“Shall we retire to the parlor for cards?” Emma said, rising with a smile for James. “The gentleman will take their port after.”
The crowd rose, pairing off as one did at these things. Simon glanced down to see Graham taking the Dowager Duchess of Abernathe’s arm, which left him free to escort Meg. He stood as she did, holding out his elbow.
“Walk with me?” he asked.
Once again there was a flicker of dark emotion across her face and she shrugged. “I suppose.”
She didn’t take his arm, though, as she had a dozen times, a hundred times. Instead she stepped out, trailing behind the others and leaving him to hustle to catch up with her. When he fell into step, he looked at her from the corner of his eye.
“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked.
She barked out a humorless laugh. “Never. Never once, Simon.”
He wrinkled his brow at her sharp tone. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t want it. “Meg,” he said, catching her arm and turning her toward him. “What is it?”
She blinked up at him, and once again there were tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She shook her head. “You are so blissfully unaware, Simon. IwishI could be like you.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, his tone sharpening as his defenses came up. Her voice was so strained, her expression so hard and accusatory, but she would not explain herself, only make veiled accusations.
She carefully pulled her arm from his grasp and took a long step back. “It means nothing, Simon,” she said with a sigh. “You have done nothing wrong. I am out of sorts. I apologize. Now I must catch up with the others. Just…just good night.”
He watched her as she turned away and hurried up the hallway. He bent his head, uncertain if he should follow and continue this conversation or let her go. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him at present.
“Going to stand there all day or do you want to sneak into the parlor and have a bit of a drink with me?”
He turned to find Robert Smithton, Duke of Roseford, grinning at him. Once more Simon looked down the hall where Meg had gone, then he shrugged.
“It might be more fun than watching the games,” he said.
“Might? You underestimate me, Crestwood,” Robert said as he slung an arm around Simon’s shoulder and all but dragged him to one of the adjoining rooms.
Simon shut the door as Roseford went to the sideboard and bent to shift the bottles beneath around. When he found what he sought, he let out a triumphant cry and lifted the bottle.
“Abernathe’s best scotch,” he said. “The one he hides away for special occasions.” With a wicked grin, Robert poured them both a large portion and then set the bottle aside.
“And what special occasion are we toasting?” Simon asked, trying to drag his thoughts from his encounter with Meg and failing.
“The fact that when Abernathe comes in here and sees the bottle nearly empty, he’ll curse our names?” Roseford teased. Then he lifted his glass with a shrug. “Or we could toast Northfield’s upcoming marriage to Margaret, if you prefer to be more traditional.”
Simon didn’t lift his glass but took a long slug of the scotch wordlessly. Roseford arched a brow as he did so and then took his own sip. “You’re pouting, Crestwood.”
Simon swallowed and glared at his friend. “Pouting? I’m a grown man, we do notpout.”
“Ask any governess. I’m certain she would recognize the signs right away,” Roseford said.
Simon shook his head. “If you were alone with a governess, you wouldn’t be asking her about me.”
Robert laughed. “Not if she were comely, no. And damn it, man, you used to be right there with me! I could always depend on you to be at my side when conquest was on my mind. Hell, you remember that pretty opera singer in London?”
Simon clenched his jaw, for he did remember. Years ago, he and Robert had prowled for women together. They’d always found plenty of willing partners. They’d even shared a few of them, including the singer he now referred to. He supposed Robert meant for the memory to excite him.
It didn’t. He thought of those times and knew what they really were to him. A way to forget Meg. A way that had never,everworked, for here he was, just as in love with her as ever. Just as hopeless in that love as ever. The future just as determined as ever.
Roseford tilted his head and speared Simon with a closer look. Now his expression went from teasing to concerned. Simon’s stomach turned. He’d already had a conversation about his heart with Idlewood—the last thing he wanted were words of comfort from Roseford of all people.
“You need to stop feeling this way,” Roseford said, his jaw set and his tone sharp.
Simon wrinkled his brow. “What way?”
