The Scarlet Bride (25 page)

“Thank you.” The maid nodded and left them.

Simon waited until they were alone before leaning forward on his elbows. “I had a bit of trouble sleeping with your backside pressed intimately against me.”

Laura flushed and lifted her nose. “I was quite properly clothed and wrapped in a blanket.” Her mouth twitched. “I do thank you for behaving. You were a perfect gentleman.”

He snorted. “The bane of a proper upbringing, I assure you. I would have preferred we’d been naked and doing much more than sleeping.”

She grinned. That he had behaved showed that he respected her and her wishes. Then she flushed, remembering his hand between her legs. Though he wasn’t quite the pillar of propriety, at least he’d tried. “Unfortunately, I will never have the chance to thank your mother for raising such a gentleman.”

Cocking a brow, he went back to his reading while Laura ate everything on her plate and returned to the buffet for another tart. She made no apologies for her hearty appetite. She was famished. When she’d finished, she cleared her throat.

Simon peered at her over the paper. “Yes?”

“I should get back to the school. Sophie will worry.” She looked down at her dress. “And I would like to wash and change. I fear I am a bit rumpled.”

Simon looked her over. “You look lovely.”

“Next to you, I am a drab mouse.” It was true. He wore a pair of cream breeches and a gray and cream striped waistcoat over a white shirt. His matching white cravat was perfectly tied and his cheeks freshly shaven. A charcoal gray coat hung casually over the chair behind him. “You must have dressed elsewhere. I didn’t hear a sound.”

“I didn’t want to wake you. Your snores indicated your need for rest.” His mouth twitched.

Her nose went up. “I do not snore.” She knew he teased and found enjoyment in the easy banter on the pretty morning. After the strain of last evening, she needed a reprieve from the gloom of the case.

“I sent around a note to your Sophie, so all is well.” He waved a hand at the footman lingering in the doorway and the man hurried over. “See that a bath is prepared for Miss Prescott and a clean gown found for her. My sister is about the same size.”

“Yes, sir.” The man walked away.

Laura opened her mouth. “I cannot stay here. It’s unseemly. I am without a chaperone.”

“There are plenty of servants to keep your reputation intact,” he said, handily dismissing her concerns. He stood, rounded the table, and pulled out her chair.

“Servants are not the same as a chaperone and you well know it.” She stood and faced him. “Your family will not be pleased when they hear gossip about the woman who stayed here when they were away. Who knows what they will think.”

“I shall explain that I found you lost in the fog and came to your rescue,” Simon teased.

“Not amusing.” She crossed her arms. “I insist you return me to the school before my already tarnished reputation rusts completely through.”

He frowned. The stubborn set of her jaw told him she was willing to fight over this. He sighed. “You may stay at the school for as long as you are safe. If I sense danger, you will move in here.”

Her body relaxed. “I shall get my gloves.”

“Not until we have found you a dress.” At her puzzled look, he continued, “If we are to attend the ball at Collingwood House, then you must be dressed properly.”

Laura blanched. She’d forgotten the plan to look for auction guests. Suddenly, the day dimmed. “I will not be a guest. Not even Miss Eva would risk her social standing for me.”

“You needn’t worry about Eva. And no, you will not be a guest.” Simon led her from the room and up the stairs. “You will be in disguise. You’ll not need to worry about discovery.”

Laura’s stomach soured. “It would be better if I watched the festivities from a landing above, or perhaps behind draperies. I cannot be seen; it is too high a risk.”

Simon shook his head as he led her into his sister’s room. A tub had been placed near the fireplace and a maid was laying out a towel on a chair. They stepped aside as the trio of footmen carried in buckets of steaming water and poured them out. Finished, they left again.

“It will be too difficult to spy when hiding behind draperies,” Simon insisted. They watched as the footmen returned and finished filling the tub. “Trust me, you’ll be perfectly safe.” He nudged her toward the waiting maid. “I’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.”

Laura’s scowl was her reply.

A
n hour and a half later, Laura came down the staircase, washed and fluffed and wearing a pale rose, slightly too long walking dress. Her hair was in a twist at her nape, and a small reticule dangled from her gloved wrist.

The frown changed to a grin. He knew she’d purposefully made him wait the extra half hour to irk him. But she looked so lovely that he couldn’t hold on to his annoyance.

“I don’t think Brenna has ever worn that dress quite so well,” he remarked, admiring the fit. The bodice skimmed over her curves downward to where a matching rose ribbon circled her small waist.

“I really don’t think taking me out is wise.” She moved the reticule to her other wrist. “What if I am spotted by someone who knows me?”

Simon moved to take her hand. “The chance of recognition is small. Didn’t you say that the earl never took you out in public? One ride through the city doesn’t count. With the murder hanging over his little band of slavers and wretches, no one would dare come forward to admit knowing you, or become a suspect himself.”

“Still, I am not comfortable with being seen publicly.”

The anxiousness in her voice was clear. He looked around and found a solution. He walked over to a row of pegs by the door, removed the largest bonnet he could find from the row, and returned to place it on her head. “If you keep your head down, no one will suspect that you are the infamous Sabine, former courtesan and murderess.”

Laura tipped her head back and met his eyes. “I do not find your humor amusing.” She thinned her lips and adjusted the bonnet. “You’d better take care or you may be my next victim.”

He chuckled and leaned down. The light scent of lavender swirled around her. “I will gladly fall at your hand, but only if you tie me up and torture me first.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Laura shook her head. “You are horrible. I am a wanted murderess and still you cannot refrain from making light of the matter.”

Reaching for her hand, he pressed a kiss on her gloved knuckles. “I jest to keep you from too much worry. I promise you, love, that we will find the real killer. Then you’ll never again need to fret that your life, and neck, are in danger. You will be free to pursue whatever future suits you.”

Her scowl faded. “Putting this matter behind me does sound wonderful. Still, we may never find the killer. He may hide away, never to kill again.”

Though Simon suspected the killer was not finished, he wasn’t about to admit his feelings. “Hopefully with your help we can find at least one member of the auction party. Smoot turned us to a new avenue of investigation. If he was
the victim of Westwick’s killer, there may be others who are in danger. Following a trail of bodies will eventually lead to the trail’s end and the culprit.”

Despite his assurance, she didn’t appear willing to forgive him his jests. He sobered. “Darling Laura, I promise you that I take this situation very seriously.”

Skepticism etched her features. “I would feel more secure if you explained the reason for this outing.”

He took her arm and turned her toward the door. “All in good time, Laura; all in good time.”

T
he dress shop was not crowded when Simon led her through the door. The scent of something exotic assailed her senses, as if the proprietress had sprinkled French perfume throughout the space. She nearly sneezed. “Someone should take away her perfume bottles.”

“The widow Jensen likes to give the allusion of having been born on some exotic shore.” He leaned in. “I have it on good authority that she was born to a merchant in Bath.”

Laura looked around at the fashionable array of gowns displayed throughout the large room. “Then we shall allow her to continue her ruse. She is obviously a very talented seamstress.”

“Indeed she is,” Simon agreed. He glanced around the room. “I see a green silk that would look splendid on you.”

She glanced up. “Should you desire to purchase it on my behalf, you will forget that notion. I cannot accept gifts from any man. Not even you.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of insulting your sense of propriety with gifts.”

H
is tone convinced Laura that he had more than considered purchasing her a gown. Despite his words to the contrary, he’d likely been mentally counting the coins in his pocket.

Unwilling to argue, she let the matter drop.

It was early enough for the truly fashionable ladies to still be abed, so the shop was empty of customers. There was a flutter of activity from the back of the shop and a small woman burst from an open door. Clearly flustered, she mumbled something about not being able to find good assistants and hurried toward them.

At the sight of Simon, her eyes lit up. “Mister Harrington,” she exclaimed and clapped her hands together. “It has been far too long since you’ve graced my humble establishment.”

Simon gave her a knee-melting grin. “Sadly, Mrs. Jensen, other obligations have kept me from seeking out your talents.”

The woman giggled girlishly. “You flatter me.”

“I speak the truth,” Simon countered. “You are the best seamstress in London. That is why we’ve come today.”

Laura frowned as the woman finally jerked her eyes from Simon and turned to her. There was a flicker of jealousy in the pretty woman’s face, which she quickly masked. “I see that situation has changed. She is lovely.”

Immediately, Laura knew
exactly
what sort of services had previously brought Simon to the shop. The woman thought she was a mistress he needed fitted for a new wardrobe. There was a gleam in the proprietress’s eyes in anticipation of a large sale.

A prickle moved from the back of Laura’s neck and down her spine. She stiffened at the unintended insult.

As if reading Laura’s thoughts, Simon quickly stepped between them. “I fear that you’ve mistaken the reason for our visit, Mrs. Jensen.” The woman’s face fell when he explained to her what he wanted. “We need a drab gown of an uninteresting color. Gray, brown, or tan would suit.”

“Surely you would rather have something in blue?” the proprietress protested. “Or I have a delightful gown in yellow.”

Simon shook his head. “Just the one I requested.”

As she slunk off to find something befitting his request,
annoyance flooded through Laura. Her curiosity about the dress vanished under more pressing concerns.

“Do you often buy clothes for young women?” At his innocent expression, her annoyance notched up a peg or two. “This shop obviously caters to women. Unless you have a secret proclivity toward wearing garters under your breeches, then you have shopped here for someone other than yourself.”

Simon smiled. “I may have passed through here a time or two. Mistresses do enjoy beautiful things.”

She cocked her head. “How many mistresses have you had?”

His eyes filled with mischief. “Dozens.”

Though she knew he was teasing her again, she didn’t like the idea of his keeping multiple mistresses. Worse yet, that she’d been mistaken for one.

Until recently, she’d never given much thought to the institution of kept women. Men had always dallied with women outside of their marriages. However, after spending time at the school, her eyes had been opened wide. She felt sad for both the wives, for being tied to unfaithful scoundrels, and the mistresses, for having to sell themselves to survive.

Something in her face sobered him. He tipped up her chin. “There were only two, Laura.” He released her. “Eventually, I will inherit the title and carry the responsibility for my entire family. I’ve felt the weight of it since Noelle’s father died without sons and the line grew shorter. So if I ran a bit wild in my youth, I’ll not apologize for those years.”

Looking into his eyes, Laura understood his plight. She, too, had borne the burden of family while caring for her ailing father. His was just on a grander scale.

“Hmm. I’ve wondered about your protective nature. You see yourself as responsible for the welfare of everyone around you. You’ll vanquish our enemies and keep us all safe.”

“Brenna calls me overprotective.”

“She is correct. Would you care to explain why?”

Simon took a moment before speaking. “When she was seven, Brenna nearly drowned in a pond. I should have been watching her. Instead, I was watching Miss Lizzy Mapplethorpe. I carry the guilt always.”

This certainly explained much about him. “Is that when you donned your armor and started your knightly duties of saving damsels from dragons?”

He frowned. “No. It just made it worse.”

Laura laughed lightly. “Then you were born to the sword. You, Mister Harrington, live in the wrong century.” She imagined him on a great horse, dressed for war, wielding his weapons with skill and dexterity. A little shiver prickled through her as the image changed to his return to the castle to take his reward for keeping away invaders—tossing his lady over his shoulder and carrying her to his bed.

Curiously, the lady in the image resembled her.

“Perhaps,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I have a feeling that you admire both my sword wielding and my persistence. If not for both, we would have never met.”

Thinking about his steely sword quickened her pulse and sent parts of her twitching. Fortunately,
that
wasn’t the sword he was speaking of.

“True. You did save me. My rescue had to appeal to your desire to protect. As for persistence, no matter how many times I tried to dissuade you from befriending me, you always returned. I cannot seem to rid myself of you.”

Simon grinned. “You are not the least put off by my attentions. Perhaps at first. Not anymore.”

After a pause, Laura shrugged. “You are pleasant to look at, if nothing else.”

“When I pulled you onto my horse, I could not know what a tart-tongued termagant you would prove to be. It is trying to be your friend.”