So why did he feel as though he were offering up betrayal of the worst kind? He should feel proud. He’d done his duty and, as usual, succeeded where others had failed. But this time all he felt was a hollow ache.
Haunting turquoise eyes filled his mind. A frail face masking underlying steel, and a softness that was deceptive. She’d been hurt enough already, and here he was prepared to hand her over to the prince like a piece of prime meat at the market.
Kirk slapped him on the back. “Go home and get some sleep. You look like hell, and you have an early appointment with the regent.”
Simon nodded at Kirk and took his leave from the building that had housed their offices the last five years. In a nondescript location, it was a far cry from the usual comforts of an earl. But then his own townhouse was located in an area that catered more to merchants, doctors and solicitors than members of the aristocracy.
As he climbed into his carriage, he spared a thought for what his life might be like had he embraced the path of his forebears. A house in Mayfair when Parliament was in session. His country estate in Hertfordshire just north of London during the off season. Countless society affairs. Vain, spoiled women all vying for his money and prestige, not to mention the title of Countess of Merrick.
All things his brother would gladly have embraced. Or so he thought. Sadness and anger swirled within him and made his chest tighten.Why Edward? Why did you do it?
His father, who had never had much to do with him before his brother’s death, had turned to him in the months following Edward’s passing. Implored him to come home and take up the life expected of a future earl.
The earl had made great strides to overcome the insurmountable breach between him and Simon—as if a few well-placed words could overcome a lifetime of ignoring his youngest son. It was too little too late.
By then Simon had been too ensconced in his position with the agency to give it up so readily. And too resentful that a father who had never deemed him worthy now expected him to drop everything and return to the fold.
Simon had grown up alone, despite having Edward and his father close by. Perhaps it was why he could sympathize with the princess’s plight. He knew all too well the discomfort of solitude even if he had grown to prefer it.
His father had never forgiven him the fact that his mother had died giving birth to him. From his earliest memories, he felt his father’s resentment, his determination to lavish all his attention and love on Edward. Always Edward. Would things have been different had his mother not died? Would they have enjoyed the closeness of family life had she survived?
In the end, a title his father never thought him worthy to hold became his when, less than a year after Edward’s death, his father died in his sleep. They had never reconciled. Simon had never gotten the chance to ask him why.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home, he sighed, a heavy melancholy settling over him like a black cloud on a spring day. No matter how much he resigned himself to his future, he had yet to come to terms with it. He shook his head, trying to make the heavy cape of gloom dissipate around him. Maybe Kirk was right. Maybe he needed some time away from the agency. Time to sort out the mess he had inherited.
Wearily, he mounted the steps to his house and let himself in the door. The idea of hauling the princess to the palace against her will left a bad taste in his mouth.
He briefly flirted with the idea of letting the matter rest until morning, but by then she’d likely have found a way to escape again. Resolving to confront the recalcitrant princess, he strode up to his bedchamber and retrieved the key from his coat pocket.
As he opened the door, he felt a flash of guilt for disturbing her when she so obviously needed rest. But when he looked around the room, he found her standing at the window, her back to the door. She was still attired in the breeches he had found her in, and her bottom was clearly outlined by the tight material. Extremely tight material.
The soft contours of her body were there in all their glory for him to behold. He almost made a sound of disgust. Self-disgust. Because try as he might, he could not drag his gaze from her pleasing shape. He felt an odd stirring, not all together unpleasing, deep within the inner workings of his body.
The idea that anyone could possibly mistake her for a lad was laughable. She was fortunate that he had been the one to find her and not someone without her best interests at heart.
Her bare feet peeked out from the legs of the trousers, and he felt a moment’s guilt for having removed her boots. He made a mental note to make sure Mrs. Turnbull at least provided her with stockings.
When the door closed with a soft click, she whirled around, her long ebony hair swinging around her. Even in her state of dishabille she was magnificent. She fixed her gaze on him. “My jailor returns.”
“I see your disposition hasn’t improved in my absence.”
The shuttered look he had grown to hate closed over her face. He could well imagine the anger boiling beneath the calm façade though.
He sat down on the bed and met her stare head on. “I’ve tried what I can to make you trust me, and I realize that it’s not something I can earn in the short amount of time we’ve been acquainted. So I have no choice but to do as the crown directs me. In the morning, I will convey you to the palace for a private audience with the prince regent.”
“No.”
Her one word response took him by surprise, but then he had yet to be impressed with her verbosity.
“No? Perhaps you misunderstood me. I am not offering you a choice in the matter.”
A dull red flush worked slowly across her face. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “So you’ll sacrifice me for the sake of your duty?”
His brow furrowed and he studied her in confusion. “What is it you aren’t telling me, Princess? Because if you want something from me, now is the time to speak up. I can’t help you if you aren’t going to be completely honest with me.”
She bit her lip then opened and closed her mouth, clearly undecided as to whether or not she should confide in him. Finally she leveled a hard stare at him and said, “I suppose it matters not if you are to deliver me to the palace anyway. The fact is, your prince has already betrayed me once, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to not give him another chance to murder me.”
Isabella watched as Lord Merrick’s mouth fell open even as his eyes hardened. “That is a very serious charge.”
