By contrast, Simon worried what people would say when they eventually saw him with Miss Strong. Would they approve of her appearance and conduct? Would they find her as stunning as he did? Would other women wish they were as pretty as she? Most importantly, would he mind if they didn’t?
Disgust raked through him. He hated that he had such contemplations – hated himself for caring so bloody much over which waistcoat he put on or whether his cravat was tied in the latest style. “According to some,” he told the countess without even thinking, “setting oneself apart, being different, is far more admirable than skittering after the Pied Piper’s tune.”
“To do so,” Lady Warwick murmured, “takes more courage than most possess.”
Dismayed by the unexpected insightfulness suggestive of self-deprecation, Simon failed to voice a response. He simply didn’t know what to say.
“Next please.”
Simon gave the clerk his full attention. “I would like to purchase a bouquet of roses. White, if possible.” Red seemed too romantic. A neutral color would be best.
Lady Warwick made a huffing sound from behind his right shoulder.
Simon felt his brow crease with annoyance. “You disapprove?”
“Well, it’s just a very predictable choice.”
Returning his attention to the clerk, Simon told her firmly. “A large bouquet of white roses would be much appreciated.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” the clerk said as she disappeared into a back room. She returned moments later with a gorgeous selection of half open white roses surrounded by long, leafy accent bits in a bright shade of green.
“They’re perfect.”
The clerk smiled with satisfaction. “I’ll just have them trimmed and tied with a bow.”
“Since you’ve no remaining female relations,” Lady Warwick murmured once Simon had paid for the flowers, “one cannot help but wonder who those might be for.”
He wanted to tell the nosy woman it was none of her damn business. Instead, he offered a private smile. “And if I have my way, you shall continue to do so indefinitely.”
Leaving her wide eyed and speechless, Simon exited the shop, bouquet in hand. A grin teased his lips. There was something wonderfully freeing about being less polite than people expected. Not rude. He’d never be that. Just a bit more blasé.
His grin widened. It finally felt as though he was starting to cast off the shackles with which he’d been bound his entire life. Not completely. He was still a gentleman, after all. But he was a gentleman with a newfound purpose – one with a scandalous secret waiting for him in his bachelor lair – and one who cared a little less for propriety today than he had the day before.
As a child, Simon had learned to follow orders – he’d been taught that there were rules of comportment one must adhere to. Obedience had been expected of him by both parents. Furthermore, Papa had served as an example of how an earl should behave, which was apparently without humor or any hint of emotion. Whenever he’d caught Simon playing, he’d reminded him in a somber tone that learning to be an earl was a serious business, upon which he’d ordered him back to his studies with the reminder that being a peer demanded sacrifice and dedication. There’s no room for frivolity or personal indulgences.
Simon shook his head in wonder. When he’d woken two days earlier, he’d been just as determined as ever to remain in the mold his parents had crafted for him. The last thing he’d expected was for it to start falling apart. And yet it had. Or at least that was how it felt in light of the sharp left turn his life had taken. But he was now on a secret mission – a potentially dangerous one – with a woman he’d only just met. And she a courtesan, no less.
It was ludicrous to think of. His friends would never believe him if he told them about it. They’d think he was spinning a tale for the sake of appearing more interesting than he was. And who could blame them? He’d never made a wrong move before, never let so much as a hint of disgrace attach itself to his name. Certainly, he’d gone out more since his mother’s passing, imbibed more, and enjoyed a few transgressions from time to time. Like putting his feet up on the table while reading a book, and slouching.
He cringed.
The very idea seemed horribly dull now when compared with what Miss Strong had to offer. With her, he was going to have an adventure. He could already feel it in his veins and the increased speed with which his heart pumped. It was terribly thrilling. The opportunity he’d not even known he’d been waiting for, to step up and be the hero for a change, had finally come.
His excitement was such he was almost racing toward the front door of Number Five Bedford Street by the time the house’s façade came into view. He climbed the front steps and fumbled a bit with the flowers while trying to find the key.
“Miss Strong?” he called once inside – another departure from his usual self since he’d always been taught it was uncouth to yell indoors. When she didn’t respond he tried again, this time while popping his head into the downstairs rooms.
All were empty.
Was it possible she still slept?
As unlikely as it seemed given the late hour, Simon climbed the stairs and approached her bedchamber door. He paused, frowned, pressed his ear to the wood in the hope of learning if she was awake or not. Stepping back, he stared at the door. And finally knocked.
No answer.
He knocked twice more before easing it open and peering inside. No sign of her here either.
Simon’s skin began cooling. A prickly sensation crept over his shoulders.
