rakish ways?”
“No one in a very long time.”
“Someone who owes you money from gambling at your establishment?”
“Highly unlikely. Most of the men who owe me money settle their debts.”
“Then it begs the question, how would someone even know it was your carriage? There are no identifying marks on it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her gaze on him. “There must be someone who wishes you harm.”
The last thing he needed was her worrying over him. He would not tell her that it was the time of the month that he collected rents in this exact area. Many people knew his schedule. Any of them could have been paid by Park to unnerve him. He shrugged and looked outside as they came closer to St. James and Hell. “I wish I knew.”
“What would you do if you did know?”
Kill the bastard. Simon really shouldn’t say such a thing and frighten her. Still, his heart raced as he thought about what almost happened to her. It brought feelings to mind that he never sought or expected. Seeing the lines of worry around the tight, thin line of her lips made him wonder if she cared even a little for him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone truly loved him. Not that he needed her love. She was everything he didn’t want; spoiled, eager for a title, and.....
The most moral and correct of all the Drake sisters. At least, until recently. Her antics both frustrated and amused him. Thankfully, other than introducing herself to Simpson, he’d been able to contain her impetuous actions.
“I believe we have arrived,” he said as the carriage rolled to a stop.
“You haven’t answered my question.
“Nor will I.”
“I should return home,” she replied, staring down at her hands.
“Your clothing is still wet. Come in and dry for a while. If your mother hasn’t missed you yet, I doubt she will now.” Someone should scold her mother for the mistreatment of her youngest daughter. Perhaps after Louisa and Tessa's escapades, Mrs. Drake assumed there was no hope for sweet Emma.
He jumped down from the carriage and then held his hand out for her. If she paused again, he would take her home. Instead, she placed her orange-scented hand in his and disembarked the coach. The rain returned with a vengeance.
“Just until my dress is dry.”
“Of course,” he replied with a slight smile. The few steps to the back entrance of Hell had them both wet.
He led her inside as Riley opened the door with a scowl. “Is there a problem, Riley?”
“I just tossed another cheater out on his arse.” He looked over at Emma and added, “Excuse, miss.”
Simon almost laughed at Emma’s expression, not of shock but indignation.
“You did the right thing, Mr. Riley. As I was so elegantly reminded when I was tossed over the devil’s shoulder, ‘cheaters will not be tolerated in Hell.’”
She could remember that but not about asking him for a kiss.
Turning her gaze on Simon, she asked, “Why do you seem to have such an influx of cheaters, Kingsley?”
“I wish I knew.” Simon guided her up the stairs to his private rooms.
“Where are we going?”
“To my private rooms so you can change and let your clothing dry. There is no fire in my office yet.”
She faltered a step and then continued. “I do not need to change. A warm fire and a cup of your wonderful coffee will do.”
He opened the door and waved her into his sitting room. “Come along,” he said, seeing her hesitate. “I will ask Meg to help you out of your wet things and into a dressing gown.”
“No, the coffee and fire will do nicely.” She paused as her brows furrowed. “Meg has dressing gowns here?”
He laughed. “One of mine, angel.”
“Oh.” She walked closer to the dying fire and held her hands out.
Simon knew he should be thankful that she was being sensible about changing while in his company, but he didn’t want to see her ill. He tossed more coal onto the fire. Sparks flickered as the fire consumed the fuel.
“Coffee?” she asked with a smile. “I do so love that blend of yours.”
He nodded. “Of course. I shall ask Mrs. Tillman to make some for you.”
“Mrs. Tillman?”
“My cook and sometimes housekeeper.” After a brief nod, he left her alone while he notified Mrs. Tillman that he needed coffee for two and some biscuits in his room.
“At this hour?” she asked, stirring a pot of something. The older widow cast him a glare. “Don’t