a lady with all the right womanly curves in his arms was a bother? “We need to fire off at least one practice arrow before they come back.”

  Rae moved her hands back into the proper stance.

  “Perfect. Now, pull the arrow back a little further then let it go.”

  Rae did as instructed and the arrow flew in the direction of the target…but missed it altogether. “I do hope you won’t be forced into the streets and be made to beg for bread.”

  “I’ll be all right.” He handed her another arrow. “This time, when you look down the arrow, line the tip up with the target—specifically the center.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  Simon chuckled and wrapped his body around hers again. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but she did need as much help as he could give her before her brothers returned, he reasoned with himself. “I have a feeling this arrow will find a more desirable stopping place.”

  “Me, too,” she said, readjusting herself.

  Against his better judgment, Simon closed his eyes and for a split-second allowed himself to savor the way her soft form felt in his arms. He inched his nose closer to her hair and took in a deep inhale. Violets. Such a sweet and subtle fragrance—just like her.

  “EEEEEE!” Rae’s squeal jerked Simon from his lusty fog. “Simon, I did it,” she squealed, turning in his arms and encompassing him with hers.

  Simon’s desire to look down at the target rivaled that of a man wishing to be led to a hangman’s noose. Instead, his focus was right where he wanted it: on Rae and her sparkling blue eyes and pink lips that were begging for a kiss—and then they weren’t, for they found it when she pressed her lips to his.

  Without a care to where they were and who all might see them, Simon cupped the side of her face with one hand and kissed her with the fervor of a thirsting man in the desert offered a cup of water.

  “Careful, Mr. Appleton, or you’ll be engaged to a tart before nightfall,” came a rough voice Simon vaguely recognized.

  Rae jerked back, her face going stark white. Before Simon knew what was happening, she pulled away from him and choked on a sob then took a step backward.

  Simon reached for her, his fingers catching only a fistful of the fabric of her skirts. She quickly yanked it from his grip and took off running toward the little thicket of trees. Simon called after her and started to move to run after her when he was stopped by a heavy hand clamping down on his left shoulder.

  Simon whipped his head around to see a snarling Mr. Fisher—the one who’d spoken so cruelly a moment ago. He shook the gruff man’s hand from his shoulder and his eye caught Mr. Hughes’; the older man lowered his head a fraction and gave it a sad shake.

  Heedless to the stares he was receiving or the whispers that were already starting, Simon squa
red his shoulders and walked away from both men intent on finding Rae.

  14

  Rae had only felt so physically ill one other time.

  Her stomach lurched, sending bile straight up her throat. She choked it down and kept running. It didn’t matter where she wound up, for she’d never go back. Humiliation and shame came over her in waves as she weaved in and out of the trees, over fallen branches and on top of twigs, rocks, and leaves. Why did he have to say that?

  Because it’s true.

  Hot, salty tears stung her eyes and coursed down her face.

  Illiterate was enough to slim down her chances of a good match.

  Ruined? A bitter laugh clogged her throat. The irony was too much. Her chances weren’t just slim, they were ruined.

  Gasping for air, Rae spotted a fallen log and sat down in front of it, drawing her knees up to her chest and lowering her head. Perhaps nobody would ever find her.

  No such luck.

  “There you are,” Simon said softly a few minutes later. He walked over to her, leaves and sticks crunching and snapping beneath his leather boots.

  Rae swiped at the rivulets flowing from her eyes and tried to stand. The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk to Simon.

  “No, no.” Simon placed a gentle hand on her shoulder to guide her to sit on the log, where she’d perched herself in front of when he’d walked up, then sat beside her. “I’ve worked too hard to get you to speak to me. We’re not going back to you running and avoiding me.” He shot her a warm smile.

  Rae’s face burned and she could hardly look at him. What did Mr. Fisher tell him? “Simon, please.”

  He ignored her and reached for her hand. Intertwining their fingers, he said, “What did he do to you?”

  Rae’s breath caught. No one who knew of her shame with Mr. Fisher had asked her that. It had always been,“What have you done?”Admittedly, she was an active participant and deserved every ounce of shame that came with her transgression, but she’d be lying if she didn’t also admit that his question was a slight salve on such a deep, ugly cut.