St. Simon's Sin: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  He paced the hall with tense steps, going back down into the kitchen and toying with the idea of sticking his head under the pump to clear it.

  Instead, he went to the pantry and retrieved a small bottle of brandy. He had no elegant crystal snifter, but a small glass would do perfectly well.

  It would seem that he had a drinking companion, since the cat reappeared and took up her position on the table, eyes partially open, watching him. She settled down, paws folded in front of her and gave every evidence of waiting for him to either talk or drink.

  He drank.

  After two small glasses, his tension eased and he could think himself a fool with a modicum of amusement. Lusting for little Tabby Worsley. What an idiot he was.

  “I’m a fool, you know, Tiddles. An insane fool with a notion in my brain that simply won’t go away.”

  Tiddles blinked.

  “She’s her own woman, with a history of danger and adventure. She’s here to look at the state of St. Simon’s. That’s all. We’re as far apart as…as…Chidwell and Lady Jersey.”

  Tiddles opened her eyes wide at that. She obviously recognized the utter outrageousness of any kind of alliance between the Ridlington butler and a Patroness of Almacks.

  “You see? You see the absurdity of it all, don’t you?”

  Then he recalled the sound of her being thrown from the carriage…and the terrible silence that followed.

  “Damn it, man. You have lost your mind.” He spoke severely to himself, rinsed the glass and returned the brandy to the pantry. “I’m going to bed.” The cat rose, stretched, and jumped off the table, walking delicately to the back door and then looking at Simon, waiting for him to open it.

  He sighed and did so. “Good evening, your Highness.”

  She walked out without a backward glance.

  His office was a bit of a mess, but he had not lied when he said the sofa was adequate for sleeping. So he slipped off his clothing, donned a very old shirt that was draped over the back of nearby chair, and settled himself beneath a soft blanket.

  It was the time he usually said his private prayers, such as they were. So he began by asking the Lord to care for Old Sal. She had lived well on earth and he prayed she would find peace and happiness in Heaven. Then he ran through his usual litany, and added an extra few words asking for Tabby’s speedy recovery.

  Afterward, when sleep usually claimed him, Simon instead found himself questioning his beliefs—an unusual thing for him. He had not been “called” to the service of the Church, as others proclaimed they had. It had been a considered step away from Ridlington, into an education and then back to St. Simon’s, a living bestowed by his father, sight unseen.

  And to Simon’s knowledge, the man hadn’t been inside the church until the day of his funeral.

  Forgiveness was praised by the Church. And it was one thing that Simon found incredibly difficult. He was working hard to achieve it, to wake one day and realize he had truly forgiven his father, Baron Ridlington, for the atrocious parenting skills that had all but crushed his offspring.

  That day had yet to come, but Simon was coming to see that in fact his family, his five siblings, had all managed to rise above the treatment and neglect they’d suffered at their father’s hands. They were, fundamentally, good people at heart. Edmund, the new Baron, was moving Heaven and earth to get the estate back into shape. Already a few farmers had new roofs, and there were a couple more servants at the Chase. Rosaline was helping, and Letitia seemed to have taken on new responsibilities as well.

  Life, a positive life with laughter and joy, was returning to Ridlington Chase.

  Perhaps it was a sign that Simon might yet wake on one morning and know that forgiveness. He hoped so and ended his prayers with a silent request for just that eventuality.

  Pulling the blanket up around his shoulders, he turned on one side, facing his half open door. If Tabby called out, he would hear her, he knew. Not that he was a light sleeper, but he had the ability to hear unusual sounds and wake immediately. He’d done so when a fox tried to raid the pantry, and when the occasional parishioner needed him in the middle of the night. It was rare, but sadly it did happen.

  That thought led to this evening’s visit to Sal, and of course it ended up with Tabby.

  Always Tabby.

  It had been her from the first moment he set eyes on her, although he’d been so young and she even younger, such an emotion would have been foreign had anyone mentioned it.

  His fate had been sealed on that one day, that blue dress day, when she’d come to him full of sunshine and laughter, and put her arms around him.

  It had been only natural for him to bend and kiss those smiling lips, making her gasp and touch them and widen her eyes in a curious stare. Then she had reached for his head and pulled him back to her, kissing him this time with eager interest.

  Their lips had parted; they tasted each other for the first time, he finding incredible sweetness within her mouth, and a tongue that knew no hesitation in returning his caresses with strokes of her own. Before they knew it, they were down amongst the long grass, with no one but the birds to spy upon them as they lay side by side.

  No shrinking violet, Tabby touched him, opened his loose shirt and lay her hand upon his chest.

  “So warm. So firm,” she’d said, revealing more of his body with fascination.

  And of course he’d done the same, his breath catching when he held her breasts in his hands and felt her shiver as he kissed the rosy tips.

  They’d whispered and touched and kissed, as might be expected when two healthy young people begin this particular voyage of sensual discovery.

  They were all but naked within minutes, Tabby’s loose blue dress pulled away from her beautiful body and Simon’s breeches around his ankles.

  They explored, heedless of their surroundings, lost in a mutual world of burgeoning desire and amazement.

  He let his hand slip down over her belly to the tangled curls that glistened between her thighs, and for the first time he explored a woman’s sex, intrigued by the sweet juices shining on her skin and the soft petals he discovered as his fingers probed further.

  For her part, Tabby had been curious about his cock, her touch arousing him to the point of pain. She’d stroked and squeezed and looked to him for approval of what she was doing. She discovered his balls and he’d had to make sure her touch was gentle, guiding her hand, whispering in her ear his pleasure at each new touch.

  She told him as well. Told him when his touch made her tingle, and groaned when he found a certain spot with his fingers.

  He explored, caressing it, teasing it, knowing that Tabby was nearing what he’d heard called her “release”. He had read the right books in college, listened to his experienced peers, and disagreed when they’d stated that a woman couldn’t possibly enjoy fucking.

  From what he knew, a woman could definitely enjoy it, and he was about to prove it in the field with Tabby. She had moaned and her legs had parted, wantonly allowing him access to everything she had. His cock knew what it wanted, too. It wanted inside.

  He was lost when she pulled him to her. “I want you, Simon. I want something right this moment and if I don’t get it I’ll simply die.”

  He’d been between her thighs a second later, the head of his cock against her searing hot flesh.

  That was the moment they’d heard the shout.

  The farmer calling his dog never knew he’d prevented the loss of Miss Worsley’s virginity to Mr. Simon Ridlington.

  And the next day, Simon learned he’d been accepted to college. He’d had no choice. He’d left Ridlington within the week, never having chance to speak to Tabby again.

  What a mess. And yet in some ways, it had been the best possible outcome. How their lives would have changed if he’d taken her in that field. She might have become with child—a scandal that neither would live down. For he would, of course, have married her. He wouldn’t be a Vicar, now though. And how they would h
ave lived? His father would have used it to kick him out, without question.

  She had married, and married well. Could she have done so without that precious virginity, so prized by the aristocracy? He didn’t know.

  But again, he tried for that sense of relief; that ease of knowing he hadn’t let his lust destroy either of their lives.

  He just wished he’d realized that although his life wasn’t destroyed, he’d given a piece of his heart that day to a young girl in a field of grass, under a blue sky and with birdsong for accompaniment.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

  Chapter Eight

  A dull ache in her arm, along with a crushing need to use Simon’s unique chamber pot system, brought Tabby out of bed early in the morning. The skies were cloudy, but the sun had risen and the birds were chirping loudly outside the Vicarage.

  She’d slept well, all things considered. Even though she had a broken arm, was wearing a man’s nightshirt and sleeping in Simon Ridlington’s bed—alone—it had been a peaceful night.

  The tiny sink offered the chance for her to at least freshen up, and she felt almost human as she slid into the large woolen robe and looped the long belt twice around her waist. Her hair…well, that was another matter altogether. Without its pins, it had rioted free during the night and was now a tangle of curls hanging halfway down her back.

  She sighed. There was no way she could deal with it at all.

  Her arm was tender, a little swollen, and had a tendency to throb. But the skin was cool to the touch and the one or two bruises that were beginning to reveal themselves were no more painful than such injuries usually were. She had been lucky, and she knew it. Her hip was sore and she had a couple of grazes on her good hand. However, given what could have happened? She would heal.

  With that positive thought uppermost in her mind, she left the room and decided to go downstairs. Perhaps she could manage to make tea with one hand. She would have to start learning, since she certainly couldn’t stay here at the Vicarage.

  Halfway down, she caught sight of Simon and paused. “Good morning.”

  He spun around and smiled at the sight of her. “Good morning to you. I’m glad to see you look well this morning.”

  “I…” Her response was interrupted by the sound of the door knocker.

  “That’s probably Letitia,” said Simon, turning back toward the front of the Vicarage. “She likes to come by in the morning. We have breakfast together sometimes.”

  “But…” Tabby’s heart raced. She wasn’t quite ready to face the Ridlington family, and certainly not in her current state of déshabillé.

  Simon swung the door wide…and froze.

  Staring wide-eyed into the front hall of the Vicarage were Miss Tedworthy and Miss Frost. And their eyes grew bigger and rounder as they took in the vision of Tabby, her hair loose, in a large masculine robe, halfway up the stairs.

  “Oh Lord.” Simon muttered the words, but Tabby heard them.

  “Vicar.” Miss Tedworthy nearly fell over the front step trying to see inside. “I…we…we came to see if you needed any flowers for Sunday’s service.”

  “We knew it was early, but such a lovely morning,” added Miss Frost, glaring daggers at Tabby. “We had no idea you had company.”

  “I don’t…” his head swiveled between Tabby behind him and the ladies in front of him… “It’s not…”

  “Simon, are you ready for breakfast?”

  A new voice entered the conversation and to Tabby’s astonishment Hecate Ridlington swanned gracefully across the hall in a neat morning dress, looking as cool as could be, with a small ginger cat resting peacefully in her arms.

  “Miss Ridlington.” Miss Tedworthy choked out. “You’re here?”

  “Of course.” Hecate turned to the ladies, one hand stroking the cat’s head. “When Lady Ellsmere fell and broke her arm last night, we all offered our help. As one who is familiar with the healing nature of several herbal preparations, it was natural for me to attend her.”

  “Broken arm?” said Miss Frost.

  “Herbs?” queried Miss Tedworthy.

  “Indeed.” Hecate turned and flashed Tabby a wink. “Now I’m sure Simon is grateful for your offer of flowers. I understand you have beautiful gardens, so whatever you think appropriate will be most appreciated.” She put her hand on the open door. “But you will forgive us for a lack of hospitality this morning. I must tend to Lady Ellsmere’s arm and my brother has a sermon to prepare and other church matters to work on after breakfast.”

  “Of course…”

  Flustered, the two ladies curtseyed as Simon bowed and Hecate curtsied back—closing the door on them as they turned to depart.

  Tabby managed to make it down the rest of the stairs without tripping, looking at Hecate as she got to the bottom. “I’m not sure whether to hug you to pieces, Miss Hecate, or be utterly terrified of you.”

  Hecate grinned. “Either will do nicely.”

  Simon found his voice. “Hecate. How the hell…”

  The young woman gave him a smirk, not unlike the cat’s. “I was serious about breakfast. Tea should be nicely steeped by now.” She walked to the kitchen and swept her hand out in an elegant gesture. “Shall we?”

  Tabby felt completely overwhelmed, quite confused and more than a little hungry. “Yes, I think we should. And then—I have questions.”

  “Mine take priority.” Simon’s voice was steely.

  “Oh pish.” Hecate flounced away.

  *~~*~~*

  Simon buttered a piece of toast. “All right, young lady. First.” He stared at his youngest sister. “How did you know about Tabby’s arm? Second, how did you get in? And thirdly…” he took a bite and chewed, “this is fresh bread.”

  Tabby, who had accepted Hecate’s help with the tea cups and managed to butter her own toast, merely nodded her endorsement of his questions. “Yes to all those.”

  Hecate smiled serenely. “I felt it.”

  “What?” Tabby blinked over her teacup. “You felt what?”

  “It’s difficult to explain, Lady Ellsmere.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, call me Tabby. You just arrived at the nick of time to prevent an awful scandal. The least we can do is be on a first name basis.”

  “Agreed.”

  Hecate’s remarkable aplomb struck Simon anew. He’d never quite managed to understand her, but loved her nevertheless. “What did you feel, Hecate?”

  She turned to him, blue eyes clear as the sky. “I sometimes pick up feelings, or emotions from people. Especially when they’re in trouble. And you, Tabby, were in trouble.” She glanced at the other woman. “I suppose it was somewhere quite near, because I distinctly experienced a sharp flash of pain.” She put one hand on her other forearm.”

  “That’s…that’s most unusual.” Tabby stared at Hecate. “I’ve heard people claim such abilities, but to see it for myself…astounding.”

  “She’s always had what we ended up calling gifts, Tabby.” Simon wondered how she was going to react to Hecate’s odd abilities. “And I’ll bet buttons to beans that it’s how she knew to be here this morning.”

  Hecate shrugged. “That was simple deduction.” She reached for a strawberry, passing the plate over to Tabby. “Once I realized that Tabby had hurt her arm, I waited to see if you would bring her here, Simon.” The look she shot him was wise beyond her years and made him quite uncomfortable.

  “Yes, well…”

  “When you did not arrive at the Chase, then the only other assumption was that you both were here at the Vicarage. Because for all your faults, dear Simon, and there are many…” she grinned at him, “…you’re not the kind of man to leave an injured woman to fend for herself. Thus I arrived at the conclusion you were both here at the Vicarage.”

  She paused her recital to pour more tea. “However, when I awoke, I realized the implications should you two be discovered together, here, unchaperoned. “

  “When did you get so bl
oody smart?” Simon glared at her.

  “I read,” she answered scornfully. “And I’m not some ignorant miss. Don’t treat me like one.”

  “Sorry.” Chastened, Simon returned to his toast.

  “Anyway, to be brief, I collected some fresh bread from cook, and walked over here.” A little smile curved her lips. “How I entered, well…I waved my magic wand and the kitchen door opened. So I made breakfast and that brings us up to date.”

  “You picked the lock, didn’t you,” accused Simon.

  Hecate lifted her chin. “That’s a terrible assumption. What on earth makes you think I know how to do that?”

  “Thought so,” he snickered.

  “This is all well and good, and Hecate? I shall be forever in your debt for a lovely breakfast.” Tabby finished her tea. “But it’s rather beside the point.” She looked across the table at Simon. “No matter how well your sister deflected those two ladies, word will out, Simon. And we’re still facing gossip, the kind that whispers about a woman in her nightclothes speaking familiarly with a man not her husband. And when she’s in his house early in the morning? Oh yes. There will be whispers.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree, Simon,” added Hecate. “My presence managed to tamp down the worst of it, but…the fox may well be in the henhouse in spite of that.”

  Simon stood and groaned. “Damn it all.” He glanced at his sister. “I couldn’t let her go back to the cottage alone.”

  “Of course you couldn’t. But why didn’t you bring her to us at the Chase?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It was late, and I didn’t really consider the possibility. It was out of the way…” He walked to the sink and looked out the window into the garden. “I never felt that Ridlington Chase offered much in the way of sanctuary, Hecate. You know that. You understand. It’s only been recently that Edmund and Rosaline have brought life and warmth back to it. Old habits are hard to break.”

  “You need to break them, Simon.”

  Sister and brother exchanged glances and he felt an odd quiver run through him at the surprising intensity of her gaze.