by Rose Gordon
Of course.
It’d be a shame to waste a single night to enjoy one another by traveling through the night in the carriage.
And then at long last, they stopped in front of the Townson’s townhouse.
Simon half-expected Lady Townson to have all of Rae’s belongings packed and waiting by the door.
“I didn’t think you two were coming back,” Lady Townson said, waggling her eyebrows.
“We could have taken longer,” Simon said smoothly.
“Wouldn’t have minded that,” Lord Townson said.
“Oh Andrew, you know you were disappointed at the thought of missing Lady Balline’s soirée tonight.” She smiled brightly at her husband and clapped her hands. “Now we shall be able to attend.”
Simon looked over to Rae. His family had received an invitation. Would she want to go? The travel wary look on her face said no, but he’d still better ask her.
“Shall I ring for a footman to bring down the rest of your things, Henrietta?” Lady Townson asked.
“Yes, please,” Rae said quietly.
Simon put his arm around his wife and drew her closer to him. Perhaps their trip was catching up with her.
A half an hour later, all of Rae’s things were loaded on—and in—Simon’s carriage and they were rolling down the street toward Mr. Nelson’s office to sign another paper and get the keys to his new holdings.
By the time they arrived, Rae was near sleeping.
“Would you like to go in?” he whispered in her ear.
Rae murmured incoherently and snuggled closer to the cushions.
Simon pushed the hair away from her eyes, then as gently as he could, he pulled away from her. He quickly helped her resettle, tucking a rolled up lap blanket under her head and then readjusted the blanket that was covering her.
“I’ll be a few minutes.”
Inside his office, Mr. Nelson was grumbling about the weather and how much hotter it was inside his office as opposed to outside. The hounds of hell wouldn’t even tolerate this, he’d muttered beneath his breath just as Simon came into his office.
“How about if we shuffle some papers to get a breeze blowing in here,” Simon suggested, slowly easing himself into the chair with the least amount of broken wood. The last thing he needed was a splinter in his bottom.
“Impatient, fool,” Nelson said with a scoff. He threw down his quill and with a snarl started digging through a tall, uneven stack of paper, grumbling something else about Simon’s stupidity in marrying so young.
“Just think—” Simon put his feet up on Nelson’s desk— “had I not decided to marry, you wouldn’t have made as much of a commission.”
“Indeed,” Nelson said, pursing his lips and reaching for his riding crop. “You didn’t earn me enough of a commission to use my desk as your footstool.” He popped Simon’s left foot. “Down.”
Simon lowered his feet back to the floor and leaned back in his chair. That poor chair groaned and creaked something awful. Simon bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.
Nelson pinned him with a stare and Simon leaned a little further back just to torment the cheap man just that much more, all the while praying that damn chair wouldn't break and make him bust his arse on the floor. Who knew how old and weak it was?
“Here.” Nelson shoved some paper in Simon’s direction. “Sign the top one. Put the others in a safe and hide it from your wife.”
“I get the idea you didn’t have a love match,” Simon mused, scrolling his name across the top page.
“No.” The older man scowled. “I could never decide if she was Satan’s pawn or Satan’s spawn.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Simon stood. “Perhaps if you—”
“Take your keys and get the hell out!” Nelson shouted, extending two keys in Simon’s direction.
Chuckling, Simon plucked the keys from the man’s slender fingers and slipped them in his pocket.
Rae was still sleeping when they reached his new holdings. He debated whether or not to wake her, he was a large part of the reason she hadn’t been able to get much sleep the past fortnight. However, she’d be the mistress of the house; she should go in to see it.
“Rae, we’re home,” he said, touching her soft cheek with the back of his curled fingers.
Her blue eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Home. I like that word.”
“Because you’re ready for bed?”
“Well, a bed sounds nice.” She traced the outline of his lips with her index finger. “I can think of one or two things to use one for. But,” she moved her hand up to run her fingers through his hair, “I like the sound of being home. With you.”
If it were considered in any fashion appropriate to make love to one’s wife right then and there, Simon would have. Alas, he did have some manners, and restrained himself. “Come, let’s walk through and dream.”
Rae felt as if she were floating as Simon gave her a tour of the townhouse he’d purchased for them. The ground floor had a drawing room, a dining room, and two smaller rooms that looked as if they were meant to be a library and a study. At least that’s what they were used for at Drake’s townhouse.
Rae peeked over at Simon. He had an office a half a mile away. Would he consider doing his work here instead? Then she could see him whenever she wanted. All sorts of ideas ran through her mind. Perhaps that wasn’t such a good idea if she didn’t want to be reduced to a beggar, which is exactly what would happen if he worked there: he wouldn’t be working, they’d be enjoying the other’s company!
Turning to hide her blush, she ran her fingers over the top of the marble mantle in the drawing room. “What do you think about the color red?”
“You wear it well,” Simon said. “The walls?” He grimaced. “Not so sure.”
“Perhaps I just need to find the right shade of red to convince you otherwise,” she said.
“Perhaps you will.” He brushed a kiss on her temple. “Would you like to see upstairs?”
She shivered. “Of course.” Likely, the upstairs would be just as empty as the downstairs, but still to be entering her soon-to-be-bedroom, filled her with excitement.
Just as she’d expected, the upstairs was empty save the beautiful brass wall sconces. Empty or not, it mattered naught to her. It was her house. Her home. Hers.
The upstairs boasted three large bedchambers, one with an adjoining sitting room. Another difference from her sister’s townhouse. Juliet and Drake each had their own bedchamber and sitting room. She supposed all of the titled lived that way. She and Simon were commoners, which meant they’d share a room. She smiled. Instead of being repulsed at that realization like she would have been before having married Simon, she was rather excited by it.
“Do you like it?” His quiet tone and wide eyes told her that her answer was far more important to him than just a simple yes or no.
“No,” she said with a sigh, then smiled and wrapped her arms around him. “I love it!”
“And I love you,” he said before kissing her.
“I love you, too.” She kissed his lips and then spun in his arms so her back was pressed against his hard chest and she could see the room. “The only concern I have is — do you suppose it’s too late to have a bed delivered?”
Simon squeezed her. “Likely it is.” He pressed a kiss on her neck. “We can stay tonight at the Grenier’s Hotel.”
Rae had never stayed somewhere as fancy as the name Grenier’s Hotel suggested. Truth to tell, Rae had never stayed in a hotel at all until a fortnight ago.
“Are you sure?” Though she yearned desperately for a decent night’s sleep, she didn’t wish to bankrupt her new husband.
He pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Positive.”
“I think the coachman just brought in my last trunk,” she murmured. “Should we go to your parents so you can get some of your things?”
“I don’t need anything.”
Rae doubted that. “Perhaps I’d like to see your room,”
she hedged.
“You would?”
She laughed at the shock in his voice. “Of course.”
“Well, perhaps there are a few things I could use.”
Rae twisted back around in his arms and playfully poked him in the chest. “I knew it.”
Simon grinned and reached for her hand. “Come. It’s not as exciting as you might think.”
Rae doubted that.
And she wasn’t wrong.
Simon’s room at his parent’s townhouse was nothing like hers had been. Then again, he’d grown up the son of a wealthy London businessmen, and she’d been the daughter of the poorest man in the village. Bile surged up her throat. Had she made a mistake? Could she, an illiterate daughter of a family that was one meal away from being beggars, be the wife a man like Simon needed?
“Is everything all right?” he asked, placing his hand on the small of her back.
“Of course,” she lied.
“Something’s different,” he mused.
Rae gestured to his bed. “It’s larger than I thought. Perhaps you could ask this one be moved over and you won’t have to order one.”
Simon might be a man, but even he knew something wasn’t right with Rae. “We can buy a new bed, if you’d like.”
“No, I only suggested that we needed to buy another one because I assumed it’d be meant for one person.”
Simon cocked his head to the side then nodded. He hadn’t seen much of Rae’s girlhood home, but he’d seen inside the bedroom the four boys shared. There’d only been two beds in there, no more than three feet wide each. He could only assume Rae had shared a small bed with her sister, too. Simon reached for her hand and led her to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted quietly. “I didn’t have the same upbringing you had.” He cupped her chin and turned her face so they’d lock eyes. “It’s never been my intention to make you feel ashamed or out of place. If I do—” he tried in vain to keep his voice smooth though his face was warming— “it’s merely out of innocence, nothing more.”
Beside him, Rae shifted, her top teeth catching hold of her bottom lip.
Simon racked his brain for what more to say to reassure her. His mind was blank. “Rae, we can keep this bed, or you can pick what you like. Money is of no concern.” And neither is your past. He wanted so badly to say it, but fear that his words would only make her more insecure kept his tongue silent.
“It’s all right,” she said. She turned her neck to look over her left shoulder toward the headboard. “I rather like the designs carved into the headboard.”
Simon squinted. In all the years he’d slept in this bed, he’d never once bothered to pay attention to its design. It looked standard compared to his parents’ bed and the others he’d seen over the years: large wooden frame with two spiraling posts growing out of the ends of the headboard and standing five feet into the air. Across the wood that connected the two posts was a series of mindless, yet symmetrical designs. As a boy, he’d run his thumbnail along their grooves when his mother had sent him to his room, but he’d never given half of a thought to actually looking at the design.
“Besides—” she faced him— “it’s not as if you’ve ever…er…enjoyed another woman in your bed.”
Simon coughed. No, hacked. “Pardon?” he choked.
Rae’s cheeks colored. “I was your first, was I not?”
Simon gave a slow, stiff nod, mortification overtaking him. He’d casually told her as much that day in the woods, but she hadn’t seemed to notice then. Had his performance been so bad, she’d been able to tell he’d had no prior experience?
“That’s what I thought.” She frowned. “Unfortunately, that’s another of my shortcomings.”
Shortcomings? Another? What the hell nonsense was she spouting? “Pardon?” he said again. It wasn’t the most sophisticated way to respond, but it was better than blurting out his thoughts.
“It still hurts you.”
Now, Simon was thoroughly confused. “What hurts me?”
“When you…” She flushed. “You know…when we…” She fanned her face. “Must I say it?”
Yes, she must; otherwise Simon would never know. “When we what?”
“When we join.”
“What about it?” He’d assumed she’d been enjoying it as much as he had. Had he been wrong and there was a problem he didn’t know about?
“It hurts you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he blurted, shaking his head wildly from side to side.
Rae looked at him in disbelief. “Then why every time we join, does your face pinch up like—” She scrunched her face up in a way that made him want to cringe.
“Rae, please don’t ever do that again,” he said, his cheeks on fire. “I’m not in pain when I do that. Quite the opposite.”
“That’s your look of pleasure?” Her tone was hard to read.
Simon sighed. “No, it’s more of an expression of sweet torment.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “As I’d hoped you'd know by now, I am extremely attracted to you. So much so that if I don’t pause and regain my composure just then, I’ll embarrass myself.”
“Embarrass yourself?”
If this moment could possibly get any more awkward, Simon didn’t know how. “Spend too quickly.”
A myriad of expressions came over Rae’s face, and finally she said, “Oh.” She pulled away from him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”
Simon wrapped his arm around her and pulled her onto his lap. “That’s all right.” He repositioned her so he could see her face, his lips only inches from hers. “A good husband would have explained that.”
“No, I should have known.”
Simon reached up and pushed a lock of her fallen hair behind her ear. “It’s of little consequence now, what is of consequence is: you were correct. You’ve been—and will always be—the only one I’ve taken to bed.” He leaned her back until her back hit the counterpane. “Being intimate with you is the most pleasurable thing imaginable. You—” he kissed her lips— “are the most perfect lover.”
And then, without another word, he proceeded to prove his words.
27
To Simon’s way of thinking, everything was going perfectly and absolutely nothing could spoil it.
Including a set of parents wearing serious expressions and asking to talk to him.
No, not even whatever they had to say could ruin his good humor.
After he’d made love to Rae, he’d gone downstairs to gather a few things from the library and had almost made a clean escape and retreated back to his room where his naked wife was sleeping softly between his sheets.
Unfortunately, his parents had discovered him just as his bare foot made contact with the first wooden stair.
“Can we talk to you a minute, son?” Though Father worded it as a question, Simon knew his voice well enough to know it was anything but.
“It’s about Giles,” Mother added softly.
Simon stared at her. Was there truly anything more for him to know about Giles? “Yes?”
“Can we sit in the drawing room?” she asked, gesturing to the open door
Obediently, he followed his mother and father into the drawing room. This chat had the potential to take longer than he’d like or they wouldn’t have suggested they all go sit in the drawing room. He set down the stack of books he’d collected from the library on a nearby table and then took a seat. “Yes?”
His parents exchanged a look, both fidgeting in their chairs.
“Is this about his parentage?” Simon asked, slightly surprised at how smoothly that had rolled off of his tongue.
“H-how did you…” Mother coughed. “Whatever do you mean?” The feigned shock in her voice almost made him laugh. Almost.
“I do have eyes,” he said.
“You’ll be respectful to your mother,” Father reminded him.
“My apologies,” Simon murmured. He ran
his hand over his chin. He hadn’t shaved in about two days and it was starting to make him feel itchy. “What was it you wanted to tell me, Mother?”
Mother’s petite hands gripped the armrests of her chair. “I-I don’t know.” She looked at Father. “I suppose that depends on what you think you already know.”
“That Giles looks like a younger version of Father and a slightly older version of me,” Simon said without hesitation.
Mother paled, which made his chest ache as that wasn’t his intent.
Simon sighed. “Father?”
Father reached out and patted Mother’s hand. “You’re correct. I loved your mother from the moment we met.” A wistful smile came over his face then a moment later it was gone. “But she was married by proxy to Lord Norcourt. I tried in vain to steal her away—after all, they were only married on paper, the two had never so much as clapped eyes on each other.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It was not meant to be.”
“And?” Simon prompted when it was clear neither Father nor Mother were on the verge of telling the remainder of the story.
Mother looked down at where she was using the toe of her slipper to trace the pattern of the wood on the floor. “We…er…”
“We spent some time together before his return,” Father said. “Alone.”
Simon nodded. He had already assumed as much. “And Lord Norcourt? Did he know?”
Mother and Father exchanged a look. “I’m not certain.” Tears filled Mother’s voice. “If you think that’s why Giles was sent to Ireland, the answer is no.”
Father opened his mouth, likely with the intent to offer a better explanation, but Mother stopped him with a single shake of her head.
“Giles was sent away because he was…” She wiped her hands down the front of her skirt— “simple.” Mother took a deep breath. “The old baron was advanced in years and he’d have accepted Giles as his heir, had he no other choice. But, he desperately wanted another.” She clicked her fingernails. “The older Giles got, the more infuriated Lord Norcourt became that Giles was his heir and did nothing to disguise his disdain. When I could bear his treatment of Giles no longer, I prevailed upon your father…” She swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks. “I had no idea that my actions would result in Giles being sent away.” She wiped away a few more tears. “Not long after I told him I’d conceived, he sent Giles away, and in his celebration of another heir, he died.
