Page 20 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“That poor woman doesn’t stand a chance,” she called after him.
Simon cursed the traffic as he weaved in and out of the carriages, hackneys, and wagons. At least on horseback, he was able to move forward. Now that he had made his decision, he was anxious to get on with his life. With their life.
Miss Margaret Flemming. He knew they had been destined when they first met. So fate had taken the long way about, but they’d found each other again. That was what mattered. And they had time to make up.
He kicked his gelding’s flank, the bay horse snorting as he broke into a trot once he left Mayfair. Simon yelled for the stableboy as he turned the corner behind his home. The lad came running from the mews and took the reins before Simon’s feet hit the ground.
He practically ran into the house, disrupting the cook and kitchen maids as he burst in and rushed past them. “Good morning,” he called, grabbing a biscuit cooling on the big wood table.
Simon slowed once he reached the second floor to calm his racing heart. He knocked on Meg’s door, his boot tapping the wool carpet. He knocked again. No sounds from the other side at all.
“She left, milord,” said the maid coming up the stairs, then stopping to curtsy.
He blinked, not comprehending. “Is she in the morning room? The library?”
“No, sir. I brought her a tray, and a half hour later, she called asking for a carriage.” The girl fisted her hands in her skirts. “She wanted a hackney. Said she didn’t want to be seen dressed like she was in a coach with your crest.”
“Did she say why?” He fell against the door, leaning his head back against the hard wood.
“No, milord.”
“Did she mention where she was going?”
“No, milord.” The maid stood uncertainly, her thin body swaying back and forth. “Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Simon managed.
“May I go in and collect the tray?”
“Of course.” He stepped aside, then decided to follow her in.
There were tea leaves in the bottom of a cup, but the food had not been touched. The Morning Post lay crumpled on the floor. He bent to scoop it up. She had seen it and believed the worst. Could he blame her? She was accustomed to being used, then spurned.
Determination churned in his gut. He would right this. He would win her. They would be happy.
Simon spun on his heel. Now he had to find her.
CHAPTER 10
Saturday
Lady Wyndam sat at the table with Meg, drinking warmed chocolate. “I do think you should speak with the man before you leave.”
“Why? He’s betrothed, and I’ve been duped. Let me leave London with a measure of dignity.” Meg hadn’t slept at all last night. Her eyes were swollen and sore, her head hurt, and she wanted to crawl into her own bed and sleep for days. Forget London and the past few weeks.
“Because I know his mother. She and Lady Grestan were two spiders of the same web until Lord Tarlton drank away their fortune. I’ve heard rumors myself.” Lady Wyndam stirred her chocolate. “It seems the daughter of the marchioness has found herself in a predicament that only marriage can solve.”
Meg stared at the countess. “Are you saying she’s with child, and Simon is the father?” Her stomach roiled. Could it be any worse?
Lady Wyndam rolled her eyes. “For an intelligent woman, you can be quite a bufflehead. Or you’ve become jaded. No, Margaret, I’m saying Simon may be the solution to two problems. If he marries the girl, the Grestan name is not tarnished. And suddenly, the Tarltons are back in favor. Can you not see the connection?”
Meg stared at her friend, then blinked. “So you think he’s being forced into the betrothal?”
“No, my dear, I don’t believe he’s agreed to the match at all. That little on-dit in The Morning Post was meant to twist his arm a bit. I know how those she-wolves conspire.” Lady Wyndam sipped her chocolate and looked over the rim at Meg. “I’m sure you understand how that feels.”
Yes, she did, as a matter of fact. Had she jumped to conclusions? She dropped her head in her hands. What a bumble-bath this was.
“Regardless, you can write to him. All will be well,” said the countess. “The most important thing is to get you out of London before you encounter Belten again. I don’t trust that weasel.”
