Chapter 15
That night Simon stared broodingly into the fire that danced aimlessly in the hearth. It reminded him of Belle and he imagined her in those flames, dancing. He imagined joining her as their bodies scorched one another’s and set their souls aflame. At that exact moment, he rather felt that he could burst into flames, but not in flames of passion. No, this heat was of a more violent—or rather infuriated—nature. She would be the death of him.
“I asked her to marry me.”
St. Aldwyn lifted an arrogant brow. “And what did the enchanting Lady Belle say?” The question was a mere formality since it was obvious from Simon’s dour mood that it hadn’t gone according to his wishes.
“She said no.”
His friend regarded him through hooded eyes. “Lady Belle is a spirited one, but then again, she’s friends with my wife.”
“I do not see how that accounts for anything.”
“You will in time.”
Simon heaved a heavy sighed. “I’ve been living alone with her, it is only right to marry.”
But looking back now, she’d made it clear from the start that she did not want him for a husband. But unfortunately for him, or her, he was drawn to her like a beggar was drawn to a piece of forbidden pie. He did not want to let her go. It was that simple.
Only it wasn’t.
He raked a trembling hand through his hair.
“I doubt Lady Belle is the sort to presume your presence in her home is grounds for marriage,” St. Aldwyn drawled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from courting my once very independent wife, it is that women are bloody good at the art of war. There’s no reasoning with them.”
As usual, his friend had a point. Lady Belle was as independent as they came. He blamed her brothers for that. Their failure to protect her had produced a willful yet unfailingly free-spirited young woman. Not that Simon desired her any other way—it just made the task before him almost insurmountable.Almost.
A footman suddenlyentered the parlor, where they sat, with a tray of tea, bread, and cheese. He paused when both men’s steely gazes met his. The tray trembled in his hands. “Lady Belle ordered a tray of snacks, my lords.”
Simon glared at the footman, who scurried away quickly after he deposited the tray carelessly, spilling the tea.
He picked up the pot and gave it a good sniff.
Camomile.
“Bloody hell! Now she sends me herbal tea? Does she believe she’s to calm my nerves?”
“No doubt,” St. Aldwyn said suppressing a smile. He helped himself to some cheese. “Are you going to pour that or sniff at it the whole damn day?”
Simon shot his friend a menacing look before he poured them some tea. His stomach growled as he caught a whiff of the bread. Vexing woman. She knew him better than he thought she did.
“And those damn nightgowns…I would sincerely like to throttle the mysterious Madam De La Frey for allowing her creations to be sold to unmarried ladies of the ton.”
St. Aldwyn nodded. “Jo also has a penchant for the infamous madam’s gowns. I do believe the madam is promoting independence with her lavish designs.”
Simon agreed. “It makes me wonder who the madam is. It is obvious she wishes to remain in the shadows, she may even be one of us.”
St. Aldwyn took a sip of his tea. “Or she’s an old crone who prefers to remain unnamed.”
“Or she is a he.”
“Now that is a disturbing thought,” St. Aldwyn choked.
They ate their bread and cheese in relative silence, Simon deep in thought as he stared into the flames. He hated to admit it, but the chamomile had been just the thing to improve his mood.
“I could kidnap her,” he murmured into the fire.
St. Aldwyn said nothing for a moment. “You could, but that may make for a rocky marriage.”
