Passions of a Gentleman (Gentlemen of Honor #3) - Rose Gordon Page 0,9

already and come see me, boy,” came Father’s voice from the hall.

Begrudgingly, Simon gave the door a harder-than-necessary tap, leading it to all but slam closed. Releasing a deep breath, he turned the lock in the door then walked toward his father.

“I apologize if I woke you,” he offered, lumbering into Father’s dimly lit study.

Father snorted. “Do you have another for if you made your mother force me to stay awake until you came home?”

Simon drew his brows together. “Another what?”

“Forced apology,” Father said. He waved his hand in the air. “Never mind that. I’m tired and you’re finally here.”

“Then what do you say that we both go to bed and tell Mother you waited for me?”

Father poked out his bottom lip. “I take it you’d consider our last few exchanges the talking she was insistent we do, too?”

Simon nodded. “Sounds logical to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t to me.”

Every muscle Simon possessed tightened at the sound of his mother’s voice. The feeling didn't flee when she walked into the room and came to stand beside Father. Three tiny flames sent a low glow through the room, allowing Simon to see the dark circles under the eyes of both his parents.

“Simon, about today,” his mother started, wringing her hands.

“There’s nothing more to say about it,” he said quickly. The last thing he wished to do was to discuss with his mother what an ass he’d made of himself to the woman who was now happily—and willingly—betrothed to Simon’s half-brother.

“Simon, Lucy and Giles—”

Simon held up his hand. “Stop. Please, I pray you.” He lowered his hand to his lap. Truthfully, he didn’t care so much about Lucy’s interest in Giles. It was—

“Let me explain—”

Simon pushed to his feet, the screech of the feet of the chair he’d vacated against the floor kept him from hearing whatever nonsense she was about to spout. A stab of shame pierced his heart. He’d never harbored such harsh feelings against his mother before. He pushed away the guilt. She deserved it for all of her deceit and careless disregard for her own son.

“Mother, as I said, there is nothing more to explain,” Simon said coldly. He nodded his head in both of their directions, “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

Mother opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it with a sharp snap when Father placed his hand on her forearm.

Sunup did not come soon enough.

Simon was up, dressed, and waiting on Mr. Nelson’s stoop before the first rays of sunlight lit the street.

Mr. Nelson had always tried to tempt Simon into leasing some of the finest bachelor’s lodgings in all of London. With his parent’s townhouse only a block from the investment office Simon shared with his father, he hadn't seen the necessity in keeping his own lodgings just yet.

Last night, he’d finally seen the necessity, and the sooner Mr. Nelson could find him a townhouse, the better.

“Finally came to your senses, eh, Appleton?” Mr. Nelson teased, unlocking the front door to his office.

Simon walked inside removing his hat. “You could say that.”

Mr. Nelson gestured to the two wing-backed chairs in his office. “I don’t suppose a recent newspaper altered this decision.”

“Might.” Simon fell into one of the chairs, too tired to care how Mr. Nelson even knew about his failed courtship of Lucy Whitaker. He winced. Damn. He’d forgotten how rigid Nelson’s chairs were.

The man’s house was nicer than the Grenier Hotel, but he was too blasted cheap to spend a shilling more than he absolutely must to make his office comfortable, offering his clients two splintered chairs to select their torture from. Nelson’s desk was in similar disrepair. The top was stained with ink, coffee, and whiskey and if Simon wasn’t mistaken at least two of the desk legs had a book—each of a different height—shoved under it to keep it somewhat stable.

“Damned bastard fly. Letting himself in here and not offering pay rent,” the grey-headed man grumbled as he slipped on his wire spectacles then took a seat opposite the desk from Simon. “I just need a few details.” He licked his finger then leafed through a small messy stack of papers on his desk. Finding the page he wanted, he yanked it out and shoved the rest aside.

“I’ll be honest, Nelson, I’m not too selective.”

Nelson harrumphed.

If Simon weren’t in such a testy mood already, he might implore Nelson to explain himself. Instead, he just answered the man’s questions about location and price range and ducked every now