“Please send in refreshments,” Simon said to Tanner.
Still on edge, Simon directed Pomeroy to a grouping of chairs. They settled on two comfortable chairs and Simon leaned back, his legs crossed. They chatted amiably about their health, the weather, and the latest goings-on in parliament. Eventually, Simon knew he had to get to it. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, sir?”
Pomeroy tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, his eyes boring into his. “I think you know, young man.”
Oh, God. Here it comes. If the man came at him, both fists raised, he would go down with dignity and never strike back. He certainly deserved it for ravishing his daughter. No matter that it had been Elise’s idea. Something he would never let her father know. He was the man and experienced, and Elise had been an innocent. No. He was to blame, and would take full responsibility.
Simon ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes, sir. I will not insult your intelligence by pretending I don’t know to what you refer. Saying I’m sorry means nothing.”
Just then Tanner entered with a tray of coffee, warm rolls, and delicious-looking scented pastries. Both men ignored the food and remained in subdued silence until Tanner left and closed the door.
“What do you plan to do about it?” The soft words were spoken with steel behind them.
“I have already proposed marriage to Lady Elise, my lord. She has refused.”
Pomeroy nodded his head with no surprise, which led Simon to believe when Blackwell divulged the information to Pomeroy, he was kind enough to include the part about his offer and Elise’s refusal. “And you planned to leave it at that?”
Here was where the sticky part came in. He was staying away from Elise because she still wanted an affair, and he was afraid if he spent enough time with her, he would give in. It would be impossible for him to ignore those plump lips, hold her too close in a waltz and feel her curves, then torture himself with memories of how her warm, smooth flesh felt under his hands. How did one explain that to a gently reared woman’s father?
It was simple. One didn’t.
“No disrespect intended, sir, but your daughter is a bit on the stubborn side.”
Pomeroy let out with a genuine hearty laugh. He shook his head and studied the floor, still grinning. Then, with an abruptness that startled Simon, his expression sobered, and, staring him in the eye, Pomeroy blurted out, “Do you love her?”
Simon felt as though someone had punched him in his middle. All the air left his lungs, and he had the strong urge to jump up and run from the house. Mount his horse and race for his country home, never to return to London again.
Did he love her? No. He could not love her. He saw what love had done to his father. Yet, the past couple of weeks he’d been almost as miserable as his father had been when Mother had taken off with her lover. Except Simon had no child to ignore and hadn’t drunk himself into a coma every night.
His thoughts wandered to recollections of Elise stumbling through the cotillion, then laughing herself silly about it. Furiously whacking her ball so hard that she knocked out one of the guests at the Townsend garden party. He pictured her eyes as they stared into his while they waltzed, and how her arms waved around when she spoke to her friends about subjects and events he’d never before heard uttered from a woman’s lips.
As uncomfortable as it made him to think of other things while her father sat nearby, nevertheless, he saw Elise in all her naked splendor, stretched out before him, passion in her eyes as she welcomed him without reservations into her innocent body.
Yes, God help him. He loved her.
Simon cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. I love her.”
Again Pomeroy nodded as though Simon had merely confirmed what he’d already known. “Then we need to have a plan.”
“Sir, I think you should know she already had a plan.”
Pomeroy waved him off. “Oh, I knew about that nonsense almost from the start. Why do you think I brought Blackwell into it?”
“You brought Lord Blackwell into it?”
“Of course. I had no way of knowing what your true intentions were, but I knew if Elise thought I was taking the choice away from her, she might try a bit harder to bring you up to scratch.”
Simon snorted. “Well, she did that, sir. But, unfortunately, it didn’t work.”
“Are you telling me the seduction of my innocent daughter was her doing?” Pomeroy’s frown and low voice were more frightening than standing blindfolded in front of a firing squad.
Bloody hell. Since the man did not seem to be carrying a weapon, a beating was probably in his near future after all. “No, sir. Not at all, sir. She was completely blameless. I take full responsibility.”
“Of course.”
Simon ran his finger around the inside of his cravat.
“As you pointed out, Lady Elise is a bit on the stubborn side, much like her mother. Wonderful woman. We had eleven delightful years before she was taken from us.” He made the sign of the cross, which confused Simon, since he did not know they were Catholic.
“In any event, you must do something to convince her, since there can be no other outcome for this indiscretion.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Good.” Pomeroy stood and slapped him on the back, probably with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. “I leave it in your capable hands, my boy.”
Leave what in my capable hands? The man hadn’t offered anything in the way of ideas or assistance. “Um, Lord Pomeroy, you certainly know your daughter better than I do. Have you any suggestions?”
He waved his finger into his face. “No coercion, she would not stand for that. Or being ordered about. Too strong-willed. Anything but another seduction. Then I will be forced to call you out, and that gets rather messy.” He turned and left the room, mumbling about blood, surgeons, and escape to other countries.
Simon stared after him, no more enlightened than when he’d arrived. So he was to convince Elise to marry him, but could not coerce, order, or seduce her.
I wonder if his lordship considers kidnapping acceptable?
Chapter Ten
Despite her fatigue and unsettled stomach, Elise joined her sisters and Papa at the entrance hall for a trip to Lord and Lady Belmont’s musicale. They had attended it every year, but Elise had mostly been excused from the torture. This year, however, Papa was adamant that she would attend with them. When he announced the event two evenings ago, he not so subtly reminded her that she was in search of a husband, since Lord Blackwell suddenly, and unexpectedly, withdrew his suit.
When Papa had called her into his study to relate that information to her, he’d asked if she had any idea why the man would do that. Even though she knew her face was redder than the finest rose in Mother’s garden, she shook her head and feigned ignorance. By the time she’d escaped his scrutiny, she’d been covered in sweat.
All she wanted to do now was return to her bed and sleep. She pushed to the back of her mind the book she’d read years ago that outlined the early stages of pregnancy as extreme fatigue, stomach upsets, and a propensity for tears and swooning.
She continued to cling to the hope that all the upset in her normal life had disrupted her courses. If the worst had, indeed, happened, she would be forced to tell Simon, and he would again order her to the church. Was it so terrible that if she were forced to take a husband, she wanted love and a proper proposal? Especially since she’d finally admitted to herself that she was in love with him. Who wanted a man who felt she was no more than self-flagellation for a wrong committed?
Once they arrived at the Belmont home, which was considerably larger than most London townhomes, Elise took her papa’s arm and walked with her sisters into the impressive home. Elaborate candelabras hung from the ceiling in the entrance way, as well as in the spacious double drawing room where the musicale was to be held.
Dozens of people had already arrived. Papa and the girls took seats about halfway back from the platform that had been
erected on the south wall. They settled in and conversed with those around them. Elise was having a hard time keeping her yawns in, and her eyes open. Juliet sat on her left side and Papa on her right.
He was looking handsome again this evening, and, now more aware of what happened between men and women, she noticed several of the ladies eyeing him and casting him glances that he chose to ignore. She’d always known her parents had a love match, which is why she and her sisters had always expected ones for themselves.
However, it had only been when she’d been thrust into the role of mother and household manager that she’d discovered how much she enjoyed the feeling of independence and freedom the role had afforded her. It hadn’t taken her long to question the wisdom of marrying and being under the thumb of a husband.
She flipped thorough the printed program and was impressed that the well-known opera singer, Nellie Melba, was to perform. Hearing the famous singer would be worth passing up an early evening at home.
Not more than fifteen minutes after they arrived, musicians climbed up onto the platform, tuning instruments while their hostess moved to the front of the crowd, causing conversation to die down and eventually cease.
“I am extremely pleased that you all joined us this evening. Once my lovely and very talented daughters have performed, we have the wonderful Mrs. Nellie Melba to entertain you.” Lady Belmont beamed in the direction of her two girls sitting in the front row.
Oh, Lord, so they were to be a captive audience for the very un-talented young women in order to enjoy the lovely performance by the opera singer. She sighed, reconciling herself to a headache before the night’s end.
The first notes struck up and one of the Miss Whartons began her warble when a hand landed on Papa’s shoulder. Without turning around, he immediately rose from his seat, which was quickly filled by Simon.
Elise drew in a sharp breath as he leaned toward her. “Good evening, Lady Elise.” His deep, smooth voice had the desired effect. The oh so familiar scent of soap and mint, along with his own unique essence, drifted over her in waves. Why, oh why did her heart have to beat so rapidly and her lungs have trouble accessing air?
She turned to him and her insides melted. She’d missed him so much. He was incredibly handsome, his swarthy fresh-shaven skin above the starched white cravat, his deep blue eyes eating her up, as she was sure hers were doing to him. His soft smile did her in.
Good grief, she felt tears well up—another symptom—and blinked rapidly to dispel the pending disgrace. She turned away from him, fussing with her skirts as she tried desperately to focus on the singer. His large hand covered hers, stilling the movements. Unable to look at him, instead she stared at their hands, remembering . . .
Slowly, Simon tugged on her gloves, pulling them over her skin, one inch at a time, the silky material sliding over her sensitive flesh. Once her hands were bare, he removed his gloves and intertwined their fingers. Skin-to-skin, flesh-to-flesh, she closed her eyes and felt as raw and exposed as if she were sitting there naked.
His thumb skimmed over the inside of her wrist, stroking, caressing, and drawing small circles on her skin. The area between her legs drew damp, her nipples tightened, and she tried desperately to access air for her lungs. The man had turned her into a wanton. Here she was in a public place and all she could think about was ripping her clothes off and climbing onto his lap. Her nervous giggle escaped.
He leaned in once more, his warm, sweet breath bathing the sensitive skin by her ear. “Are you well, my lady?”
Drat, again tears threatened. She couldn’t stay near him, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look him in the eye without blurting out her fears and throwing herself into his strong arms. Black dots danced in front of her eyes, threatening a swoon.
“Excuse me.” Without looking at anyone, she yanked her hands free and quickly rose, her gloves dropping to the floor. Stumbling along, she passed those next to her, apologizing as she continued on down the line, edging her way past the other guests.
Once free of the room, she rushed down the corridor, as if in pursuit, to the entrance hall and the surprised butler. “Lord Pomeroy’s carriage, please.”
Not wishing to speak with anyone, she stepped outside and waited on the steps, her arms crossed over her body, hugging herself, and shivering in the dampness, wishing she’d remembered her shawl. Once the carriage drew up, she hurried down the steps, blinded by tears, and instructed the driver to deliver her home and return the carriage for her sisters and Papa.
A footman helped her into the vehicle and stepped back. She settled in and just as the door started to close, the front door of the Belmont’s home flew open and Simon stepped out, holding her gloves. His eyes searched the area until they landed on her carriage as it slowly rolled away.
“Elise!” His voice echoed in the night air, mixed with the sound of carriage wheels.
And her sobs.
***
Simon cursed and pounded the doorframe with his fist, then leaned his forearm against the wood and hung his head, her gloves dangling from his hand. What the devil went wrong? He’d planned with Pomeroy to take his seat once the music began so he could spend time with Elise. Try to talk some sense into her. Instead she fled like Cinderella, with him holding her gloves instead of her shoe.
He pushed himself away from the door to return to the drawing room. Then, deciding he had no desire to stay since she’d left, he turned on his heel and asked for his carriage to be brought around.
The ride home went by too fast and, before he knew it, they’d pulled up to his townhouse. He considered going to Elise’s home instead, but knew with the rest of the family at the musicale, if he went to her house they would end up making love, and he had promised her father he would not seduce her again.
Instead, he wearily climbed the stairs to his study, poured himself a brandy and sat, sprawled in a chair, staring out the window at the darkness, planning his next move.
Barely after ten o’clock the next morning, Simon looked up from his desk where he perused the financial news from The London Times. Tanner entered the room looking agitated. Since Simon had never seen the man in any demeanor except composed, he was curious as to what had the butler so troubled.
“My lord, two young ladies have come to call.” He sniffed his disapproval.
Simon’s brows rose. “Two young ladies? Here?”
“Yes, my lord. I left them on the front steps since I don’t think it is proper for young ladies to be calling on a bachelor.”
“For heaven’s sake, Tanner, if they are true ladies, leaving them outside the door is even worse.” He jumped up from his seat and strode through the study door to the entrance hall, flinging the front door open.
Lady Juliet and Lady Marigold stood on the steps, glancing nervously from side to side. “Oh, bloody hell.” He grabbed Lady Juliet by the arm and dragged her through the door. Lady Marigold followed.
Simon shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “What are you two doing here? Do you realize if anyone saw you it would be instant ruination for the both of you?”
“We had to speak with you, my lord.” Lady Juliet stuck her chin out, staring him down. Apparently Elise was not the only stubborn and headstrong Smith daughter. No wonder Pomeroy wanted to see them all married off.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, since you’re already here, come into the drawing room. But,” he pointed his finger at them, “as soon as you have your say, you will go directly home. How did you get here anyway? I’m surprised your driver would agree to bring you to my house.” Simon was always amazed at how more aware of strictures servants were than members of the ton sometimes were.
“We hired a hackney.”
He groaned. “Oh, Lord. It gets worse.” He waved them up the stairs. “Second door on the right.” He turned to Tanner. “Have Cook send in tea and biscuits. And tell Spencer to ready my carriage to drive the young ladies home.”
Once they were all settled, both gi
rls properly sitting on the edge of a settee, hands in their laps, the picture of decorum, Simon said, “What is so important that you would both risk your reputations by calling at the home of a bachelor?”
“Elise.”
Just the one word from Lady Juliet was enough to set his heart beating in double time. Dear God, had something happened to her? She was obviously distressed when she left him last night. “Is she unwell?”
They looked at each other, which had his stomach muscles tightening. “What is it?” Their silence was beginning to terrify him. Perhaps he should have gone to her home last night after all.
Lady Marigold nudged her sister. “Tell him.”
“My lord, our sister is suffering from a melancholy. She won’t eat, she doesn’t sleep well, and she weeps.” Lady Juliet blurted out the words. “I am sure you know her well enough to realize that is not her normal behavior.”
Before Simon could process that information, Lady Marigold added, “And, we are quite certain her behavior of late has to do with your lordship.” The girl ducked her head, obviously not as bold or headstrong as her sisters.
“No doubt.” Simon stood and walked to the window, his hands behind his back. “I tried to speak with her last evening, but I’m afraid that didn’t go well. I must admit I am at a loss as to what to do next.”
“’Tis simple, my lord.” Lady Marigold’s soft voice had him turning around to see both girls smiling brightly. “We have a plan.”
He groaned. Another plan.
***
“I don’t want to go to a poetry reading.” Elise faced her sisters and father at the breakfast table. “And I certainly do not want to attend with Lord Blackwell.”
“I am sorry, my dear, but I am afraid Blackwell obtained these tickets before he withdrew his suit.” Papa looked remorseful enough. “He asked me if you would still attend with him, and I thought it would be quite kind of you to agree.”
“This is ridiculous. I am sure there are many women in the ton who would be thrilled to be invited to a poetry reading with Lord Blackwell.” Why in heaven’s name would the man want her to accompany him after what she’d told him? In fact, truth be known, she would be a bit embarrassed to face him, anyway, given what she’d confessed the last time she’d seen him.
For the Love of the Viscount (The Noble Hearts Series Book 1) Page 10
