“It is nothing now.” His grip tightened on her, in warning,she supposed.
She was undeterred. “What was it before now?”
Suddenly, he went from teasing to stormy. “I don’t wish tospeak of it.”
“I’m sure you don’t. But there’s a reason for secretingyourself away in here,” she persisted.
He dropped her hand, pivoting abruptly to give her his back.“I abhor your American sense of persistence.”
“And I dislike your English sense of avoidance,” shecountered. “You cannot hide forever. Tell me, Simon. You can trust me.”
“Can I?” He turned back to her. “In my experience, thefairer sex is furthest from trustworthy.”
She wished she could see his eyes, but the dimness of thechamber rendered it impossible. “Of course you can. I am not Lady Billingsley.”His former mistress had hurt him, Maggie knew.
“You most definitely are not.” His voice was solemn.
She couldn’t tell if he was paying her a compliment or aninsult, but she decided on the former. “What is this chamber?” she asked again,refusing to allow him to dodge her question. There was a reason for him to havehidden himself away in a dusty old-furniture-laden room. She was determined toknow what it was.
He was silent for a few heartbeats and she feared hewouldn’t answer her. Then, his gruff voice split the uneasy quiet. “It was mymother’s sitting room.”
His mother. Surprise flitted through her, mingling withcompassion. She knew little of the previous Marchioness of Sandhurst other thanthe facts related to her by Mrs. Keynes, who had been a retainer at DenverHouse for nearly forty years. Simon’s mother had died in childbirth when he wasa lad. Beyond that stark truth, she hadn’t much information.
She placed a hand on his arm, the need to comfort him animpulse as strong as it likely was wrong. “How long has it been closed?”
“Fifteen years, I suppose.” The breath escaped from him in along, weary sigh. “I was but a lad. I’ve never had the heart to change it. Thisis the first time I’ve been inside this chamber since her death. Damn odd howso many years can pass and yet upon return, it’s as if no time has gone atall.”
His sadness was palpable. Maggie was moved by this rare showof emotion from her otherwise guarded husband. She yearned to take him in herarms, but she was afraid to allow her complicated feelings for him to deepenmore than they already had.
She pulled her hand away, needing to put some reason anddistance between them. “Memories are like a book you’ve already read. You mayforget the details, but once you delve back into the pages, it all returns toyou.”
He considered her through the half-light. “You’resurprisingly sage for a woman of your tender years.”
She was twenty-two, and she didn’t think that to be terriblyyoung, particularly since he was only five years her senior. “I do have amind,” she pointed out. While she was aware that it wasn’t always fashionablefor women to possess sharp wits, she had never been wont to hide her intellect.
“And it is indeed a worthy one. I begin to see just howgravely I underestimated you, my dear.” He startled her by reaching out andcaressing her cheek.
A small shiver laced through her at his touch. “Have youbeen hiding away in here the entire day?”
“No. I’ve been wandering. Confronting old ghosts, Isuppose.” His thumb brushed her lower lip.
She stilled, her heart thumping madly. “Perhaps you oughtnot to confront them alone.”
“Christ.” He took her in his arms then, crushing her to himand burying his face in her neck. “How can you be so bloody kind?”
“I’m not kind,” she denied, trying not to be affected by hislips on her skin and failing horridly. “My younger brother and sister wouldattest to that.”
His grip on her tensed. “I was to have had a brother as well.My mother died bearing him, and he died two days later.”
She embraced him despite herself, putting aside her mind’sfrantic call to protect her heart. How could she deny him solace when he wasshowing his humanity for the very first time? He seemed suddenly fragile, thecomplete opposite of the cool man she’d come to know. “It must have been verydifficult for a boy to lose his mother and brother so abruptly.”
His face remained pressed to her throat. “My mother was agentle soul. She deserved far better than to die alone in the countryside whilemy father was gadding about with his paramour.”
Maggie rubbed his back in soothing motions. He wore only ashirt, no jacket, entirely divested of his polite trappings. There was awildness emanating from him, as if all the pain he’d buried was boiling to thesurface. She suddenly felt as if she understood him—perhaps even better than heunderstood himself—for the first time.
“I’m sorry, Simon.” It was all she could say. Words couldnot rewrite his past, the sadness that had run through his life as if it were ariver. Very likely, it had washed away much in its path.
“You needn’t be sorry. Life has its way of righting wrongs.My father died the year after in his mistress’s arms. Apoplexy, the doctorsaid. A fitting end.”
