“I take it things are not proceeding as ye had hoped,” Simon said.
“Only if my hope was to be left with no prospects for a wealthy bride,” Rutledge grumbled, his voice heavy with misery.
“I must say,” Simon replied, “I’m surprised how quickly and how widely word spread from London to the country about ye and Lady Fanny being found in the library by the matrons with the wagging tongues. You only just arrived today and told me of it.”
“News travels fast when you are the most interesting scandal of the week,” Rutledge snapped.
Simon ignored his friend’s prickly tone, knowing full well it was brought on by worry. The enormous debt Rutledge’s father had left to his family upon shooting himself after losing everything clearly plagued Rutledge. “What am I going to do?” Rutledge asked, but he launched into the next sentence before Simon could even form an answer. “My mother is in constant hysterics, as are my sisters! I cannot fail to secure an appropriate match, as much as I detest the task before me. I never wanted to marry! I should have joined the army as I’d wanted to, despite my father’s adamant refusal.”
Curious gazes turned their way. Simon clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and chuckled as if Rutledge had just made a joke. Once people seemed satisfied that nothing scandalous was about to occur and turned their attention back to whatever salacious bit of gossip they’d been discussing, Simon whispered, “Take a steadying breath and remember there are many prying eyes here. No one knows of yer family’s misfortune, and ye wish to keep it that way. All they know is that a nearly dowerless debutante claims ye stole a kiss and then refused to marry her, but those that truly know ye will not believe ye would do such a thing.”
Simon’s friend raked a hand through his hair and inclined his head to the right ever so slightly. “Very discreetly glance toward the terrace doors,” he said in a hushed tone.
Simon nodded and pretended to cough while looking toward the two large French windows that led out onto the terrace. “At whom am I looking?” he asked, passing his gaze over the back of a lord with silver hair and then the several ladies gathered around him.
Simon paused on one woman’s profile. She had just tilted her head back slightly in hearty laughter, and her creamy white shoulders, which were bared by her gown, shook with her mirth. His gaze traveled up over her delicate shoulders to her long, slender neck, and finally to her head. Her hair was not piled in an artless creation as most women’s hair was at the ball. Instead, she wore her thick, pale locks down. Her hair shimmered in the light of the chandelier above her, especially twinkling at her crown, where a diamond headband captured her hair and pulled it away from her face. He would have noticed her eventually, even if Rutledge had not tasked him with glancing in her direction.
She was astonishingly beautiful in profile. Her bone structure was ideal—high cheekbones, slender nose, and full lips—and her modestly cut bodice hinted at just enough of her charms to allow a man to know she had generous breasts only her husband would ever see. The deep-ruby color of her gown was in stark contrast to the white gowns of the debutantes around her, and it led Simon to believe she was either married or widowed. But she was certainly no debutante.
“Do you see the woman in the red gown?” Rutledge asked in a hushed voice.
Simon nodded, meaning to look at Rutledge, but just then, a man tapped the woman on the shoulder and she turned toward him. Simon could not tear his gaze from her. She had been lovely in profile, but she was exquisite to look at directly. Large and luminous eyes focused on the man before her. Her bearing was proud with her tilted chin and straight shoulders. Of course, she would be a woman of great pride. She was not only a rare gem of a lady, but judging by the jewels in her hair and what looked to be more diamonds dangling from her ears, she was obviously part of thehaut ton. He imagined she was the sort of woman men fought duels over and wrote sonnets for, if they were so inclined, which he was not and had never been. Whatever the man standing before her was saying to her, she shook her head and the man’s shoulders dropped slightly before he turned on his heel and departed.
“That woman you are studying just informed me she has made it her personal mission to ensure all eligible debutantes know what sort of rake I truly am,” Rutledge said, his voice now barely a threadbare whisper.
Simon snapped his gaze to his friend, noting his worried eyes and his tightly drawn mouth. It was Rutledge’s responsibility to keep the family’s secret shame from coming to light by marrying a woman whose dowry would provide for his mother and five sisters.
“Do ye mean to tell me that vision in red is Lady Fanny?”
“God, no!” Rutledge groaned. “Lady Fanny has long, dark hair and is not here, as far as I’ve seen. The woman you are looking at is Miss Anne Adair.”
Simon frowned. “Who is Miss Adair?”
An uneasy look crossed Rutledge’s face. “She’s the granddaughter of the Duke of Rowan.”
At the mention of the Duke of Rowan, memories of his grandfather’s friend who had been part of the reason his grandfather had turned him away flooded Simon at once. “I see,” Simon said, unable to keep the rancor he felt for the duke from spilling out in his tone.
“I had no notion she’d be here, Kilmartin. I’m sorry.”
Simon waved a dismissive hand. “Do not be. The disgust you hear is not for her. I don’t even know the lass. She’s nothing to do with my past with her grandfather. Though her warning to ye does indicate she may be inclined to destroy an innocent person just like her grandfather was.”
“Yes, it would seem so. She’s friends with Lady Fanny and has decided I’m the devil, despite the fact that I explained my innocence to her. I wish I had never allowed my father to talk me into coming back from Scotland. Things were so much simpler there.”
Simon wasn’t going to mention that Rutledge had not thought his life simple while he’d been there, as his strife with his father had plagued him. Instead, he said, “In my experience, England is beset with people who thrive on hurting others.” Simon was thinking of his own disastrous experience many years ago. His incident had remained a secret, though, unlike news of Rutledge, which apparently was spreading like wildfire, thanks to the Duke of Rowan’s granddaughter.
Rowan.
The name of his grandfather’s old friend—and equally rancid cohort—naturally made Simon think upon his grandfather once more. Simon had been forced to leave Town under threat of imprisonment by his own grandfather and the Duke of Rowan. The long dormant desire for revenge stirred deep in his soul. He’d set it aside for a time, waiting until he had the power and plan to crush both men. It was too late to attain vengeance against his grandfather, but Rowan was still very much alive and an altogether different story.
Simon had the means to destroy Rowan, yet he had no plan. He could cripple many of Rowan’s financial holdings, but it hardly seemed enough for the man’s role in ultimately causing the death of Simon’s mother. The best way would be to hurt someone Rowan loved, yet Simon doubted the man cared that much for another. Simon recalled vividly how Rowan had told him he detested his own ward, Lady Mary, who’d claimed Simon had fooled her into thinking he loved her, so that she would give him her innocence. Simon had explained he had done nothing of the sort and never even touched the woman, but Rowan had dismissed the explanation and threatened to have Simon prosecuted for ravishment. Rowan had told the lies to Simon’s grandfather, who was only too eager to believe them. In truth, Simon refused to take Lady Mary’s innocence as she’d demanded. She’d wanted to avoid marriage to an ancient marquess her grandfather had insisted she wed and apparently had thought the best way to do so was to marry Simon instead.
Simon glanced down at his hands, thinking on how he could strike at Rowan now that the time seemed at hand.
“Are you listening?” Rutledge asked, interrupting Simon’s thoughts. “My honor is being impugned! The debutantes here who may not have heard the rumors now know, and Miss Adair is painting me as a villainous rake! I overheard her telling a lady about my ‘ill intentions.’ I tell you—” Rutledge groaned as his mouth twisted wryly “—the damnable thing of it is, I argued with my mother again last night about being honor bound to marry Lady Fanny, despite the fact that the woman followedmeinto the library without my knowledge, threw herself into my arms, and kissedme. I have been racked with guilt over Lady Fanny’s ruined reputation, though she caused it herself.”
Rutledge snorted. “My mother made it clear that if I marry Lady Fanny, we will all be destitute and my sisters will have no future. I’m damned no matter what I do! I might have stood a decent chance at securing a match here in the country, but now…” His words trailed off, and he looked toward the terrace doors once more.
Simon followed suit, his chest tightening at the sight of Miss Adair still standing there holding court among a bevy of suitors and one older gentleman, who—damnation, could that be Rowan?—still had their backs turned to Simon. His shoulders knotted as he stared at the silver-haired man.
