Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(28)

They wanted to look at her face and see her pain written across it. Oh, there were a few who were not so cruel about it, but all were intensely curious. All wanted a little kernel of the story they could repeat later.

She was exhausted and only wanted to go to her bed and forget this day. She sighed and stood up, shrugging from her dressing gown and moving toward her bed. Fran had turned it down before she left half an hour before, and as Meg smoothed her hand over the cool, clean sheets she let out a sigh. Yes, things always looked better after a good night’s sleep.

They had to.

She was about to climb into those sheets and blow out her candle when there was a light knock at her chamber door. She turned to face it, lips pinched. She had said goodnight to James hours ago, Emma had come to check on her more recently, Fran should be happily in her own bed.

Which meant it was probably more tourists to her emotions on the other side of the door. To come here at midnight certainly took guts.

“Ignore it,” she murmured to herself as she turned back to the bed once more.

But the knock came again, this time with more force and urgency. She squeezed her eyes shut, frustration about this entire situation finally rising up in her. She stormed to the door and tore it open as she snapped, “There is nothing to discuss!”

But she didn’t find herself looking at some grasping lady seeking gossip or even a friend trying to wrap her head around what Meg had done. She found herself staring at a broad chest and lifted her gaze to see that Simon stood in the hall. In the dark. His jacket was off, his shoes were off, his cravat was undone and his hair was mussed, like he’d been running a hand through it.

“S-Simon,” she stammered.

He did not smile, but cocked his head. “If you don’t want to see me—”

“No,” she interrupted, and watched his shoulders slump. She caught his hand. “No, I simply thought you were someone else. Yes, I want to see you. I’m sorry. Just—just come in.”

She stepped back, keenly aware for the first time that she was clad only in a thin nightrail, her shoulders all but bare but for a pair of inch-wide straps. She blushed, though it was silly. The previous night she had only been clad in a blanket.

Still, she grabbed for her robe and tied it around her waist as Simon entered the room and shut the door behind him.

“Who did you think I was?” he asked.

She shrugged, forcing herself to face him and behave as though all this was perfectly normal. That he was supposed to be in her bedroom in the middle of the night, that he was supposed to be her fiancé. That nothing had changed since yesterday morning, even though everything in her world was different.

She had no other idea how to act but that.

“I have been plagued by interested parties all afternoon,” she admitted.

His jaw tightened. “Interested parties? What does that mean?”

“Friends who want to ask me about my new engagement. Congratulate me privately,” she said, then shook her head. “They want to spy and get a glimpse of me. You know how these scandals go.”

He scowled. “And James and Emma are not preventing this?”

“They aren’t my keepers,” she said. “Even if they were, what can they do? Stand guard at my door all day?”

“Yes, if they must,” he huffed out. “I’ll do it myself if they won’t.”

His protectiveness touched her heart in a way that felt very dangerous considering their current circumstance, but she smiled regardless. “Don’t you think that would only make talk worse? No, if I let them in and talk to them as if this new engagement is perfectly normal, then perhaps they’ll get bored of the topic sooner and we’ll regain some semblance of normalcy.”

Simon bent his head and silence filled the room. She stared at him, as he wasn’t looking at her. One thing she’d always loved about this man was the light that seemed to surround him. He always had a half-grin, a chuckle. He could lighten even the darkest of situations. He was the first person who made her laugh after her father died.

Tonight, though, that light was gone. The man before her was serious and grim. Pained. She understood why, but she hated that this is where they’d come to after so many years of easy friendship and connection.

She didn’t want to lose that. Slowly, she moved to him and extended her hand. They both watched as she took his, intertwining their fingers the way they’d previously only been allowed to do while dancing. His breath caught and he turned toward her slightly.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she whispered. “To my chamber, after everyone else has gone to bed?”

He swallowed, his throat working and he edged closer, cutting off the small distance that remained between them. Now they were almost touching, their bodies a hair’s breadth apart.

“You know what I wanted last night,” he whispered.

The hand he wasn’t holding began to shake and she clenched it into a fist. “I-I think so,” she answered. “The same thing I-I wanted.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, a low groan coming from deep within his chest. The heat in the room changed, rising as he released her hand and instead slid his fingers around her waist. He tugged her, drawing her fully against him.

“Last night…I couldn’t. Because you weren’t mine,” he continued.

She nodded, understanding that. Understanding how desperately he’d been trying to honor his friend, his claim. “But I’m yours now,” she murmured.