Page 35

Twenty-Five

Simon was accustomed to hobnobbing with the upper crust. It was his job and he did it well.

He was able to seamlessly switch his accent to mimic theirs when he wanted.

He made use of their tailors on Savile Row and he dined in St. James’s when invited, but he rarely attended balls or other social functions.

He never felt comfortable in those sorts of settings where everyone stood around talking about their days at Eton or Cambridge or their latest trip to the Continent.

Mimicry wasn’t history. He hadn’t gone so far as to claim to be one of them.

He refused to make up a history that wasn’t his.

Which is why he generally avoided the events.

The wedding breakfast of Jacob Thorne to Camille, Dowager Duchess of Hereford, was the rare exception.

Thorne had asked him to come, and Simon hadn’t been able to refuse.

The man had taken him in and given him refuge from Brody.

Aside from that, they were friends. It wouldn’t have been right to miss it.

The Earl and Lady of Leigh had offered their home for the occasion.

Their home was situated in a neat row of white stone–fronted townhomes near Belgrave Square.

As Simon had heard it, Leigh had inherited this smaller but no less grand residence along with the title from their father, while Thorne had inherited the money and the mansion that had become Montague Club.

On this bright morning in July, an unexpected line of carriages had backed up around the square as people came and went from paying their regards to the happy couple.

The Season was nearly over because Parliament would be breaking for the summer in August, so many had already left Town for their country homes.

It was surprising to Simon that the marriage of an American duchess—former duchess now—to an aristocrat’s illegitimate son would garner so much attention, though it probably shouldn’t have been.

People had been talking about Camille ever since she had married her first husband, and Thorne was popular because of Montague Club.

With the town house in sight, Simon abandoned his carriage and tucked his gift under his arm.

It had been damned near impossible to sit still in the same carriage where he had taken Eliza only a week earlier.

He had a difficult time not reimagining her as it was.

In his quiet moments alone in his bedchamber, he swore that he could still smell her and taste her.

No amount of lemon oil could chase those intoxicating memories away.

The carriage only worsened things. He could hear her cries, feel her soft thighs beneath his hands, remember the way she so sweetly begged to be fucked.

He took in a deep breath and forced those images out of his mind, determined not to disgrace himself by arriving with an erection.

Picking up his walking pace to pass several couples making their way down the pavement, he hurried up the front steps to have his obligation done with as soon as possible.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to wish the couple well; it was that he was terrified of seeing Eliza.

A footman greeted him at the door, and he handed over the wrapped present, a pair of silver candlesticks that had cost him dearly since all of his pay was earmarked for Brody.

The next step would be to greet the bride and groom, then he’d make his way back out with, hopefully, none of the Doves the wiser.

The entry hall was massive with high ceilings and marble floors.

The walls were lined with white lacquer panels, broken by insets of blue wallpaper and priceless artwork.

He tried not to think how one of those paintings could purchase his and Daisy’s freedom.

Several groups of people hovered here, holding glasses of champagne and chatting.

He inclined his head in silent greeting to the few gentlemen he recognized. No Doves were present.

The front room off to the left was the designated spot for meeting the couple.

It was decorated in cheerful tones of yellow, gold, and the same blue from the hall.

Thorne and his wife stood at the far end, surrounded by well-wishers so that neither of them had noticed him yet.

Simon quickly scanned the room. The only Dove he saw was Devonworth’s wife.

She hadn’t seen him yet because she was deep in conversation with an older woman he didn’t recognize.

He made certain to stay behind her and out of her line of sight as he joined the short queue and prayed that it moved fast.

Every new person who entered the room made him flinch. It was as if he expected Eliza to pop out from behind a curtain. Finally, he made it to the front of the line.

Camille, now Mrs. Thorne, was dressed in white with a crown of orange blossoms. Her blond hair was pulled up attractively and she glowed with happiness. “Best wishes to you,” Simon said to them both.

Thorne shook his hand and they spoke for a few minutes about the entertainment establishment he had recently opened in Paris and their honeymoon plans.

Then it was time to move along because other people were waiting.

As he turned to leave, Thorne added, “Leigh and Rothschild are here, possibly in the drawing room.”

Simon promised to find them, but what he really intended was to find the door.

Lady Devonworth looked up from her conversation and her eyes sharpened with interest. He muttered a greeting as he walked past and resolved to leave.

He didn’t know how much of their relationship Eliza had shared with her sister, but if she had shared any of it, he imagined Cora would waste no time in telling her of his presence.

It was best to leave immediately. No good could come of seeing her again.

He paused at the threshold, intending to turn for the front door.

“Ah, there you are, Cavell.” A gentleman who was a club patron turned from the group of men he’d been conversing with to bring Simon into their huddle. “You’ve greeted the married couple, have you? Does this inspire you to wed? You’re getting on in years.”

The group laughed and he was forced to humor their quips as he claimed no desire to marry.

He might have been able to leave after a couple of badly done jests had Eliza not chosen that moment to appear from a room off the hall and dart into another one farther down.

She hadn’t looked in his direction, which meant she hadn’t seen him.

He could leave. But he was transfixed by her and what he had seen.

She wore a gown of pink silk with an overlay of what he thought was called tulle.

It was filmy and emphasized how the silk underneath clung to her form.

A moment later he was able to excuse himself from the group by claiming he’d seen another acquaintance he needed to speak with.

In truth he was mesmerized by her and she wasn’t even present in the hall anymore.

He’d take a quick peek into the room she’d disappeared into and quench his thirst for the sight of her.

She’d never have to see him. A passing footman all but shoved a glass of champagne into his hand and directed him to the breakfast buffet.

Simon took a glass, more to placate him than anything else, and continued down the hall.

He glanced inside to see that the room itself was small.

It was lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling and held a small desk that faced the window.

Lady Leigh was a writer; perhaps this is where she worked.

It was clearly an antechamber to a larger room that could be reached through an adjoining door, which he assumed was the drawing room Thorne had mentioned.

Eliza leaned casually against the desk as she spoke to Lady Leigh, who was very obviously with child.

Eliza looked up the moment he appeared in the doorway and came to attention. Lady Leigh looked over.

“Simon, I’m so very happy that you came.

” Lady Leigh had long since taken to calling him by his first name.

She demanded he address her as Violet, but he only did when they were in private company.

They were of similar age, and she had been very kind by advising him in current fashion and mannerisms. She came over and kissed him on the cheek.

“I wouldn’t miss it. It’s good to see them both happy.” Though he spoke to Violet when he asked, “How are you feeling?” his gaze went back to Eliza, pulled there against his will.

“I’m well, thank you.” She must have realized his true focus, because she said, “Simon, this is Miss Eliza Dove.”

“We’ve met.” He’d shagged her in a carriage, to be more precise, but no one could know that but them. “How do you do, Miss Dove?”

“That’s right. I forgot that you worked for Devonworth for a brief time. I’m glad that whole situation has been put to bed,” Violet said.

“Hello, Mr. Cavell,” Eliza said. Her voice was calm but she fidgeted with her skirt. “It’s good to see you again.” Her cheeks were flushed.

How were they supposed to stand here and make small talk with others when he knew her taste and how distinctly she gripped his cock?

Or that as she stood there her anatomy was such that the pink inner flesh of her cunt would be distended from between her lips like an erotic taunting and he knew exactly how she liked to be sucked and licked? It was torture.

He hadn’t said anything. He’d been too busy imagining what was hidden beneath her gown. “I’m happy to see you again, as well.”

Violet stared at him.

He struggled to remember where they were and why they had come to be here. “Did you…did you enjoy the c-ceremony, Lady Leigh?” He downed half the champagne in his glass.