The Trouble With Sin (Devilish Vignettes (the Devil DeVere) #2)(2)

Lord Singleton grunted. "'Tis the bloody first I've heard of it!"

"I was just about to tell you when Mama rapped upon the door," Simon smoothly prevaricated. "I've seen the error of my ways and am determined to return to the straight and narrow path."

"Simon! My dear, dear boy!" Lady Singleton's eyes glistened. "I cannot tell you how this warms my heart! It is my fondest dream come true!"

His mother's dream became Simon's nightmare when he was summoned to the drawing room two hours later. Bored out of his mind, Simon drummed his fingers on his thigh, stifled yawns, and fought the urge to roll his eyes while the Reverend Dodd droned on about the evils of carnal temptation.

"Can there be any greater object of compassion than poor, young, thoughtless females plunged into ruin? Artfully ensnared by those with superior faculties, education, and fortune, what defense can an innocent maid have against such formidable fiends and seducers of virtue?"

Lady Singleton plied a handkerchief to her eyes with a sniff. "Such scoundrels!"

Dodd continued, "How can young maids living in want protect themselves against profuse promises of passion, luxury, liberty, and gaiety? Alas! Lost to virtue, they become lost to themselves. Akin to a cut blossom they wither until cast away by the very rogues who prey upon them." The reverend paused for effect and shook his head.

"Poor wretches!" Lady Singleton choked out and then blew her nose.

"But there is hope, madam. Through the efforts of this worthy society, hundreds of penitents have already forsaken their lives of sin. Now through the honest employments of spinning, knitting, and lace-making, these miserable young women have a means to recover their character."

Simon knew many girls who had given up lives of such domestic drudgery in favor of making a living on their backs. None, to his knowledge, suffered the least regret or repentance about it. Nor did they seem overly concerned about their loss of character. Indeed, he had always felt a particular affinity for their joyfully unabashed practice of iniquity.

His thoughts wandered to the ragged gypsy lass whom DeVere had taken under his protection. Surely she was happier in her present circumstances than in her prior life earning three shillings a week in the stench and squalor of the Royal Menagerie. According to Dodd, DeVere was the vilest of rogues for ruining the girl, but Simon doubted very much that Freddie would agree.

Nevertheless, Simon sipped tepid tea, smiled, and nodded, responding with trite and proper remarks, wishing he was anywhere else but this purgatory of prigs.

***

Later into the evening Simon received an unexpected missive from DeVere, or perhaps it was better described as a summons. He wondered what had brought his friend back to town so soon when he'd expected to spend several months in Kent. There was only one way to find out, and happily, that option required escape from his prison.

With the servants reporting his every move, Simon perceived the window as the only way out. Raising the sash, he cast a wary look at the earth below before throwing caution to the winds and one leg over the sill. But when his second leg followed, he found himself suspended twenty feet above ground, grappling for a foothold.

When his slick leather-soled shoes proved ineffectual, he kicked them off in hope that his stockinged feet would allow better purchase. Simon then reached for the drain pipe, wishing he'd also thought to remove his bulky frock coat. He began his decent down the drain, but his silk stockings were even more slippery against the pipe than his shoes had been against the stonework. He managed to shimmy and slide ten feet closer to earth before falling into the yew hedge.

With a muffled groan and an abundance of curses, Simon wrestled out of the greenery, fumbling in the increasing darkness to locate his shoes. He then hailed a sedan chair to convey him to Charing Cross.

***

"What took you so damned long, Sin?" DeVere demanded. "I sent the message to your house hours ago."

Simon signaled the drawer and flung himself onto a bench. "You think it was easy to escape my parents' watchful eye? I can hardly take a piss without permission. I had to sneak out through the damned first-story window. Thank God the hedge broke my fall."

DeVere threw back his head with a laugh. "That explains why you look as if you were dragged through one backwards!"

Simon gave a shake of his lace cuffs. "I'm happy to be the source of your amusement," he replied, tight-lipped. His scowl disappeared, however, upon the arrival of a buxom tavern wench with two fresh tankards. She smiled and leaned over Simon, gifting him with an intimate view of her charms. Simon made an appropriate show of appreciation.

"Where is Ned?" DeVere asked.

"Already gone home to Yorkshire," Simon replied. Done with his slow perusal of her breasts, he cupped the barmaid's arse.

"None 'o that!" She slapped his hand away but it was all just a part of the game.

"Later, my dove? Simon flashed a raffish grin. "I'll make it worth your while."

"So they all say," the wench answered with a saucy smile.

Simon transfixed on the sassy sway of her hips as she parted. He then answered DeVere as if they'd never been interrupted. "As it turns out, Ned would have had to request leave from Westminster anyway. His father has taken ill."

"Is it serious?"

"A heart seizure. Ned got word of it right after you departed for Kent. He was quite shaken by the news."