15
On his instructions, Simon’s driver drove the carriage like a bat out of hell, and it was only that fact that enabled Simon to make the train. He jerked open the door of an empty first-class carriage and leapt aboard just as the train was pulling out of the station, earning himself an indignant oath from the porter on the platform. But upon seeing his face through the window, Simon was given a respectful tip of the cap and a hushed, reverent greeting of “My lord,” and for the first time since his elevation to the peerage, Simon appreciated the fact that having a title did have its uses.
“I’ll pay for my ticket, I promise,” he called through the window, then fell onto the carriage seat as the train pulled out of the station and started on its ninety-minute journey to London.
On the way, he stared out the window, striving to think of some other reason Richard would call a meeting before Delia had been investigated, but there was only one, and he knew it. Not that it mattered, really, for his own course was already decided.
He arrived back at the Savoy at a quarter past one to find his secretary anxiously waiting for him. “You did catch the morning train,” Ross exclaimed as he entered the office. “I didn’t know if you’d manage it.”
“You knew about the telegram Helen sent me?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. Mrs. Carte called first thing this morning. She told me she’d sent it, and that you might be returning from Berkshire today as a result. She also asked me to give you this.”
Ross plucked a large sealed envelope from the stack of papers on his desk and held it out to him. “She said she’d be at the Savoy Theatre until five o’clock, my lord, if you wish to call on her after you’ve read it.”
That, he reflected, might be a good idea. “Anything else?”
“She also instructed me to tell you that the Savoy board is assembling for the Monday meeting at the Carte residence. Nine o’clock in the morning. She did not say what it was about, only that—”
“I already know,” he cut in. “Thank you, Ross. I’ll be out for the rest of the day. But if you are free this evening, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay. I might need your assistance later.”
“Of course.”
Simon paused, considering. Delia, he knew, was coming back tomorrow. “Make a reservation for me and Morgan at another hotel for tomorrow night.”
“Another hotel?” The secretary blinked at these unexpected instructions, but being an excellent secretary, he recovered at once. “Very good, my lord. Just the one night?”
“Yes. I’ll return to the Savoy sometime Sunday evening. Very late. Just don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone.”
“Do you have a preference for any hotel in particular?”
“No,” he added as he turned and walked away. “But make it as far on the other side of town as you can.”
Having ensured that he would be nowhere near Delia when she returned and in no danger of repeating his behavior of a few hours ago until after the vote was over, Simon then left the Savoy and went to a pub, where he ordered a plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee,broke the seal on the envelope, and pulled out the sheaf of papers. After taking a deep breath and saying a little prayer, he began to read.
Cassandra’s party was a raging success. As Delia had predicted, Lady Bassington was late—thirty minutes to be exact—and Lord Nasby expressed his gratitude that no organ meats were on the menu. Everyone accepted Lord Calderon’s absence with good grace, though Lady Nasby did sniff a little and murmur to Delia that a gentleman earning a living wasn’t quite proper. Delia smiled back, reminded herself that these were Cassandra’s closest neighbors, and refrained from reminding the other woman that she, too, held a job.
Cassie, she was relieved to note, proved an able conversationalist, managing to be both a lively talker, which pleased the silent, rather dour vicar, and an encouraging listener, which helped the shy Lady Mary Nasby emerge from her shell. The party was such a triumph, in fact, that by the end, Lady Nasby deigned to mention herunmarriedson to Delia, and inquired if Cassandra would be coming out in May.
It was the wee small hours of the morning before the last guests departed. Tumbling at last into bed around half past one, both relieved and exhausted, Delia expected to fall asleep at once. But sleep, perversely, refused to come.
The day had been so busy she’d had no time to think about what had happened with Simon that morning in the library, but now, as she lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling of her dark and silent room, those extraordinary moments came roaring back.
So long since she’d felt desire, even longer since she’d enjoyed its completion. But instead of proving to sate her, those moments had only served to make her remember what she’d been missing. Evennow, hours later, his kisses still burned her lips and sexual desire pulsed through her body, making her ache with need from head to toe.
If anyone had told her when she’d first met Simon that a mere six weeks later, she’d be engaging in torrid sexual escapades with him against the wall of his library, she’d have laughed in that person’s face, not only because of their mutual animosity during their first meeting, but also because she’d never have thought Simon capable of feeling such deep and ardent passions. Even now, the discovery seemed something of a revelation.
With three marriages to her credit, Delia had always thought herself fairly adept at managing the sterner sex, but when it came to Simon, her prior experience was no help at all.
She never knew quite where she stood with him. He could go from extraordinarily reserved to hotly erotic in the space of a heartbeat. One day he spurned her; the next day, he had her up against a wall with her skirts around her waist.
And the things he said were equally baffling.
Don’t hate me.
What a thing to say. Considering that she’d willingly let him pull up her skirts, that she’d shamelessly reveled in his mouth on hers and his hand between her thighs, and the orgasms that had rocked her body, the idea that she could ever hate him seemed ludicrous in the extreme.
Delia groaned and turned over, pressing her hot cheek into the pillow, his desperate, baffling words echoing in her head.
