Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor #3) - Rose Gordon Page 0,8
the ballroom. Nor did it matter that she'd danced with three other eligible gentleman. All Brooke seemed to remember was Rae's disastrous dance with Simon Appleton.
“Henrietta, you are going to make the best match of the Season,” Brooke chirped with a happy clap of her hands, then gestured for Rae to turn around so she could unbutton her gown.
Rae obliged. “You didn’t have to dismiss Charlie so soon.”
“Nonsense,” Brooke murmured, unbuttoning the back of Rae’s gown.
“I’m sure Andrew doesn’t think it’s nonsense.”
“Oh, he’ll be rewarded quite handsomely later,” Brooke said.
Rae released a breath that had been restricted by her gown. “Does he find some sort of bizarre satisfaction in hearing about my husband hunting?”
“Well, no,” Brooke admitted, pulling loose the knot at the top of Rae’s corset. “He’s more fascinated at your attempts to escape.” She met Rae’s eyes in the mirror and pursed her lips. “Particularly me.” A smile spread her lips. “But this time I think I have you.”
“Have me?”
Brooke nodded. “Somehow you’ve managed to avoid my matchmaking attempts, but you’ve come to the end of your time.”
“Perhaps the reason I’ve managed to escape is because I truly don’t want to get married,” Rae said, stepping out of her gown and corset.
“Poppycock,” Brooke waved her off. “You might think you don’t want to be married—but believe me, you’ll enjoy it.” A wistful expression came over her face. “I know I do.”
“And what of the others you tricked into marriage?” Rae asked, biting her lip. She didn’t intend for that to sound unkind and prayed Brooke understood.
“Should I invite them over and you can ask th—” A grin as wide as the Thames came across Brooke’s face. “The house party!” she said suddenly, as if that was supposed to mean anything.
“House party?” Rae asked tentatively. “What house party?”
“The one Caroline hosts every year,” Brooke said as casually as if she were talking about the weather. Kicking off her slippers, she started pacing the floor, touching each of her four fingertips against the end of her thumb. She bit her lip. “Close,” she murmured under her breath.
“Close?” Rae knit her brows. “What is close?” Other than her impending doom which seemed to be creeping upon her more by the second.
“We only have five days before we leave for Watson Estate, but that should be enough time…” She started pacing again.
Pushing aside the mounting panic that was threatening to overcome her, Rae put her hands on Brooke’s shoulders, staying her. “Enough time for what?”
“To visit the modiste and have you made up a husband-snagging wardrobe—” she winked— “and a trousseau.”
Rae would have groaned if she didn’t think that would only encourage Brooke more. “There is no need to go through any trouble,” she said as easily as she could, her mind racing. A trousseau!
“Oh, no you don’t,” Brooke said, wagging a finger at her. “Caroline’s house party is the perfect place to snare Mr. Appleton.” She plopped down on the edge of Rae’s feather mattress. “The majority of the female guests will either be married or too old to bother with pursuing your Mr. Appleton.”
“My Mr. Appleton,” Rae choked, jabbing her finger in the middle of her chest. “He’s not mine.”
“Not yet,” Brooke agreed with a wicked grin. “But he will be.”
“No, he won’t,” Rae argued. Truly, Brooke was being more exacerbating tonight than ever before.
Shrugging, Brooke said, “Believe what you want, but I do declare you’ll be Mrs. Simon Appleton before the end of the Season.”
4
If ever there was a time when Simon wished he lived alone—this was it, he thought as he climbed the steps that led to his parents’ townhouse.
The past month had been one disaster after another, and the last twelve hours the worst part of it.
From the back recesses of his mind a memory of the ball he’d attended before risking an unholy amount of money placing bets at his club flashed in his mind, or more precisely the image of a certain young lady. His…odd…encounter with Miss Henrietta Hughes, or Rae as he now thought of her, had been the most enjoyable moment he’d had since April.
That was how bad his life had become.
Ever-so-carefully, he slid his key into the lock on his front door and unlocked it then just as carefully, he eased open the heavy door and slipped inside before closing it with a deliberate slowness that would make it impossible for the door to—
CREAK!
Damn. Only two inches shy of securely pushing the door back into its doorframe, no less.