Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(43)
“That is my hope, too. I know I cannot keep the desires of my mind and the needs of my body separate. I can only hope it’s the same for him. Perhaps someday I can help him realize that keeping a wall between us won’t change what we did. It will only keep us from ever being happy.”
Emma slipped an arm around Meg’s waist, and they looked out the window together, silent as they both pondered the secrets that had been shared between them. Meg did feel better having told someone the difficulties in her heart.
But nothing had been resolved. And she knew she still had a mighty fight ahead of her if she wanted her future to be as settled and happy as Emma and James’s had become.
Chapter Fourteen
Simon caught his breath as Meg stepped from the house and took her place beside him on the grand staircase that led from the drive. She was exquisite in a dark green gown that was cut not scandalously low, but low enough for his imagination to take flight.
Of course he’d seen her in the past five days. They’d shared meals and passed in halls and engaged in casual conversation with her family. But they had not been alone together since their encounter in the parlor the morning the other guests departed. Nor had he been afforded the chance to go to her room or have her join him at night.
He supposed he could pretend it was because both of them were very busy with preparations for the wedding that now loomed up the next day. He and James had been wrangling the special license and preparing other formal documents and settlements. He knew Meg and Emma had also been involved in a flurry of activity, if the constantly scurrying servants and the never-ending stream of seamstresses traipsing in and out of the house with bolts of fabric had been any indication.
But he had a sneaking suspicion none of that was why he hadn’t had a moment alone with Meg. Emma had seen the passionate exchange between them in the parlor. He had to believe that all this activity was arranged in part to keep them from surrendering to desire again before their official vows were taken.
So he ached for her as she took her place beside him. He ached to touch her. To kiss her. To feel her body against his. Oh, he wanted to take her, of course he did, but more than that, he missed her company. That quiet connection that had always been so easy between them but now felt so impossible and out of reach.
In that moment of realization, she looked up at him with a faint smile. “Simon.”
“You are beautiful,” he said softly.
Her lips parted in surprise at the compliment, and guilt stabbed him. It seemed there was no winning in his current situation. Either he maintained a distance in penance for his bad acts and hurt Meg, or he moved in close and took what he wanted without regard for all he’d destroyed.
He frowned and faced forward again, watching as a carriage thundered through the gate and came up the long drive and into the circle before them. The seal on the carriage door was his own, the Crestwood name represented by a flourished C surrounded by carved rearing horses and golden filigree, and his throat closed as a footman raced to open the door and help down the arrival.
His mother stepped from the carriage in a burst of perfume and disdain. She looked up the stairs, her gaze flitting over the others and settling at last on Simon. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, and he felt her loathing as sharply as he ever had.
She moved up the stairs and started her greetings at the opposite end of the line, going first to the Dowager Duchess of Abernathe. He could hear her words drifting toward him, apologies for the mess Simon had put them in, regret for all the trouble, vague congratulations to Emma and James, even as she sniffed when she looked Emma up and down.
At last she reached him and Meg. Meg lifted her chin as the Duchess of Crestwood glared at them. “And here you two are,” was all she said.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Meg said, holding out a hand that his mother ignored.
Simon stiffened, frustrated that her disregard for him would clearly stretch out to his future bride, as well.
“Mother,” he said.
She sniffed once more and turned to the others. “I am parched from that awful drive. May we retire to a parlor for some tea?”
“Of course,” Emma said, motioning to Grimble as she and James led the way into the house. “Please, follow us.”
The Duchess of Crestwood sharply turned her back on her son and moved to walk with the dowager, leaving Meg and Simon alone on the stairs. He let out a great sigh before he held out an elbow for Meg.
She remained facing him instead of taking it, her face lined with understanding and empathy. Of course she had known his mother a great many years. She knew some of the history that caused the strife that still existed between them.
“She hasn’t forgiven you?” she asked softly.
He tensed and turned his face, not looking at her as he said, “No.”
She reached up, cupping his cheek to turn his gaze back to her. Slowly, she lifted to her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his. Every other kiss between them had been passionate, driving, possessive, desperate. This was something else. As she pulled back with a shy smile, his heart swelled with all the things he knew he shouldn’t feel.
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and tugged him forward. “Come, we face her together.”
He did as she commanded, allowing her to lead him into the house and down the hall to the parlor where the others had gone. He said nothing, but he wondered at her gentle strength, her solidarity with him in that moment. He’d had no siblings growing up. He’d felt like he had no family at all until he met James and Graham and they’d started their club with all the rest. That was part of why his betrayal was so bloody awful.