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“That makes your father a bellend, for certain, but not a killer like Brody,” he said.

“I’m sure he’d like to think the same. Which is worse, Simon?

A man like Brody who takes advantage of people in horrific situations or a man like my father who helps create those very same situations.

” At his questioning look, she added, “I mentioned that he owns real estate. Some of those are tenement buildings. Buildings that are cheaply made with exorbitant rents. It’s ironic that Devonworth is fighting for water access for such buildings when Hathaway is rumored to have spent thousands fighting against a similar policy in the States. He cares only for himself.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as she spoke. “Did you know him at all as a child? How is he with you?” he whispered.

She had vague memories of him coming to see them when she was very young.

Her mother would line them up in their Sunday best and he would nod to each of them.

She couldn’t remember a conversation she’d ever had with him.

Mostly, she had hidden behind Cora. Then the visits had stopped.

Cora had gone to see him at his Fifth Avenue townhome last autumn when they had received the note about their inheritances, but he’d never come to see them.

Eliza had only met him again here in London, and he might as well have been a stranger to her.

She explained all of that and ended with, “He’s barely spoken to me. ”

Simon was quiet for so long that she thought perhaps he didn’t know what to say. But then he looked up at her again and his eyes were burning. “Is that how you see your life now? Living with a man who barely sees you?”

“You don’t think I should marry Mainwaring, do you?”

He didn’t move. His fingers didn’t so much as twitch. “That’s not up to me,” he finally said after an interminably long time.

Gathering her courage, she said, “It’s not, but my question stands. You don’t think I should marry him.” It wasn’t really a question, though, was it?

“You’ll be miserable, but that’s beside the point. You’re not marrying him for happiness.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not expecting to be very happy.”

He wanted to say more; she could see it in his face. Instead, he brought his cup to his mouth with his free hand and swallowed very deliberately. She watched his throat work with the action.

“He didn’t even ask me to marry him,” she said.

An eyebrow rose in response. “Are you not betrothed?”

“He spoke with my mother at the end of the house party Camille gave for us when we first came to England. Then, later, he met with Devonworth and Mr. Hathaway. He never actually asked me.” He’d had every reason to assume her consent.

The whole reason they were in England was to find husbands.

Still…it had always irritated her that he hadn’t bothered to ask her the question.

Simon licked his lips and then said a bit ruefully, “A man should ask you himself.”

“You would have asked me.”

His eyes deepened and became heavy as they met hers. He let out a long breath through his nose and whispered, “I would have asked you.”

And she would have said yes. For a moment, she allowed herself the absurd luxury of imagining herself with Simon.

Eliza didn’t know how long they sat staring at each other.

Two of the men got up from the table in the back and left out the front door, the little bell on the door jingling behind them.

She glanced away first and Simon let go of her hand.

She might have audibly protested, a sound drawn from deep within her at not being able to touch him, but if she did, he didn’t appear to notice.

He gathered up her half-empty cup along with his and set them on the counter.

When he returned, he offered her his hand and she took it.

This was it…the end of their night. She might not ever see him again.

There would be no reason to see him. She’d promised him that this would be it.

She’d leave him alone. He drew her to her feet and she followed him out the door feeling like she’d left half of herself inside.

Half of her would forever be in that coffeehouse with him while the rest of her, the ghost of her, would be with Mainwaring…

married and not at all who she was meant to be.

A light rain had started to fall while they were inside. She didn’t mind. She thought—hoped—that maybe they would have trouble finding a hansom because of the hour, but as if he’d summoned it, a cab stopped for them at the corner. The driver rubbed his tired eyes as he asked Simon their direction.

Because of the rain, the driver pulled the leather curtain closed before climbing up on the seat behind the carriage.

Eliza tried to look out the window on her side, but her gaze kept going back to Simon, who seemed deep in concentration as he looked out his own window.

He hadn’t touched her since they had climbed on board, except for where his thigh pressed against hers in the enclosed space.

London flew past them faster than it had any right to.

They’d be in Mayfair soon, and it would be like the night had never happened.

“Simon.”

His breath stilled, but otherwise he didn’t acknowledge her.

She closed her eyes before she said the next part. She wouldn’t be able to take it if any part of him showed any sort of revulsion. “Would it be all right if we…if we pretended that things were different for the next few minutes? If we pretended that we’re in love—”

His mouth crushed hers at the same time his arms came around her.

She opened to him and his tongue swept inside her.

He pulled her onto his lap, and her hands pushed inside his coat, eager to feel him.

Her palms explored the planes of his chest, his hard pectoral muscles to his soft but firm stomach.

His hands were no less greedy in their exploration.

They roamed inside her cloak and she cursed how thick the material of her dress was and how many layers came between them.

His palm cradled her breast and her nipple pebbled in response, but she didn’t know if he could feel it.

When they paused for air, his hot gaze met hers in the dark, seeking more.

She nodded and he made something that sounded like a groan deep in his throat.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, and then her neck.

“Simon,” she gasped when his teeth touched her skin.

He bit right where her neck met her dress, making her break out in gooseflesh.

“Eliza,” he whispered, kissing that very spot. Then he sighed and buried his face there.

She held him close, her fingers buried in the hair at the back of his head. She swore she could feel his heart beating against her own breasts. His hat had taken her place on the bench seat at some point.

The carriage slowed and Simon lifted her off his lap a second before the driver opened the hatch overhead.

They had arrived. The night was over.

She waited for him to hand the fare up to the driver and for the hatch to be firmly shut before she said, “You know which bedroom—”

“Eliza.” He spoke in a low warning tone that had her smiling. It was the same way he’d said her name when she’d teased him in the hallway at home. Rifling in his coat, he pulled out her purse and handed it to her.

She had been teasing him. He knew where her bedroom was and likely how to come inside without anyone being the wiser. But she hadn’t been seriously suggesting he do something like that. Not that she would turn him away…

“Good night, Simon.”

The dark clouds in his expression parted, and he looked at her like he had a moment earlier.

Like she was someone he could love…or maybe already did.

There was heat simmering beneath the surface, but that wasn’t what caught her.

That wasn’t love. She saw something deeper in his eyes.

Something vulnerable and pure. The very presence of it caused a lump to build in her throat.

She hurried to disembark the carriage before she did something truly impulsive.

“Good night, Eliza.” His voice carried after her, low and deep.

She swore she heard the sound of it reverberating inside her even after she laid her head down to sleep.

Her good angel breathed a sigh of relief.

The night was done and she was home and now they could get on with it.

But her bad angel beat her wings in fury, raging that they weren’t finished. This isn’t how it was supposed to end.