She’ll never be yours unless you put a ring on her finger.
Impossible.
“I need to think,” he said while wishing she didn’t look quite so unapproachable. What he wanted most right now was to pull her into his arms and kiss her – remind her of how good they were together. But he sensed doing so would only make things worse. So he moved toward the door instead and gave her a solemn look. “We’ll discuss how to proceed from here when I return.”
Hating the argument they’d had and what it had done to their relationship, Simon exited the house and set off at a brisk pace. His world was crumbling around him, and he couldn’t seem to stop it. Muttering a string of curses, he turned onto The Strand. How the hell could everything have gone sideways so fast? This morning he’d been lying with her in his arms and now…
He shook his head and muttered another curse.
“Ho, there. Fielding!” Simon stopped, turned, and spotted Yates. The other man was walking fast, trying to catch up. “I thought it was you. It’s been a while since we last met. How are you?”
Simon took a second to ponder his answer. So much had happened lately he scarcely knew where to begin. Words like awful, hopeless, and furious came to mind. In the end, he chose to keep it simple. “Fine. And you?”
“I gather you’ve not had a chance to read this morning’s paper yet or you would know I’ve just gotten engaged.”
Simon blinked. “To Miss Harlowe?”
“Indeed.”
They resumed walking side by side at a moderate pace. “A happy occurrence, I hope?”
Yates angled his head toward him enough for Simon to see the sparkle in his eyes and the wide smile stretching across his face. Not the traits of a man who dreaded the idea of heading for the altar. “The very happiest.”
“Then I must congratulate you, Yates. Miss Harlowe is lucky to have you.”
“And I her.” They walked a few more paces before Yates said, “I know you cautioned me against the match. In a sense you’re right about her not being countess material.”
Good God. Had he really said that out loud? “My apologies to you both. It wasn’t my place to pass judgment.”
“Perhaps not, but I know you meant well, and your concern regarding the difficulties we’ll likely face did have merit. So I took your advice.”
Simon tried to recall the details of their conversation but failed. “And what was that?”
Yates grinned. “To think things through and decide if she’s worth it.”
“And she is?”
“Oh indeed. I can easily picture my life without any more invitations to Society events, but I can’t imagine one day without her.”
“So you love her.”
“Wholeheartedly. And I’ll expect to see you at the wedding.” They reached an intersecting street and crossed to the other side. “Now, I don’t mean to pry, but Hawthorne did mention his run in with you and a certain Miss Smith at the Huntley ball. Apparently, she turned out to be Miss Strong? Exciting stuff, I must say. Hawthorne said you were quite besotted and fiercely protective of her.”
“She…” Simon struggled to find the right words “…matters to me.”
Yates coughed as if he’d just choked on the air he was breathing. “All right. I’ll ask you about her again in a month from now when you figure out how you really feel.”
“What are you—”
“Give it time. It will come to you. Probably with as much shocking force as it did to me.” He patted Simon’s arm. “I’m headed in this direction. It was good seeing you again.”
Simon watched his friend walk away in baffled confusion. Was he not aware of who Ida was? Surely Hawthorne would have mentioned the incident at the ball. Or if not, Yates must have read about it in the papers.
But maybe Yates was so happy right now, floating along on his own fluffy cloud, that he’d missed it. Simon sighed and continued on his way. His encounter with Yates had instilled a peculiar sense of discomfort within him that made him feel worse than before, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
Chapter Sixteen
Staring across the dining room table at Simon that evening, Ida felt like an ocean existed between them. Whatever pain she’d experienced when he’d told Guthrie he couldn’t marry her, the argument that followed had exacerbated it. She loved him and she hated him. Both at the same time. The need for self-preservation told her she ought to cut ties with him now, and yet what she longed for most was for him to hold her, kiss her, make love to her until she forgot what they’d argued about in the first place.
