The Pretender (28 page)

The next morning, Agatha sat alone in the breakfast room and toyed with her eggs. Loss of appetite was not at all usual for her. Another reason to be angry with Simon. He'd put her off her feed completely, and while she had the finest cook in London, too.

She forced herself to eat a bit, for she didn't want to hurt Sarah's feelings. But the last bite turned to sand in her mouth when Simon sauntered into the breakfast room, his hair still damp from his morning ablutions, his hands busily adjusting the sleeves of his coat.

"Good morning, pigeon."

Her throat was too dry to swallow and the sand had turned to gravel in her mouth. Finally, she choked it down.

"What—"

"Eat up, pidge, your eggs are turning cold."

"Did you stay here last night?" She had meant to shout, but her voice scarcely managed a horrified whisper.

"Oh, yes. I've quite moved back in. The rear bedchamber is a bit small, but I'll share Button with James, so there's no need to put my own valet up as well."

He filled his plate from the sideboard and took the chair opposite her. When he took his first bite of eggs and made that all too familiar sound deep in his throat, the pain broke Agatha's paralysis.

She shoved her chair violently away from the table, putting distance between them. "What are you
doing
here?"

"I'm guarding you."

"Me? I've done nothing wrong."

"I'm safeguarding you, against whoever kidnapped James."

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no connection between James Cunnington and Agatha Applequist."

"I made one. Others might as well."

There was no denying that. She tried another tack. "Well, I won't have it. I'm perfectly safe in this house. And if I'm not, I'll hire guards of my own."

"Will you be sure they're not working for the opposition? Your servants are loyal, but new staff in the house won't necessarily be."

Agatha cast about for any possible argument. "You'll ruin my reputation!"

"As if you gave a fig about that."

Blast. He knew her too well.

"And I've covered that contingency," he said. "I'll play the attentive brother-in-law by day, then make the appearance of leaving for the night. Then I'll return covertly, and no one will be the wiser."

"Jamie won't allow it!"

"Sorry, pidge, he's already seen the logic of it."

"Why are you calling me that?"

"Pigeon? Well, you said I should come up with my own pet name for you. Don't you like pigeon?"

"No, I most certainly don't." She struggled to keep her voice cold. He would not charm her.

He raised an eyebrow. "Pity. I thought it suited you quite well."

"Not a bit of it. Pigeons are common and rather nasty."

"I find them endearing, and very pretty in their own way."

He would not melt her anger; she would not allow it. It was the only thing holding her spine erect.

"A pet name is out of the question. You have no place giving me one."

He stretched lazily, leaning back in his chair. "I'll just keep at it then. I'm sure to find the right one eventually. Perhaps 'pumpkin.'"

It was no use. "Simon, if you must stay here, would you—"

"What?"

"Would you please try very hard not to…"

"Not to?"

She looked away, defeated. "Not to make it hurt so much," she whispered.

He didn't respond. She made herself look back at him.

All the teasing was gone. His eyes reflected the torture that she herself was feeling. "I apologize, Agatha. I thought I was."

She fought the pain, and the tears that threatened, but was about to lose the battle when James came into the room.

"Ah, Simon, I'd hoped to beat you to table this morning to explain."

Gratefully, Agatha tore her gaze from Simon's. "Jamie, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Saving my brain from curdling with boredom. I can rest just as easily downstairs as upstairs."

"And it's easier to cadge sweets from Sarah Cook," contributed Simon.

James grimaced. "I see I'm found out already." He turned to Agatha. "Are you all right about this, Aggie?"

"I don't know that I am," she said quietly, "but I don't see that I have much choice in the matter."

"I imagine that you'd prefer that I stay far away from you," Simon said, "but that simply cannot be. I'll receive your callers with you, and I'll escort you when you leave the house."

"Oh, lovely. Good lord, Simon, why don't you simply pull out my hair strand by strand? Why should torture be so subtle?"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Agatha. I must protect you. Please understand." His tone was soft, but implacable as well.

The blasted thing of it was, she did understand. Just as he'd put his mark on her, she'd put her own on him. He might not love her, but he felt responsible for her.

Well, strike "honorable" off the list of things she'd been wrong about. He was undeniably honorable, putting her as high among his priorities as was possible in this situation.

Of course, should some national emergency occur, she was sure he'd be gone in a flash. She had learned long ago that when a man had a grand purpose in life, emotional ties faded to insignificance.

She'd merely have to bear it until something came up that was more important to him than she was. In her experience, such things never took long.

Pearson appeared in the doorway.

"Madam, two gentlemen are here to call on you. Shall I tell them to come back at a more appropriate hour?"

Agatha gladly seized on the chance to leave the table. "No, Pearson. Now is fine. Who is it?"

"A Master Collis Tremayne and his uncle, Lord Etheridge."

"Collis?"

She left with a smile lighting her face, startling Simon. How long had it been that he had seen Agatha smile? Not since that night—

Who the hell was Collis Tremayne to make her smile? A young man, she'd told him. One of her patients. And what the bloody hell was Etheridge doing here?

Throwing down his napkin as if he were issuing a challenge, Simon rose to follow Agatha from the breakfast room.

As he strode purposefully toward the hall he heard James laughing behind him.

The guests were waiting in the front parlor. Simon managed to catch up to Agatha before she so much as touched the knob, so they both heard the voices arguing within.

Agatha paused, as if unsure of whether or not to interrupt. Simon held up a hand, signaling to wait. She drew back her hand immediately, and Simon was reminded of what a superior partner she had made.

If only she weren't who she was…

"Collis, aside from the fact that you've nothing to offer her but your prospects of an inheritance from me, you are too young for her."

"Codswallop. I daresay she's not a moment past twenty."

Agatha leaned close to whisper in Simon's ear, "I think I'm fonder of him than ever, for I'm every day of twenty-five."

That she was fond of the pup was the last thing that Simon wanted to hear. With the possible exception of the next thing he heard.

"If anyone is to marry her, I shall. I'm of a maturity to be a good husband, and I've considerably more to offer."

"Oh my," Agatha whispered gleefully. "I told you beaux would flock to my door."

Simon lifted his lip in a quiet snarl at her satisfied tone.

Collis raised his voice in protest. "But you spent the entire morning trying to dissuade me from marrying her!"

"Because it is extremely improper to speak to her about such a thing when Mr. Applequist is scarcely cold in his grave."

"I know that. But she is widowed, with no family that I know of. Who knows what condition her finances are in? I only want her to know that she has options. Women are fond of options, I've found."

"In all your vast experience, Collis? Well, now she'll have yet another option. Me."

"But why? You've only met her the once."

"She's quite suitable. I don't want a fluttering debutante, but an adult. And I like her. She's uncommonly sensible. I'd think you'd be pushing her on me, Collis. After all, if I marry and have an heir of my own, then you'll be free to pursue your music."

"And I'll feel proper sorry for the poor little sod if you do. Bloody tyrant."

Once again, Simon's lip threatened to curl. "Listen to them in there, arguing over who will rescue the damsel-in-distress."

Agatha sighed dramatically. "I'm a damsel. How thrilling. I've always wanted to be a damsel."

"Fine," Simon said, his voice a hiss. "You're a damsel. It's easier to remember than 'pumpkin,' anyway."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "No."

"No what, damsel?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "To think I ever tried to manipulate you. What a fool I am."

Simon turned to her. "You are not—"

His swift denial was cut off when the door before them was pulled open. Dalton Montmorency stood eyeing them both with one brow raised.

"Mrs. A!"

Collis rushed forward to take Agatha's hand. Simon tensed when he thought the lad might embrace her, but Collis only led her to sit on her own sofa. Simon rolled his eyes. As if she didn't know perfectly well where it was.

Unfortunately, Agatha seemed charmed by Collis's attentions. "Collis, you came to see me after all. How are you feeling?"

"Never better, Mrs. A, don't worry about me. I'm more concerned about you. When I read of Mr. A's accident, I wanted to come straightaway."

Etheridge gave a nod of apology. "It was I who kept him at home, Mrs. Applequist. His doctor said a few days more bed rest. I felt it was important enough to abide by."

"As well you should, my lord. Collis, you are a terrible patient." She smiled fondly at the boy, and Simon almost growled.

"I know." The lad's smile was unrepentant, and Simon had to admit that he was a likable sort. He'd treat Agatha well, but he was too easily ordered about. She'd charge right over him.

Lord Etheridge bowed over her hand. "My condolences, dear lady." He straightened and shot a measuring glance at Simon. "And are you a member of the bereaved family as well, sir?"

"I beg your pardon. Lord Etheridge, Collis, may I present my late husband's brother… Ethelbert Applequist." Agatha winced a bit as she said the name she had given him.

Simon despised the name, but his loathing for it gained new depths when a flash of amusement gleamed in Etheridge's damnable eyes.

On the surface, this man was perfect for Agatha. He was wealthy, titled, stalwart enough to resist her when she had one of her harebrained notions, and reliable enough to care for her properly all the days of her life.

Simon had never hated anyone more.

The visit didn't last much longer, much to Simon's relief. Agatha very prettily deflected Collis's protestations of affection and thanked Lord Etheridge politely for his businesslike offer, but told them both that she needed more time before she was ready to plan her future.

The sadness in her eyes when she spoke was all too real, and Simon beat back another surge of guilt. This was precisely why he had never pursued emotional ties. Someone was always going to be hurt.

When the two men had left, after Simon received another probing look from Etheridge, Simon followed Agatha back into the parlor.

"Why didn't you turn that pup down flat?"

"Why should I?"

"Oh, come on. You'd trample him in a week and you know it."

"Well, I'd not trample Dalton. He's no pup."

Simon's jaw fell open. "You can't be serious. Not him!"

"Why not?" Defiance and hurt flashed in her eyes. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

She tossed her head like a stubborn horse. "I like him. He seems stuffy at first, but underneath I think he's rather fun. Perhaps he's just what I need, considering he isn't the Griffin after all."

Meaning Etheridge wasn't a man such as Simon was, a man who couldn't afford to divide his loyalties. She was entirely right, but still Simon steamed at the thought of her belonging to another man.

"Then who is he, and why was he in May well's study?"

"Perhaps he had a perfectly good reason."

"What reason could he have?"

"Well, you were there, and you had good reason. Or so I thought at the time."

An uneasy silence fell. It always came back to that between them. Motives.

"Agatha, I never would have—"

She held up her hand. "Stop. I know. My apologies again. You had an excellent reason for everything you did. Your duty."

Simon stepped closer and ran his knuckles down her cheek. "Not everything was out of duty, damsel. Not everything."

Then, before the tear that trembled on her lashes could fall, he turned and left, cursing himself for a bloody coward.

The remainder of the day brought incessant callers. The tiresome Trapps came again, although Agatha was glad to see the interesting Mrs. Simpson was with them.

Once Mrs. Trapp's attempts to gain more gory details about Mortimer's demise had failed, the lady reverted to her true love. Gossip.

Agatha let her ramble on, thankful that the inquisition was over. Simon survived only another ten minutes before he fled the room. Yet another thing to be grateful for.

Best of all, the longer Mrs. Trapp stayed and dominated the conversation, the less Agatha needed to speak at all.

So she nodded now and again and expressed proper sounds of amazement and disbelief at the appropriate places, and the afternoon soon began to take on an unreal quality.

Perhaps she was in Hell. Hell might very well be a parlor full of ladies whom one had lied to, and the infernal atonement was to be forced to continue the sham forever. Oh, yes, a veritable tableau of perdition.

It did not help that the room was perfumed with the many bouquets of flowers she had received from the men and nurses at the hospital. The sweet scent of guilt…

A familiar name came up, and Agatha seized upon it before her wild notions could make her break into frantic giggles.

"Have you known Lady Winchell long, Mrs. Trapp?"

"Oh, no, dear. Not personally. She came onto the board about the time you began volunteering. Although I've heard of her for years, you understand. Not much gets by me."