Leslie Lafoy (19 page)

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Simone made her way up the stairs, her heart hammering and her teeth clenched as she glared down at the carpet.
Men!
she silently railed. And they accused women of having sudden, inexplicable shifts in temperament? The hypocrites. One moment he’d been lovey and solicitous and then—in the blink of an eye and for no apparent reason—he’d turned into … into … a presumptive, condescending son of a bitch! If she’d known—had the slightest inkling!—he could be that way, he would have spent the night alone in his fricking silk tent. Which he probably knew. Which was probably why he’d been so wonderful until they’d started back to the house. Until after he’d gotten what he wanted from her. Of course. Next time she saw him, she was going—

“I’m glad you’re still alive.”

Simone looked up from the carpet to find her younger sister standing in the doorway of her bedroom. Fiona. Looking positively angelic in her ruffled white nightgown, her long blond hair neatly braided. God, were there ever two sisters more opposite? “Did anyone consider my death a serious possibility?”

“No,” Fiona admitted, her smile looking a little weak. “But Drayton said that you should probably hope for it.”

Yes, by the time he and Tristan were done with all their male huffing and puffing and posturing, she probably was going to wish she were dead. For about a minute. After that, they were in for a rude awakening. But until she had to deal with them and their inflated illusions, there were more important matters requiring her attention. “How’s Carrie? And the baby?”

“Both are fine,” Fiona assured her, her smile strengthening. “Drayton sent Haywood for the midwife just after one. She arrived at half past and Callen was born at ten minutes after two.”

Callen Mackenzie. It was a good name. “Ten fingers, ten toes?”

“He’s perfect in every way. And Carrie says he was so easy to bring into the world that she just might have a dozen more.”

“A dozen?”

“I think it was the moment,” Fiona explained, her green eyes bright and her smile wide. “She wants you to come talk to her. To see Callen.”

“Now?”

“She said as soon as the cat dragged you in.”

Damn. Drayton and his anger she could handle. Easily. But Carrie’s compassion and understanding had a way of taking the wind out of her sails. “Surely she’s tired and sleeping. I wouldn’t want to wake her.”

“The only ones sleeping are Tess and Angelina,” Fiona countered. “The excitement of having a baby brother didn’t last five minutes. When I left Carrie, they were curled up on Drayton’s side of the bed. I’m sure he’s carried them back to their own beds by now, though.”

In other words, there weren’t any excuses that were going to work. Just as Drayton had been waiting for Tristan, Carrie was waiting for her. And since there was no point in making matters any worse than they already were, Simone smiled at her sister, gave her a hopefully jaunty salute, and headed for the double doors at the end of the hall.

She knocked lightly and pushed open the door in the same movement. Poking her head around the edge to peek in at the bed, she tried not to sag in disappointment as Carrie’s gaze instantly arrowed to hers.

“Are you up to receiving visitors?”

“Come in and tell me the story,” Caroline answered, shifting the bundle in her arms and then trying to shift herself in the pillows. “I need to hear your side of it before I hear Drayton’s.”

Simone quickly crossed the room. “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said, adjusting the mountain of down pillows at Caroline’s back. “It’ll be all right. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” her sister replied with a contented sigh as she settled back. “Each baby gets easier and faster.”

Simone settled herself on the edge of the mattress and held out her arms. Carrie passed Callen into her care with a serene smile.

Simone considered the pair of dark eyes gazing up at her. Oh, no drowsy, fuzzy-eyed ball of fluff, this one. Callen had clearly come into the world with a mission and was prepared to start this very moment. “He looks just like Drayton,” she offered, thinking that it wasn’t going to be too long before she wasn’t the only one in the family responsible for gray hairs.

“I don’t think he could deny him even if he wanted to.”

Simone grinned and tickled the palm of Callen’s hand. He instantly caught her finger and squeezed. “Oh, look at that, Carrie. Look how strong he is.”

Carrie nodded. “I assume you were out with Tristan Townsend?”

She couldn’t resist the temptation. “No, Little Lord Lumpy.”

“What?”

Chuckling, she freed her finger and passed Callen back to his mother. “Just kidding.”

“Simone, this is no joking matter.”

“I know,” she allowed, rising. Smoothing the bedcovers, she went on, saying, “Drayton and Tristan are downstairs glaring at each other. When they’re done with that part, they’ll undoubtedly move on to picking a wedding date.”

“You don’t seem particularly distressed by the possibility.”

She might be if there was a chance of the engagement ever progressing as far as the church. But since it was all a sham, she could play the part of the reasonable and resigned maiden. “Caught’s caught,” she replied with a shrug. “I don’t see that throwing a fit about it would accomplish all that much at this point.”

“And when it comes right down to it,” Carrie countered, “the thought of marrying Lord Lockwood isn’t all that unpleasant, either?”

“I could do worse.”

“Ah, but the question is whether you could do better.”

Simone plopped down onto the bedside chair. “Honestly, Carrie? I don’t think there is any better. And even if there is, I’m not sure I could survive it.”

“Does he feel the same way?”

The answer depended on what part of the night they were talking about. And since the last part of it seemed to indicate that she’d made a huge mistake in the first part, she preferred not to talk about it at all. “I didn’t ask him to formally rate me against his past lovers,” she hedged. “That would have been entirely too…” She shrugged. “I can live with illusions.”

Carrie apparently thought about that for a moment and then said, “If, for some reason, Drayton sees a marriage as unwise—”

“If?”

“Just for the sake of food for thought,” she soothingly countered. “If he doesn’t demand that the two of you marry, would you see Tristan again?”

Yes, just to kick him in the shins for being such a pompous ass. Yes, if he’d apologize and take her in his arms again. Yes, because they needed to be engaged so Lucinda would be forced to act. Simone dredged up a smile and hedged again. “Would you give up Drayton?”

“No. I love Drayton. Do you love Tristan?”

At last, a question with a simple, easy answer. “Of course not. I haven’t known him long enough. But I do know that I love being with him.”

“Why?”

So much for easy.
She cast around in the swirl of her thoughts and emotions. “I suppose I feel more alive when we’re together.”

“How so?”

“Everything is so much more interesting than normal.” At Caroline’s arched brow she added, “And my heart is always racing and skittering. It feels good in a way that’s just the right amount of scary. Rather like being in a good bit of danger, but not. If that makes any sort of sense at all.”

“It does,” her sister replied with a slow nod and a soft smile. “What are you going to do if he refuses to marry you and then decides that he’d rather not see you again?”

Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach twisted into a cold knot. She pasted a smile on her face and blithely replied, “Tracking him down and running him through would have a certain appeal to it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Probably not, but no one needed to know that. She had illusions to preserve. “And then I’d retire to Ryland Castle and live out my days pacing the parapets, shrieking at the sky and giving everyone something to talk about.”

Carrie grinned. “There aren’t any parapets at Ryland Castle. Not real ones.”

“Well, that’s true,” she allowed, smiling. “But pacing and shrieking in the halls wouldn’t have quite the same dramatic effect. Let me think on it for a while. I’m sure I can come up with something sufficiently pathetic.”

Carrie laughed softly and then abruptly looked toward the door. “Hello, darling,” she called, practically glowing with happiness.

Simone studied her brother-in-law as he came to the other side of the bed. He wasn’t sporting any bruises or welts that she could see. And his mood seemed to be considerably lighter than when she’d last seen him. “Obviously you two didn’t go to blows,” she offered as he slipped onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Caroline.

“Our exchange was thoroughly civil,” he said without looking at her. He gave Carrie a kiss and then smiled softly as he stroked Callen’s cheek with a fingertip.

Simone looked away and swallowed down an unexpected wave of longing.
To be jealous of what Carrie has? How ridiculous
.
Men are idiots and babies smell good only some of the time. And not all of them are beautiful like Callen is. In fact, there are a lot of really ugly babies in the world. Not to mention men who were horrible husbands and even worse fathers.

“Do I have a wedding gown to design?” she heard Caroline ask.

“Darling, your hands are full enough for the time being.”

“I suppose she could wear mine,” Caroline went on as Simone’s heart pounded. “It would have to be taken in a bit, but otherwise it would—”

“Your wedding dress is
your
wedding dress,” Drayton quietly interrupted. “Not Simone’s.”

Caroline murmured her assent and then fell silent. Simone stole a glance in their direction. Both seemed oblivious to anything but each other and Callen. Simone inwardly winced at another inexcusable wave of sentiment, drew a deep breath, and rose to her feet.

Her movement finally brought Drayton’s attention to her. He cocked a brow in silent question and her patience evaporated. “All right, Drayton, enough of this. Am I engaged or not?”

“Do you want to be?”

Oh, of all the insufferable … He made Tristan look like a saint. “Just answer the question, Drayton. Yes or no.”

“No.”

Calm, cool, altogether indifferent. As though none of this mattered one whit. “Am I being sent off to Ryland Castle at first light?”

“No,” he replied, going back to adoring his son.

“Am I forbidden to see Tristan?”

“Yes,” he said around a smile as Callen hiccuped.

It wasn’t a surprise. Not at all. Still, her heart skittered and sank. She wanted to ask if Tristan had protested but quickly decided against it. Asking would imply desperation. And ignorance. “Then I’ll wish you both a good night,” she said, walking away. “Rest well, Carrie.”

“Simone?”

She paused on the threshold and looked back over her shoulder. Drayton didn’t look up as he asked, “Do you know about Lord Lockwood’s stepmother?”

Well, since Drayton did, Tristan had obviously spilled the beans. “Yes,” she admitted. “Why?”

“When did he tell you?”

“Before we left the garden this evening. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Anything else?”

Neither of them responded and Simone closed the door behind herself without looking back. She made her way to her room, stunned. She wasn’t going to be forced to marry Tristan. She wasn’t going to be sent into exile. Everyone was going to pretend she hadn’t had an illicit, scandalous affair. God, had the world been turned upside down?

Flopping down on her bed, she cradled her head in her hands and stared up at the plaster ceiling medallion. What did Tristan think of it all? Given his attitude as he’d brought her home, he was probably relieved to have escaped a forced march to the altar. Still, there was the matter of Lucinda and the need to draw her out. That had been the starting point for tonight. Not having to marry …

Simone sighed and closed her eyes. She’d have to talk with Tristan about it in the morning—after he apologized for being so ill-tempered—and see what he thought they ought to do next. Assuming, of course, that he wasn’t already on his way back to America and counting his lucky stars.

Chapter 11

Tristan reversed the path he’d taken through the house earlier and emerged onto the back steps to find his horse right where he’d left him, the sky lightening, and Cyril Haywood pacing a path at the base of the steps.
Not wearing a sling for his arm
, Tristan noted as he made his way down and took the reins from the newel post.
As I should have noticed the first time I saw him tonight.

“Haywood,” he said in acknowledgment as the other stopped and squared up to him. “Why am I not surprised to find you waiting for me?”

“His Grace can be entirely too calm and rational at times.”

An affliction Haywood apparently didn’t suffer, Tristan silently observed.

“I don’t like you, Lockwood.”

Well, at least he was an honest and plainspoken man. “With all due respect, Mr. Haywood, you don’t know me. I’d suggest that what you don’t like is my interest in Simone.”

“She’s very young.”

“In some respects,” Tristan allowed. “In others, she’s wiser than either one of us will ever be.”

Haywood considered him through narrowed eyes for a long moment and then finally said with a great deal of crispness, “She is not a whore.”

And Haywood thought he considered her one? Anger flared and seared through his veins, white and hot. “And I’ll beat bloody,” Tristan warned through clenched teeth, “any man who suggests that she is.”

“Hurt her and you’ll be the one beaten bloody.”

Said the man with one good arm? Telling himself that while going to blows over the matter might be satisfying, it wouldn’t be anywhere near a fair contest, Tristan flicked the reins over the head of his mount, saying only, “Duly noted, Mr. Haywood.”

The man stepped back and watched him swing up into the saddle. Even as Tristan was thinking that they weren’t yet done, Haywood reached out and caught the bridle.

“Simone is like a daughter to me,” he said in a tone that, while firm, eddied with angry desperation. “I care for her more than my own life. Can you say the same?”