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

by Sahara Kelly

  Trying to calm her skittish nerves, she deliberately turned her thoughts to Simon, feeling the familiar ache deep within her as she remembered how very much she missed him.

  It was difficult to know whether to be angry at herself for her feelings, or to be happy that she had shared so much with a special man.

  She had not planned on remarrying. Ever. Michael Ellsmere had been an impulsive decision, she realized, a way to move on from what she had hoped for from Simon. Could she have waited for him? Yes, she could have. But her family couldn’t. Her father had done the best he could for her, aided by other family members she didn’t know. The catch was that they didn’t know her either.

  They didn’t realize that the demure and biddable Miss Worsley, with the excellent pedigree and respectable dowry, also possessed a strong and determined independent streak. She recognized, given the intervening years, that if poor Michael had not had the misfortune of dying in battle, she might well have done the job herself after a year or two.

  But then again, perhaps married life would have eroded that spirit, and motherhood softened the edge of her need to be free.

  She didn’t know, and admonished herself again for indulging in hindsight. It was a particularly futile effort, even though it had passed a little time.

  They were still a few hours away from Ridlington, and she was back to getting fidgety, worrying, turning those worries over and over in her mind until she wanted to scream.

  Fortunately, the horses slowed just prior to Tabby actually opening her mouth and releasing a pent-up cry of frustration. A few minutes later, they pulled into a posting house for the last change of horses. Inside the carriage, she heaved a sigh of relief and gathered her reticule. At least she could stretch her legs for a little while.

  The hustle and bustle of the inn distracted her and she happily partook of a small meat pie and a pot of tea. The chance to refresh herself was most welcome, although it delayed her arrival in Ridlington. The driver sensed her impatience. “Be ready to head out in five minutes, me Lady.” He tapped the brim of his hat.

  “I’ll be there,” she smiled. “Perhaps we’ll have better weather soon.”

  He looked out the window of the inn. “Doubt it.” He took himself off.

  “Nice talking with you,” she called after him.

  Sighing, she picked up her bonnet and stared at it. For that moment it represented everything she abhorred. The niceness of it, the ladylike appearance of the ribbons, so correctly arranged in a neat knot at one side.

  Gritting her teeth, she held on to it, picked up her reticule and stalked out of the inn to the carriage.

  She stopped in front of the horses and looked up. “Move over.”

  “What?” The driver’s jaw dropped.

  “I said move over. I won’t spend the next couple of hours cooped up like a prisoner in a tiny cell. I’m riding up there. With you.”

  Suiting words to action, Tabitha Lady Ellsmere hoisted herself up onto the box of her traveling carriage and made herself comfortable, finally slapping her bonnet back onto her head and tying a slipshod bow beneath one ear. “Much better, my man. Let us be on our way.”

  Shaking his head, he picked up the reins and urged the horses to move off, then he turned and looked at his surprise companion. “Gonna get wet, my Lady.”

  She smiled at him. “Oh goody. I can’t wait.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rosaline stretched out her legs and shifted her position on the hard pew. It was certainly getting a little more difficult to find comfort these days, since the growth of her child was beginning to prove an inconvenience when it came to sitting upright.

  But for now, these peaceful and relaxing moments in St. Simon’s were certainly a pleasure. Thinking back, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually been able to empty her mind of just about everything. It was odd, since she loved her life now and was eagerly anticipating the arrival of the new Ridlington.

  Her thoughts crowded in on one another so often and with such frequency, that she had not realized the benefits of taking a little holiday from any serious cogitations.

  The blare of the organ had given way to more musical interludes; chords now, instead of crashingly off key single notes.

  She couldn’t actually see the organist, but since she didn’t think Simon was familiar with the instrument she assumed it would be Godfrey’s fingers making the pipes sound their melodies.

  The first bars of a familiar hymn rang out and she smiled as the words immediately popped into her head. Holy, Holy, Holy—Lord God…

  “Almighty…” She squeaked out the last word as a cool hand clamped around her ankle. “Tabby? What the…”

  “Sssshhh.” Tabby held a finger to her lips. “Please. Hush.” It was a desperate whisper.

  Rosaline nodded, seeing the urgency in Tabby’s eyes. The woman was crouching low and hidden by the pews, invisible to anyone but Rosaline. Tabby beckoned, and Rosaline took a quick glance around before leaning over. Simon was nowhere in sight, perhaps with the organist. It seemed safe. “What is it? Why are you here?”

  Rosaline’s whisper seemed like a scream to Tabby, who had spent the last hours praying she was in time. She’d directed the carriage to Ridlington, intending to summon help from Edmund.

  But he bloody wasn’t there!

  Chidwell had informed her that the Baron, Letitia and Hecate had all accepted James’ invitation to visit the almost completed FitzArden Hall.

  Upon enquiring after Rosaline, and learning she was with Simon in the church, Tabby left an urgent message with Chidwell, asking him to get it over to Edmund as soon as he could. It was, she said, a matter of life and death. She then introduced Chidwell to the carriage driver and asked that food and tea be provided for the brave man who had not only allowed her to ride beside him, but also take the reins for a little while.

  The man himself was apparently a bit shaken, since all he could do was nod and lean against a large urn.

  Then she’d begged a horse, scarcely waited for it to be saddled, and galloped through the misty rain to St. Simon’s. Seeing the cart outside and hearing the sounds of the organ, she realized that Simon and Rosaline were inside. She tied the horse around a corner of the church, and crept in, keeping low and as silent as she could. She had no idea what to expect, but seeing Rosaline sitting contentedly by herself…well, if she could have let out a whoop of joy, she would have.

  Instead, she crept down the far aisle and into Rosaline’s pew.

  Where she now whispered the bare bones of the situation to Rosaline, whose eyes opened wide. “The organ man? That little fellow? His name is Godfrey…”

  “First or last?”

  Rosaline frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “All right, never mind. Look, give me your bonnet.”

  “What?”

  Tabby motioned for Rosaline to pass over her bonnet. “If it is him,” she tied the bow beneath her chin, “and he’s after you, he’ll think I’m you. I’m sure he’s seen the bonnet but I doubt if he knows your face because it’s quite dim in here. If he’s after me, not you, then he’ll have me. Either way, you and the baby are safe.”

  “But…” Rosaline frowned.

  “No argument. You took my place once. Now it’s my turn.” Tabby nodded at her, reminding her of a time not long ago when Rosaline walked into danger so that Tabby could take valuable information, and a lovely old lady, back to London.

  Rosaline spread her hands helplessly. “Don’t risk your life, Tabby. Simon would never forgive either of us.”

  “I’ll try not to.” She bundled herself up in her cloak, obscuring as much of her garments as she could. If Godfrey was an assassin, she wasn’t sure what sort of weapon he’d have, but her money was on some sort of pistol.

  So far so good, but she found herself unsure of what to do next. Rosaline sat silent, still and pale; while beside her, Tabby slithered lower so that the bonnet was visible above the pews but not much else. She blessed
the rain and gloom, because other than the small areas lit by lanterns, the church was every bit as dim as one would expect.

  It would help, she hoped, if and when she needed to appear as Rosaline. They were of a height, and other than the fact that Rosaline was with child, their appearance was quite similar. Or at least it would be in the low light of the church.

  She could hear Simon chatting with Godfrey, and listened for anything in the tones that might alert her to anything untoward. She heard nothing.

  It had to have been fifteen minutes or so before Simon called out. “Rosaline, come and listen to this? We need a woman’s ear.”

  Tabby nodded and whispered low, “That’s my cue.”

  She stood slowly, not walking forward just yet. “Here.”

  Simon’s head turned sharply, but the low light worked and he nodded and turned away again. Even he couldn’t tell her from Rosaline at this distance.

  Then there was a slight stir, a change in Simon’s stance, and he muttered an oath beneath his breath.

  “Have Lady Ridlington come forward, if you please.”

  It was a new voice, and Tabby stared at the tall man emerging from the back of the organ…with a gun in his hand.

  “Who the hell are you?” Simon’s voice was icy.

  “John, what the devil…?” Godfrey sat back onto the organist’s bench with a thud. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Shut up, old man.” The gun wavered in his direction, and Godfrey held up his hands. “This is nothing to do with you. Stay quiet and live.”

  Godfrey subsided.

  “What do you want with Lady Ridlington?” Simon’s chin was high.

  “I will tell her. Not you.” The man named John walked out into the nave, the gun clearly visible, his hand steady as it pointed at Simon. “Out here, Lady Ridlington, or the estate will be short a vicar very soon.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Slowly, Tabby walked down the length of the pew and out onto the nave, praying that Simon wouldn’t give her away once he recognized her. And her prayers were answered. She heard a quick, indrawn breath, but that was all.

  “Who are you?” She knew, but wanted confirmation.

  “You don’t know me, Rosaline DeVoreaux. My name is Johann Gevener and your brother killed my half-brother in cold blood.”

  There it was. This was the man and he intended to do harm to Rosaline.

  “It was a duel between gentlemen, Mr. Gevener. Long ago. The sad matter has been concluded.” Tabby’s heart was racing, but she knew she had to keep calm. To lose control was to hand over the situation to the man with the gun—a poor strategy with a doubtful outcome. So she did what she had done before, several times, and tried to defuse the potential disaster by quiet conversations.

  “Get them to talk, Tabitha,” she’d been taught. “Talking men are less likely to shoot. You can buy yourself time to move out of their line of fire, or at least formulate a plan, if they’re speaking.”

  Those words rang in the back of her mind as she attempted to engage this man in conversation.

  “Concluded for you and that murderous villain you call a brother.” Gevener snarled back at her. “I lost my dearest August that day. Your family took what belonged to me. You had no right.” There was a note of anger, a slight quiver in his voice, but the gun never moved.

  She let him breathe for a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Killing the Vicar will not bring the Prince back, sir. It will reopen old wounds. Are there no women who will weep once more at your actions? No scars within your family that will be ripped away to bleed all over again?”

  Tabby ignored the dampness of her palms, and although it was difficult, she ignored Simon as well. He knew her well enough, she hoped, to trust her to lead this interchange. And thus far, he had remained silent and unmoving.

  “I care not. I will see my dear August avenged.” He raised his arm higher.

  Tabby slowly moved toward Simon. Her heels tapped on the stone blocks as she crossed the floor, an echoing sound that seemed like thunder in the silence.

  “My dear…” Simon spoke for the first time. “Come no closer, I beg of you.”

  He hadn’t called her by name. He understood.

  “It really doesn’t matter where she stands, Vicar. She will not leave this church alive.” Gevener’s gun arm was now extended full length and pointed at Simon. “I have two guns you know. And think how poetic a revenge it will be to deprive her of her new brother in law, to have her watch you die and know it was all her fault, right before I kill her.” He gave an odd little laugh. “Yes, very poetic indeed.”

  Tabby sensed the man’s rising hysteria. “If you are not a religious man, then I pity you. If you are, I beg of you to consider where you are. The House of God, Mr. Gevener. The Lord’s presence is here with us. And if you kill the Vicar and myself, He will see your deeds and judge you accordingly.”

  “God? You think I believe in God and…and…miracles? If He had granted me a miracle and saved my August, I would believe. But He didn’t.” A shudder of emotion shook the man, making his hand tremble. “Enough of this. It’s done.”

  Tabby’s breath caught as she saw his hand tense and knew his finger was on the trigger. Doing the only thing she could think of, she screamed as loudly as she could and threw herself onto Simon.

  He staggered, but stayed upright—and then the strangest thing happened.

  As the gun went off, deafening all of them, the large granite stone upon which Tabby and Simon stood clinging to each other tipped up.

  Off balance, they both tumbled to the hard floor, and the bullet whizzed past them harmlessly, to disappear into the darkness of the aisle.

  Tabby struggled to free herself of the damn cloak. “He has the other gun,” she cried out, waiting for the second shot.

  But it never came.

  A tall stranger rushed up the far side of the church and threw himself on Gevener, knocking him down hard. Then he sat on him.

  Which effectively ended the entire episode.

  Tabby and Simon struggled to their feet, while Rosaline, who had wisely kept her head down, now hurried to their side. Then she froze, surprising Tabby who had found both her hands and was attempting to stand.

  “Rosaline…are you all right?”

  Simon scrambled to his feet and stared at his sister-in-law. “Are you hurt, Rosaline? Rosaline?” She was fixated on the stranger.

  Tabby saw her throat move, then she spoke one word.

  “Paul?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Within moments of Rosaline’s gasped exclamation, Edmund burst in, followed by Letitia, Hecate and James Fitz Arden. Also Chidwell and two grooms, for good measure.

  Utter chaos reigned for more than a few minutes, while everyone talked at once, Tabby sat on Gevener while Paul and his sister were reunited, and Simon hovered. He refused to leave her side, not even for a second.

  He was still shaking, numb, unable to believe what she had done. It was a blur and a frightening one. Gevener started yelling, but was quieted by Tabby, who grabbed a handful of hair and smacked his head on the granite floor.

  Simon couldn’t help it…he burst out laughing. “Tabby? Did you just kill him?”

  She looked down at the silent figure. “No, I think I may have rendered him unconscious, but in the overall scheme of things, that doesn’t matter very much, does it?”

  Edmund hurried over. “You two are the heroes of the day, it would seem. Along with Rosaline’s brother. What a surprise…” He looked over Tabby’s shoulder. “Did you kill him, dear?

  “No Edmund. Good Lord, what you Ridlingtons must think of me.” She gathered her skirts and rose, accepting Simon’s hand for help. “I’ve just immobilized him for a little while. Enough time for your grooms to secure him. I have no idea what to do with him, but he will have to go to…er…that address in London, Baron.” She shot him a pointed look.

  “Understood.” Edmund waved over the grooms and gave them ins
tructions.

  Simon’s hand tightened around hers. “Tabby.”

  She turned to him only to have him crush her body against his and kiss her passionately, taking her breath away. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “Vicar,” she feigned shock. “In church?”

  “What better place? You’re going to marry me here, after all.”

  “I am?” Her world lightened. Or maybe the sun had come out. She wasn’t sure.

  “Yes. No arguments, no discussions, no pretend engagements. Just yes. Now, if you want.” He kissed her again, lingering this time, unaware of the silence around them.

  Finally, she pulled back. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  The cheers that broke out made them both jump, and Simon looked up to see everyone beaming at them.

  “But not right at this moment. My knee hurts.” Tabby frowned, bent down and rubbed it.

  “Well now you mention it, I have an elbow that’s seen better days.” He flexed his arm. “But I believe it will still work.” He swooped Tabby off her feet and carried her down the aisle. “Back to the Chase, Edmund?”

  “Back to the Chase, Simon,” replied his brother.

  An hour later, over the inevitable tea—for Rosaline—and brandy—for everyone else , the full story of the dramatic events unfolded in bits and pieces, holding Edmund, James, Letitia and Hecate enthralled, and making Simon shake at the thought of how close they’d come to disaster.

  Paul DeVoreaux sat next to Rosaline, who couldn’t seem to stop smiling. It was his story they all wanted to hear first. And she was the one who began the questioning. “Paul, it seems impossible that you’re here. That you’re even alive fills me with joy, but seeing you here? How did it all happen?”

  Simon watched the two of them. They shared the same look, although Paul’s hair was very dark, almost black, and his face all sharp edges and firm bones. Rosaline’s held the same determination, but on a gentler, more feminine level.

  He picked up her hand, squeezed it, and then smiled. “It’s a long story. And it began on that night when I stupidly let my emotions guide my actions.” He sighed. “All I can say in my own defense is that I was very young. At that age, we cannot be held responsible for stupidity. It’s something that envelops young men for several years.”