Page 18 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
She poured herself more tea and wished she had something stronger to put in it.
She closed her eyes, remembering his exact words.
I want you in my bed for always. I want to learn your favorite food, what makes you laugh, where you are ticklish.
I want you in my bed for always.
What a fool she was, thinking he wanted to court her, possibly marry her. Simon Hayward wanted a mistress. He would marry a marquess’s daughter and live happily ever after. Her goal would be achieved. She would be the other woman. What cruel irony.
You considered it yourself, her conscience told her. Yet, Simon had been so convincing, so sincere. Why would a man put forth such flummery for a paramour? Surely he would have no trouble finding one. Why so much effort for her?
An affair? Is that what you think I want from you?
What else could he offer her if he was betrothed? A permanent role as his mistress? Jagged pieces of their conversation last night rattled in her brain.
This time will be different. I will not read about you in the broadsheets unless your name is connected to mine.
Meg barked out a hysterical laugh. Yes, it was different. This time, he was the one announcing a betrothal after their kisses instead of her.
May I make you happy?
Meg’s throat swelled as the tears pooled in her eyes before the sobs began. She rose and pulled the bell rope again. When the maid came, Meg kept her back to the door. She swallowed, making sure she sounded calm.
“Please arrange for a hackney to pick me up,” Meg said, proud that her voice did not tremble.
“But his lordship?—”
“As soon as possible,” she said harshly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Meg needed time to think. What had Lady Wyndam and Florentia been thinking? How could they have done this to her? Well, she would soon have answers.
CHAPTER 9
Friday
Simon was on his high ropes. His future had swelled into a big, beautiful sunrise with unlimited possibilities. He took the steps two at a time, smiling at the butler as he opened the door.
“Why, you’re out and about early,” his mother said as he entered the morning room. “I’m pleased to see you are in a fine mood.”
“It’s a beautiful day, Mama,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Where’s Father?”
“Here I am,” said a voice from behind.
Both men filled plates from the sideboard and sat down with Lady Tarlton. “It seems you were worried over nothing, my dear,” she said to her husband. “Simon isn’t upset in the least. I knew he would be sensible.”
“I’m glad you are right,” said Lord Tarlton, giving Simon a side-glance. “I thought the mention in The Morning Post might have set up your bristles.”
This was too smoky by half. Simon locked gazes with his mother’s darting gray eyes. “What will I read in the paper, Mother?”
“Well, Lady Grestan thought it would be wise to mention the upcoming betrothal.” She busied herself with pouring more tea, refusing to look at him again. “Have you not seen it?”
Simon saw the paper next to his father’s plate and snatched it. He scanned the first and second pages before he saw it.
Thursday night, a splendid masquerade ball and supper, under the patronage of her Grace the Duchess of Westing, was well attended by all the Fashionables in the vicinity. In fact, Lady Grestan was seen speaking with the Lord and Lady Tarlton, recently received again in the marquess’s circle. Lady G and Lady T were heard discussing the betrothal of Lady G’s daughter and Lady T’s son. Two separate events or will the banns soon be read, joining the two families?
His stomach twisted. Anger seeped into his every vein. “How dare you. She’s a vixen, you know.” Simon stood so forcefully, his chair tipped backwards and toppled to the floor. He pointed at his mother, whose face had gone slack. Fear shone in her eyes. Good.
