“Damn it all,” he muttered and marched to the drawing room. His legs refused to remain in one place, while his heart sat anchored in his throat.
He had half a mind to smash something for the sole purpose of appeasing his anger. Anger that she may have put herself in danger. Anger at her damn brothers. Anger at the servants and their inability to produce her. Anger at himself for not keeping a closer watch on her.
The only thing keeping him from breaking down every door in this house was that no one seemed to have seen Lady Belle in the park.
His legs stopped abruptly when she appeared in the doorway, face flushed and happy.
“Belle.”
Her name was a ragged whisper on his lips and in two strides he was by her side. “You look pale, why are you so pale? Are you all right?”
She touched her cheeks, her eyes widening at his remark as a giggle escaped her sweet lips. “Am I paled?”
She frowned. “Pallored?”
She shook her head. “No, palled?”
Simon took a step away from her, his hawkish eyes narrowing.
Blue eyes blinked up at him, her brows drawing together. “I am above reproach and not jumbling my words in a horrid fashion.”
“What is the matter with you?” Simon asked, skepticism sharp in his voice.
“I am fine, Simon, truly.” She offered him a small smile. “I just took something for the pain.”
His eyes narrowed even more. “What pain?”
“The pain in my…head. But it’s more of a dull ache than a pain.”
Simon stared at her, certain he was overlooking something. “What exactly did you take?”
She giggled. “Do you know that ever since we have become friends, for lack of a better word, your hair is always ruffled? I rather love that about you.”
Shelovedthat about him?
Without meaning to he ran his hand through his blond hair. It was not quite the color of her softer blond, but a darker version of it, thicker. “Your hair is quite nice, too.”
Why had he just said that? He cleared this throat, straightening. “What I meant to say is that you look lovely, as always.”
She erupted in giggles. “Howlovelyof you to say.”
A scowl formed on his brow. Suspicion dawned. “Are you foxed?”
“I have not shot a fox, no.”
He blinked.
Her maid chose that moment to arrive with cake, while a footman trailing behind her with tea. Both eyed their mistress from the corner of their eyes.
What in the blazes?
It was as though he’d stepped into a bad Shakespearian play.
“Oh, cakes!” Belle exclaimed happily, grabbing two lemon cakes from the tray.
Simon’s jaw dropped when she began stuffing—there was no other word for it—her mouth with cake, uncaring of her audience. He swiveled to the servants, “What the devil is wrong with her?”
They both hesitated, sparing a quick glance at their mistress. “Nothing is amiss, my lord,” the maid finally answered.
