Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(40)

He raised a hand, turning his face away from hers. “Don’t,” he murmured. “Please don’t, Meg. I’ll—I’ll leave you to dress. To…fix yourself. I’m sorry.”

He said nothing more, but turned and strode through the adjoining door to his dressing room. She heard the key turn in the lock once he was gone and was left staring at the barrier now between them.

She was upset that he’d left her, of course. Every time he turned away it stung. But there was also hope inside of her. Simon was fighting a war inside of himself. A war that, if she won, might mean they could be happy.

So she picked up her chemise from the tangled mess of her gown on the floor, and went about planning for their next skirmish.

“I plan to win, Simon,” she said as she shimmied the thin fabric over her head. “I plan to win.”





Chapter Thirteen





Meg stood at the window, staring down over the drive. Below, James, Emma and her mother were bidding their guests goodbye, signaling an end to the country party that felt like it had begun a lifetime ago. In some ways, she supposed it had. So much had changed since it began.

She shifted position and groaned at the ache in her muscles. That was a reminder of the passionate encounter with Simon after the ball the night before. Somehow she had forced herself to return to the ballroom after she cleaned herself up. To pretend that it hadn’t happened even as she thought about it constantly.

Simon had not done the same. A fact that had caused a good many whispers through the crowd. She was certain the fact that he had not yet been seen by anyone this morning was also going to be a topic of conversation in many a carriage on the way back to London.

She sighed. “It seems the nightmare never ends,” she murmured.

Behind her, she heard a throat being cleared and turned to find Simon standing in the doorway. His face was pinched but otherwise unreadable, and she had no idea if he had just heard her words or was just troubled by her presence in general.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb.”

He turned as if to leave the room and she held out a hand, moving toward him cautiously. “Oh, please, don’t go.”

He remained half turned from her, his face only in profile. His eyes shut and she saw that war within him again. That war she had to win.

“Meg,” he whispered, pleading in his tone.

She ignored it and kept moving toward him. “Simon, can’t we pretend for a moment that we are still friends? Please, won’t you just forget the engagement, forget what we’ve…done together last night or before.”

He flinched. “You ask the impossible. I can’t do that.”

“Please,” she repeated, reaching his side at last. She took his hand gently, feeling him stiffen when she did so. If he wanted to pull away, she did not allow it, tightening her grip. “For a moment when we were dancing last night, we both felt that connection rekindled.”

“And then the world made its comments, Meg. Are you going to tell me you haven’t had cruel remarks slung at you because of me?”

She thought briefly of the unpleasant encounter between herself and Sarah Carlton the night before, but shook it away. “Well, no one is going to say anything now. It’s just family left in the house, Simon. Please, come sit with me. Be my friend. I need one right now and I think you do, too.”

The war waged on, and finally he looked down at her and she saw this battle, at least, was won. “Very well.”

She smiled and all but dragged him to the settee. She practically shoved him into place and took the seat at his side. She leaned in to pour tea, sweetening his just as he liked it before she handed it over and prepared her own cup.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, his tone strained.

She could see he feared her broaching the topic of their engagement or their wedding or, God forbid, their marriage. A part of her wanted to talk about all three of those topics.

But today was about their friendship, so she smiled as if none of the hard things existed and said, “Did you see Sir William Hargrave in the garden yesterday?”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t think so. What was he doing?”

“Well, you know his eyesight is failing, and I’ve been told in good authority that he has spectacles but refuses to wear them. He’s vain as a peacock.”

Simon had begun to smile. “On good authority, eh?”

“Very good, but I shall not reveal my sources,” she said with a laugh, her heart feeling light as they once again fell back into the kind of playful, easy friendship they’d shared for so many years.

“Protect the sources, it’s of utmost importance, I agree,” Simon said, and sipped his tea. “So we have a half-blind Sir William in your garden, I assume without his glasses.”

She nodded. “Yes, and it was getting late in the afternoon so the shadows were beginning to draw out over the shrubbery and the statues that are placed between them.”

“Yes?” he encouraged, drawing out the word.

“I overheard talking as I was picking some fresh flowers for the arrangement in the foyer and I went toward the sound only to find Sir William having a long discussion…” She took a dramatic pause. “…with Venus.”

Simon barked out a laugh. “He was talking to James’s half-naked statue of Venus? The one you used to drape cloaks around and put hats on?”