Page 25

Eighteen

Training, visiting Daisy, and working. Those three things were Simon’s entire life for the next several days, and often in that order.

They were the only things that mattered.

The encounter with Brody had spooked him.

Simon did not trust the man. Even though he claimed the final fight would free her, Simon kept waiting for something to happen.

He kept expecting that he would visit the little attic room where she lived and she wouldn’t be there, so he went more often.

He woke and trained, then hurried to Daisy, then came back to start working until late into the night, except on the days when his shift started early, and then he would peek in on her as she slept and assure himself that she was well.

The next day was more of the same. The only part of that routine that came to anyone’s notice was the training.

He sparred with a relentless energy that caught the attention of nearly every partner he encountered.

Most of it was because he was concerned about what Brody had asked him to do.

Aside from a couple of early fights when he’d started out, Simon had never lost on purpose.

Throwing a fight intentionally was almost as difficult as winning; especially this fight, because the man he was fighting was good.

Dangerous and good. He never wanted to be on the losing end of that man’s fists, because sometimes they didn’t stop until it was too late.

The loser generally received more damage than the winner.

He couldn’t deny that some of his passion was pent-up frustration that he couldn’t have Eliza.

That night in Whitechapel had shown him what he had always feared.

That she was a deep and thoughtful person.

That what he had suspected had come to fruition.

She was so much more than the impulsive behavior that he loved about her.

She was sweet and soft and bitter and hard.

Every facet of her held him spellbound. She shined like a jewel, and he wanted to hold her in the light, in the dark, and everywhere in between to see how she shimmered.

He wanted to pursue her, but to what end?

She was too passionate to settle for a sexual interlude, but even he knew that wasn’t the only thing he wanted with her.

He wanted more. He wanted everything. For the first time in his entire life, he wanted to spend time with a woman and learn more about her.

He wanted to share more of himself with her.

At night before he went to sleep he imagined taking her and Daisy to the park.

They’d walk hand in hand while Daisy played around them.

They’d settle on a blanket to eat their bread and cheese and then feed crumbs to the ducks like he’d seen other families do.

It was foolish to hope for such things. Eliza didn’t even know that Daisy existed.

He couldn’t assume that she would want to join their little family even if he was successful at placating Brody.

She had another life all planned with her betrothed.

Simon couldn’t offer her anything better.

He couldn’t even offer her safety. If Brody ever thought that he could use her to get to Simon, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Those thoughts left him little time to rest because they drew him out of bed and to the gymnasium.

Sparring and training was the only time he could focus on anything else.

He’d just finished a hard but satisfying sparring session on one such morning.

Drenched in sweat and with his lip nicked by an errant knuckle, he sucked on the blood as he made his way to his office.

It was a little room off the service corridor outfitted with a wooden desk and chair and cabinetry for files.

Much of his tasks involved working the floor and dealing with members and various events, so he kept member files and event diaries.

Only one of the shower baths was functional today, so he had let his opponent who had taken more than his fair share of the beating shower first.

He walked into the room intent on sorting the stack of morning post that had been left there for him.

The post generally came addressed to the club.

The rare letters addressed to him were from members thanking him for his handling of a delicate situation or they were writing ahead to request a special arrangement for when they were in town, which was the case today, except for one letter from someone named Anne Leybourne written in a neat and sloping hand, a feminine hand.

The only Leybourne he knew was George Leybourne, the performer he and Eliza had seen in Whitechapel.

His heart thundered as he turned over the envelope and broke the seal.

It couldn’t be from her, but he hoped it was.

Dearest Simon,

I told myself that I wouldn’t write to you, yet here I am, putting pen to paper in the hopes that this finds you well. Thank you for everything. I will always be indebted to you.

Should you have need of me in the future, please do not hesitate to write to me. We will be moving to the Devonworth townhome directly, which is where you should look for me.

Yours faithfully,

E

She thought of him. The knowledge should not have made him happy, but it did. He’d half assumed that now that her adventure had been complete, she’d go back to her life with little concern for him. That’s what should have happened.

Simon read the note over again at least ten times, trying to read what she hadn’t written.

Did she long for more time together as he did?

Did she relive their kiss? He closed his eyes and remembered the taste of her mouth beneath his and the feel of her in his arms. There was no telling how long he sat there with the note spread open before him, but someone cleared their throat from the open door of his office.

Dunn stood there. “Ready?” he asked.

Simon glanced at the clock on the cabinet. Bugger it. He’d sat there so long he was running late. Dunn accompanied him to Whitechapel to see Daisy most days. It was always best to go there with others if at all possible.

“No, I need a few minutes more,” Simon answered.

Dunn grumbled but left him alone. Simon selected a sheet of paper from the basket on his desk and took up his pen.

Dear E,

The words stopped after that. What was he to say?

He should wish her well. He should keep his tone even and impenetrable as he warned her away.

She was barely more than a girl, and she fancied that she felt more for him than she did.

She didn’t love him any more than he loved her…

but, God, what he did feel was sweeter and bitterer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He needed some inkling of her true feelings.

The ink in his pen had created an unsightly blotch, so he picked up a new sheet of paper and started again.

My dearest Eliza,

And how shall I find you there?

Yours,

S

He folded the letter into an envelope. He didn’t write a return address on the outside. Instead, he simply wrote S. Leybourne .

He existed in a dream world until he received her reply. Train, visit Daisy, work. His routine was the same as ever, only Eliza was even more present than before. Her reply came two days later.

My dearest Simon,

You shall find me in half agony, half hope.

Yours faithfully,

E

He smiled when he read it. This time he’d closed the door as soon as he saw the envelope on his desk. He’d snatched it up and opened it before he’d even sat down. He did so now, however, sliding into the oxblood leather chair and devouring the words again.

Half agony, half hope.

He’d been all agony until reading it, knowing that the only way he would ever see her again would be when he happened to pass her in public.

Now, inexplicably, hope flickered to life.

There was no future for them. That was an unavoidable fact.

But that didn’t stop hope from igniting.

It did, however, stop him from writing her back.

Half agony, half hope.

The words became his mantra.