lad’s lips twisted in contemplation. “I—I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
“It isn’t my secret. I mean, I’m not the one who did something,” he clarified. “It’s about—”
Simon lifted a hand, halting the boy’s words before he said too much. “Before you say something that can’t be unsaid and unheard, is it necessary to solve your problem that I know this secret?”
“That depends,” he said with a chuckle, then sobered and pierced Simon with his grey eyes. “Just how genuine is your love for my sister?”
17
The carriage ride back to Crumbles was uncomfortable. There was no better way to describe it. Simon and Rae sat on one side of the carriage, forced to look at Drake and Juliet’s amused expressions as their three eldest daughters enjoyed one last lemon ice on the way home.
“Did everyone have a good time?” Drake asked to no one in particular.
“I’d say some had a better time than others,” Juliet said airily before turning to her husband and waggling her eyebrows.
Drake shook his head.
“I learned to shoot a bow and arrow today,” Rae announced to stem their obvious speculation.
Juliet wagged a finger at her. “You’re not threatening your favorite sister, are you?”
Rae widened her eyes and brought her hands up to her chest. “I’d never threaten Jane or Dara.”
“But I’m fair game,” Juliet retorted. She nestled closer to her husband. “That’s all right. I’ll have Drake close by to protect me, lest you get any ideas during the night.”
“You don’t have to invent reasons for me to invite you to my room, darling,” Drake said, leading Juliet to blush like an innocent rather than the increasing matron she was. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather that you be.”
There were certain things in this life Rae didn’t want to hear. This was one of them. If she were Jane’s age, she could get away with sticking her fingers in her ears and singing loudly.
Beside her, Simon sat stock-still seemingly unaware of what was going on around him. She nudged him.
Slowly, Simon looked over at her. Something was different. She could see it in his eyes when he’d come back from talking to Peter. She bit her lip. More than anything she wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the right time.
The perfect opportunity didn’t present itself when they arrived back at Crumbles, either.
Tomorrow, she promised herself as she slipped into her bed and closed her eyes content to dream about Simon’s powerful embrace and warm kiss.
Simon had to leave.
Clenching his teeth, he tossed the last of the meager items he’d brought with him into his travel bag. Keeping constant company with Rae, the way she felt in his arms—and on his lap, and how her soft lips yielded under his, he couldn’t think of anything else, and that must have been obvious or Peter wouldn’t have so bluntly asked about Simon’s love for Rae.
For a man who’d been thrown over twice in a matter of weeks, that was a dangerous situation in which to find himself.
No. He blew out a deep breath and shoved his perfectly pressed lawn shirt into his travel bag. Though Isabelle and Lucy had both found their own happiness without him and hadn’t seemed overly distraught concerning him, Rae was different. She’d been hurt before and she was vulnerable. He had no business allowing them to become so close. Yes, they each needed the source of comfort the other provided: her with her bruised heart and him with his trampled pride, but he was wrong to encourage a closeness. The best thing for him to do would be to leave.
Which is exactly what he planned to do as soon as he shoved his dove breeches into his travel bag. There. He folded down the flap and quickly fastened it, then slung it over his shoulder, blew out the single candle in the sconce closest to the door and slowly pulled the door open just wide enough for him to slip out. In a place named Crumbles, squeaky doors were expected.
As were groaning floorboards.
Tap. The toe of Simon’s right boot hit the floor in the hall. He pushed down with just a hint of pressure, praying no noise would emanate from the floor. None. Sighing with relief, he lowered his right heel down, then slowly eased all of his weight onto that one foot then extended his left foot forward. He poked the floorboard a stride ahead of him— squeak. He yanked that foot up—but not too high. It’d be damned awkward