Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor Book 3) (6 page)

“Another plan?” His eyes sparkled. “Aha, I knew I was part of your plan.”

“Just the part to get me here,” she admitted nervously.

Still holding her hands, he squeezed her palms. “Well, m’dear, I am pleased to inform you that you chose the right gentleman to involve in your scheme to snare another man into matrimony.” A self-deprecating smile took over his lips. “Without meaning to, I’ve driven two ladies into the arms of—”

Catching sight of Juliet and Drake emerging from Drake’s office, panic pushed Rae to take action, and without hesitation, she pushed herself up against Simon and cut off the rest of his confession with a kiss.

S
imon stood rooted
to the floor.

“Rae?” he whispered.

Wordlessly, she cut her eyes in the direction of Drake’s office. Simon followed her line of vision: Lord and Lady Drakely. His tongue grew thick and he forced himself to take an uneasy step away from Rae.

“I thought to suggest you two should go for a walk about the gardens until luncheon, but I’m now I’m not sure that’s for the best,” Juliet said, her hands idly resting on her swollen midsection.

“No, perhaps not,” Simon agreed quietly. Leaving him and Rae to their own devices in the garden might end in a real marriage proposal. The realization sobered him. He might have just offered to help Rae, but he needed to be careful—very careful—from this point forward or he’d be her groom. He lowered his lashes and looked down at her. She was fetching, to be sure, particularly with that pale pink blush coloring her porcelain cheeks. And, he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit that her kiss had affected him in a way that—

“Isn’t that so, Appleton?”

Simon jerked. “Pardon, my lord?” He blinked to clear his lusty thoughts. “I was woolgathering. What was it you said?”

“That if you’re to be staying here for a few days, that you’ll need some new clothes.”

All eyes went to Simon and his wrinkled clothes.

“Oh, a trip to the village is just what we need,” Lady Drakely suggested with far more excitement than Simon thought was worthy of such an idea.

Simon waited for Rae to disagree with her sister, and had to squeeze her hand to make sure she still had a pulse when what had to be a full minute had passed without an objection from Rae.

“I suppose I will need a new suit for the fair,” Simon said.

“Right you are,” Lady Drakely agreed. “It’ll do us all some good to spend some time together.”

Simon doubted that, but nodded his agreement instead.

Fifteen minutes later, the carriage was readied and the four of them, along with Lord Drakely’s three oldest daughters from his first marriage, were traveling down the country’s shabbiest road.

“Perhaps a good rain might help,” Simon said with a grimace as the carriage rocked over an excessively large bump.

“Doubt—”
bump
“—ful,” Lord Drakely responded, jerking his head to the side to avoid being
bonked
on the chin by eight year-old Kate

Across the carriage, Lady Drakely held her abdomen and Rae clutched tightly to the edge of the seat with one hand and kept her arm firmly snaked around Helena, the second oldest. The eldest sister sat beside Simon, both of her hands gripping the edge of her seat cushion so tightly her knuckles had turned whiter than the lace on her gown.

“If Cruxley doesn’t try to avoid at least a few of these ruts, Henrietta might be helping to deliver this baby in the carriage,” Lady Drakely said then offered a weak smile. “Won’t that be exciting?”

“No,” Simon said more roughly than he meant. He coughed and instinctively loosened his cravat.

“I agree with Appleton,” Lord Drakely said, reaching his knuckles up toward the ceiling. “If you think that—”

Frowning, Lady Drakely batted at his hand. “We’ve been married too long,” she said on a sigh. “My jests are no longer humorous, I’m afraid.”

The little girl wedged between Rae and Juliet giggled, as did the one seated on her father’s lap.

Lady Drakely smiled at them. “Well, I’m glad you two still find me entertaining.”

“I do, too,” the girl next to Simon said. “But—”
BUMP!
“—if I laugh, I might bite my tongue off!”

Simon shook his head ruefully. Nothing like the logic of a twelve-year-old. His eyes narrowed on her. Eleven? Perhaps she wasn’t exactly eleven, but she looked close enough in age to Seth, Lucy’s son. Simon’s throat grew tight and he forced his attention away from her.

Unfortunately, Rae picked up on his sudden unease and cocked her head to the side.

Simon dropped his eyes to the floor; memories of a curious and talkative Seth filled his mind. From the moment the two had met, Seth had been full of questions and never at a loss for words. At first Simon had found it amusing. Then, it had become troubling. He didn’t know what to say to the boy when he peppered him with questions about everything from Simon’s family to what was in custard. How the hell was Simon—or anyone who wasn’t a cook—supposed to know what was in custard? All Simon knew was it was one of his favorite foods.

The carriage rocked over another rut. Lord Drakely muttered a curse while the five females in the carriage either squealed or shirked. But most disturbing was that the girl beside Simon had somehow lost her death grip on the velvet cushions and one hand clasped tightly to Simon’s knee. He’d never admit such, but the girl was strong. Or perhaps the unbelievably sharp pain emanating from where those five talons dug into the skin around his knee was clouding his judgment a fraction.

“Are you all right, Mr. Appleton?” asked the wide-eyed little girl on Lord Drakely’s lap.

Not trusting his voice, Simon nodded. If this girl dug any harder, he’d require stitches. Even worse was the fear of jerking his leg away—would she rip his knee clean off? Or merely have her feelings hurt? Either way, he couldn’t risk it.

“Consider it part of your initiation,” Rae said, fighting a smile. “We’ve all been branded.”

Lord and Lady Drakely both nodded wordlessly.

Lady Drakely tucked a tendril of her raven hair behind her ear. “It might help if you shift—”

“Celia, if you want Mr. Appleton to take notice of you, you’re going about it in the wrong way,” the middle daughter said matter-of-factly, rendering everyone in the carriage speechless—presumably all for different reasons.

Immediately, the little girl released the rabbit trap she’d set on Simon’s knee and recoiled into the cushions, her face flushing dark red.

Another sort of pain grabbed hold of Simon now. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or cause her embarrassment, but he was at a complete loss of what to say to the girl. Instead, he stared at her a minute, then stared helplessly at the others.

In hushed tones Lady Drakely admonished the outspoken little girl for embarrassing her sister. Rae mouthed something to him, but he’d never been good at reading lips and instead turned his attention to Lord Drakely and his hard, steely stare. Just as quickly, he pulled his gaze away. Perhaps the floor was a safer choice.

Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to feign interest in the designs in the wood for long and with one more gut-wrenching slam forward the carriage came to a halt.

“Oh, for gracious’ sakes,” Lady Drakely muttered.

Not waiting for the coachman to open the door and rescue them all from their unbearable silence, Lord Drakely reached over to the door and swung it open. “Girls, down.”

Without any further instructions, all three of the little girls scampered out of the carriage. Lord Drakely was down next. He stood by the door of the carriage and reached up to help his wife descend.

Once she was down, Simon climbed out of the carriage and offered Rae his hand.

“Where shall we start?” Lady Drakely asked.

“The confectionary,” said Kate, leading her middle sister to jump up and down in agreement.

“All right,” Lady Drakely said, reaching for the two girls’ hands. “How about if we drag your papa to the confectionary while Aunt Henrietta and Mr. Appleton go pay Mr. Edwards a visit.”

“Mr. Edwards?” Simon asked, offering his arm to Rae.

She placed her fingers in the crook of his arm. “The tailor.”

Lord Drakely offered his arm to his eldest daughter and fell in line with the rest of his family.

“I have a feeling Mr. Edwards isn’t the man you have set your cap on,” Simon mused when her family was out of earshot.

Rae snorted. “Not at all.”

“Then which shop shall we actually be paying a visit?”

“Mr. Edwards’ shop,” Rae said quietly.

Simon reached his free hand across his chest and covered her hand with his. “Oh, that shall be just lovely,” he said in the most noble tone he could muster, lifting his nose in the air as high as it’d go. “I do hope you’ll be able to contain your excitement at seeing the brown, black, and grey swatches.”

“And what of yellow?” She eyed him askance. “I think you’d look very dashing in either canary or mustard.”

“Do you plan to dress to match?”

She scowled. “Yellow is not my color.”

“No, pink is.” He waited a moment then added, “See, there it is again.”

She knit her eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“Your cheeks.”

Her free hand flew to her left cheek and she scowled at him. “You have a disease, did you know that?”

“I wouldn’t consider it a disease to find enjoyment in making a young lady blush.”

“I would.” Her tone was full of conviction. “I’m sure others would, too.”

“Who? Those who’ve chosen to live out their life in a convent?”

“Just so.”

* * *

A
cloud
of dust swirled around the hem of Rae’s green skirt. She slowed her steps.

“Is something wrong?” Simon queried, matching her steps.

“No,” she said quickly.

Simon stilled and looked around them. “Is he here?” he asked in a stage whisper.

“No,” she lied, her stomach knotting into a tight fist. She gave his arm a little tug. “Let’s go in here and talk terms.”

“Terms?” Dutifully, he followed her lead toward Goldberg’s and then opened the door for her.

Rae walked inside the old familiar tearoom, noting how everyone was looking at them. She silently counted to five to calm her nerves and flashed Simon and the rest of the room the best smile she could at the moment.

“Are you sure you want to be in here?” Simon asked quietly by her ear, his hand finding a resting spot on the small of her back.

Ignoring the shiver skating up her spine, she nodded. “I used to come here when I was a girl and well—” she shrugged. “Things are different now.”

“Shall we scandalize them all further and order, then?” Simon suggested.

“Of course.” Rae tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Their lemonade is quite unmatched.”

“And what of their biscuits, I wonder.”

“They’re all right.” She grinned. “Mama’s are better.”

“Mama?” Simon asked before ordering them each a lemonade and a plate of biscuits. “You never speak of your mama.”

“She’s always increasing. Not much else to say.” She looked at him. “Biscuits and lemonade? Interesting combination.”

Simon turned back toward the clerk, grimacing. “Could you bring out a pot of tea with the biscuits? It seems the lady finds sweet and sour at the same time not to be to her liking.”

Rae shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.” She took a seat in the chair Simon pulled out for her. “You know as well as I do you’d be choking and hacking up those biscuits— Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” Simon took a seat in the chair opposite her. “I’ve just never heard a lady describe ‘hacking up biscuits’.”

Rae flushed and forced a shrug. “Well, it pains me to be the one to ruin your image of me, but ‘round here, there aren’t many ladies, and I am no exception.”

“Praise the Lord,” Simon burst out. “Ladies are tiresome.”

“And me?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked such a thing!

“Oh, you’re tiresome, but for a completely different reason.”

“That reminds me,” she said, leaning back so the footman could put their lemonades on the table. “We need to discuss our terms.”

“Terms?”

“Terms, plans.” She waved her hand through the air and pulled off her glove. “Same thing.”

Simon impaled her with his emerald eyes.

Smoothing her skirts, she licked her lips. “The way I see it, if I allow you to help me with my…er…” she looked around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to them— “goals,” she finished smoothly. “I think I should help you with yours.”

Simon started. “Mine?”

She nodded.

“I don’t have any goals.”

Despite her best efforts not to, Rae giggled. “Yes, you do.”

“And what would those be?” he drawled then took a deep drink of his lemonade.

“Children.”

Simon choked on his lemonade. “P-pardon,” he sputtered, slapping his chest. Hard.

“They terrify you.”