Were they arguing about her?
Another woman might shout to get Simon’s attention, but as soon-to-be mistress of the Farrow home, she must act like a proper lady.
She brushed her hand over her skirt and rolled back her shoulders. Neither man needed to worry about his reputation. And no one was ruined. Once she straightened out the truth between them, she would promise discretion. And Simon knew she could be discreet. All of her time here, away from school, and no one except Professor Farrow suspected what had transpired between her and his son.
She tested the knob on the back door but didn’t bother to knock when she discovered it locked. Instead, the routine familiar, she opened a tiny slot under the bird feeder to remove a key. When the lock clicked, she let herself inside.
The men were still fighting, and she hated the professor for it. How dare he berate his son? Simon had done so much to help the old man. He shouldn’t have to bear the weight of his father’s failings.
She found the men in the parlor with Simon leaning against the black mantel, his handsome lips pressed together in frustration, a cigarette glowing orange in his hand. Professor Farrow sat stoic in his high-backed chair, hands folded on the lap of his worn smoking jacket as he stared at a portrait of his wife.
Izzy had no hope now of passing his literature class. Nothing to lose but so much to gain on behalf of the man who’d stolen her heart.
“Simon,” she whispered as she stepped into the room, not wanting to startle him.
He whirled so quickly that he almost fell. Then his gaze swung between her and his father. “Why are you here?”
A chill replaced the familiar warmth in his gaze, and she was livid atthe man sitting beside him, sucking the life out of his son. “I was worried that you didn’t get my message.”
If he had, Simon would have already found her on campus and made things right.
His loafer tapped the rug like he was pumping gas into his engine. “I’ve only just returned.”
“From Cleveland?”
The strain of a smile stretched across Simon’s face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help with your studies.”
What did he mean? She cared little about schoolwork anymore. Only about him.
Smoke clouded Simon’s face and then swept up to the chandelier when he took a drag on his cigarette.
Professor Farrow leaned forward. “You can stop the facade, Simon.”
“I don’t know—”
“Tell him your news, Miss Brooks.”
Darned if she was going to share any such thing with the professor in the room. While he might suspect, all she’d said was that she must speak to Simon, nothing else.
Simon released the mantel and took another drag. If they were alone, he would offer one to her, and how she could use it. Her nerves were all a jangle.
Then again, as the acrid haze billowed toward her, she eyed the path toward the bathroom. And she held her breath so she wouldn’t retch. Some things, this in particular, were a private matter.
“What news?” Simon asked.
The nausea passed with the clearing of smoke, and she straightened her scarf. A clear breath, her gaze steady on Simon. “I would like to speak with you alone.”
Professor Farrow stood, his back bent. “Did you spend the money?”
“Some of it,” she said, proud that she hadn’t squandered his cash on something frivolous like another girl might do.
The professor reached for the armchair to balance. If she didn’t know about his cruelty behind closed doors, she would feel sorry for the man. But Simon had told her the truth about Professor Farrow’s spitefulness, and she would defend her future husband against any enemy, including his own father who acted like he was still master of this place.
Which he wasn’t. The house had passed down through Mrs. Farrow’s family, straight to her youngest son when the woman died earlier this year. Izzy would never insist that Professor Farrow be evicted, but once she and Simon were married, the professor could relocate to the former caretaker’s house behind the garage so he wouldn’t harass either of them.
The men faced each other, Professor Farrow speaking first. “You’ve managed to find yourself in another bind.”
Simon crushed the cigarette in an ashtray. “Kindly stay out of my business.”
