Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor #3) - Rose Gordon Page 0,47

as you’re contemplating how to flay him, you should know, the last time I saw Mr. Appleton, there was a heavy dose of love and torment swirling in his eyes.”

“Yes, I’m sure there was,” she said airily. “Apparently, the thought of loving me brings about great torment.”

18

Simon had never known torment akin to what he’d been experiencing since leaving Crumbles without first talking to Rae.

It’s better this way, he whispered to himself for no less than a hundredth time since his travel coach left the property. If he’d stayed at Crumbles to talk to her and explain why he was leaving, his resolve would have crumbled.

She didn’t deserve that. She deserved a man who wasn’t tainted by scandal or plagued with black thoughts. Rae deserved better than that. She should make a match with a gentleman she knew loved her and never wonder if his interest in her was only to fix himself.

With a sigh, he banged his head against the velvet squabs. That was the crux of it. While he’d certainly never felt that all-consuming, addicting heat when he’d touched or kissed or even been close to either Isabelle or Lucy, how could he know for sure he wasn’t attracted to Rae as a means to fill the void Giles has inadvertently created. Rae was the only lady who’d responded to him, after all. Who was to say his attraction to her was entirely pure? Not him, therefore, he had indeed made the right decision to leave under the cloak of darkness.

Ignoring the way his gut fisted and roiled at his thoughts, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying for slumber.

None came.

“You look like you’ve traveled to Hell and back,” Father commented without ceremony, wrenching the door open to the coach that hadn’t stopped in front of his office more than fifteen seconds earlier.

“No, Hell would be just down the street and over a few blocks,” he said lightly.

Father frowned. “You aren’t referencing Giles’ house as Hell, are you?”

Simon jumped down from the carriage with a scoff. “Of course not,” he muttered under his breath.

“Good. Come on inside, I need your help,” Father said, gesturing to their office building.

Perfect. If Father had work he needed help with, it would be the kind hard enough to be the best distraction.

Gripping the bottom of his coat and pulling in a half-hearted attempt at straightening his clothes, Simon followed Father into their office.

Phew. Simon let out a low whistle and shook his head. Stacks and stacks of papers covered the table in the side of Father’s office. “Have you forgotten how to do sums?” he teased his father, walking toward the overflowing table.

“No, I’ve been spending my time with something more important.”

“Lord Norcourt?” Simon guessed, waiting for that all too familiar bitter taste to flood his mouth at the mere mention of the man’s name.

Father sank down into his chair with a sigh. “I know you don’t like him, Simon, and—” something flickered in his green eyes— “whether you want to believe this, I do understand your dislike. But, he’s not going anywhere.”

“No, I suppose not. Mother is too attached.”

Father snorted. “As she should be. He is her child after all.”

“And you?”

Father started. “What about me?” he asked carefully.

Simon picked up a handful of papers and using his other arm, held them against his chest before reaching for another. “You’ve become attached to him as well, no?”

“He’s your mother’s son,” Father said quietly.

Simon twisted his lips and reached for another stack of paper. Since he'd first met Lord Norcourt, he’d suspected there was more of a familial connection that was being presented. Why didn’t his father acknowledge it? Did he not trust Simon enough to tell him the truth or did he not recognize the resemblance?

“Well, you keep finding ways to plump his coffers, and I’ll—”

“I’m not plumping his coffers,” Father said, a slight edge to his tone. “I’m trying to help him access them.”

Simon’s feet suddenly weighed a thousand pounds each, rooting him to the floor.

Sighing, Father tossed down the papers he was holding and then crossed his arms over his chest. “Son, for as much as you don’t like Giles’ mere presence, the man has enough problems without your disdain.”

“I don’t disdain him.”

“No?” Father’s sarcasm sliced Simon. “Your actions speak to the contrary.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, slightly surprised he didn’t choke on those words.

“As it would be, the previous Lord Norcourt has made it so Giles cannot have access to any of the funds due his title.” Pursing his lips, he