contact. This could be the break he needed. Only Huismans never showed and days of searching for someone who had seen him revealed nothing. All he had managed was to get Moreland drunk on numerous occasions. Now, there was a man you’d expect at a fight. Simon took great pleasure in bloodshed, as long as it was someone else’s.
If only the man weren’t an idiot. Simon had an increasing habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the more time they spent together the more apparent it became that any thoughts in Simon’s head were borrowed from someone else.
Damn.
It would have been so easy if Tristan could lay it all at Simon’s door. In didn’t hurt that Simon had a clear fascination with Marguerite. The more potted he became, the more he commented about Tristan’s delicious young wife.
Tristan pursed his lips in displeasure. Some of Simon’s comments passed all lines of decency. It had taken great restraint not to start his own fight. There would have been great pleasure in planting his fist in that smug face.
Only something had stopped him. He turned from the window and walked to his desk. Why had he not sent Simon crashing to the ground? Honor and appearance should have dictated it. He ignored the niggling feelings that there were even deeper reasons he had wanted to let his fists fly.
What had held him? He tapped a finger on the edge of the desk. He was still certain that Simon did not have the brains to mastermind this affair. He had come across many a man who pretended foolery to disguise a spinning mind, but Simon’s idiocy was too genuine. He might be leering, lecherous and even on occasion malicious, but he did not have a plotter’s mind. Any success he might encounter was either accidental or planned by his mother.
Planned by someone else. That was it. Simon could not be the schemer, but could he be the puppet?
Tristan’s tapping grew faster.
He placed the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. He still was far from having a completed picture, but things began to take shape. Simon attended both afternoon teas and gentleman’s clubs. He might not be the source of original thought, but he could certainly repeat it and pass it along.
The question then became, if Simon was the puppet, was he a marionette with strings that could be traced back to his master?
Tristan stopped tapping and walked back to the window. Marguerite had left the stable and was walking back to the house. She had proved able, if unwitting, at procuring the invitations he needed. Could he use her again?
He had seen Simon’s interest in her, and it could be used. How to best manipulate things to his best advantage? His belly roiled at the thought of using Marguerite in such a fashion, but he forced it down. It would not hurt her. She already spent time with Simon in public and all he would need to do was encourage it. If questions were planted in her mind and any information then retrieved, it would be no different than things he had done a thousand times before.
Only it didn’t feel the same.
He looked down at Marguerite. She looked so happy.
She had surely been angered by his abrupt departure, but hopefully his note had waylaid the worst of her displeasure. He’d used his very best technique and phrasing. No woman could stand long against sweet words.
It was time to make this a real marriage. He would not allow circumstance to waylay him further.
He peered out the window again. Marguerite had paused before entering the house. She stood staring at an early rose as if counting its petals. She had such intensity, such focus. To the idle eye she might seem to be going through the same rituals of any young society matron, but he saw the gleam of interest in her glance as she approached each task.
What would it be like to have such extreme interest focused directly on him? His body stirred at the thought. From the first moment he’d seen her at Rose’s house party he’d noticed the hidden passion in her. Their recent kisses had only heightened his assurance. Dear, sweet Marguerite had a tigress hiding within her and he was just the man to bring it out.
She stiffened suddenly and spun towards the house. She must have realized how long she’d spent flower gazing.
He turned towards the door with a spring in his step,