Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You’re brooding, Linwood,” Rowan said as the two gentlemen sat in the former’s study. Simon had slipped away early that morning.
He sat opposite his friend, one ankle casually crossed over his knee, his fingers idly rolling the glass of whiskey between them.
Simon scoffed, “I am thinking.”
“That’s what I said,” Rowan smirked. “Do you finally have a lead? More information?”
Simon exhaled slowly. It was a difficult topic for him—even now, many years later.
“It is enough to confirm what we already suspected.”
“That the person who ordered the hit on your parents is a member of the ton,” Rowan concluded.
Simon nodded. “Which means I cannot afford to let anyone know I’m still investigating.”
Simon was ten years old when he watched his parents die. Ten years old, barely enough to hold his own.
Death had a sound. He had not known it before that night. He had never forgotten it since.
Rowan hummed in thought. “That does explain why you suddenly decided to take a wife.”
Simon shot him a sharp look.
“Oh, don’t glare at me, Linwood. You were always the most reluctant of bachelors. Never any interest in securing an heir or in doing what dukes ought to do.” He swirled his drink. “But now? You’re suddenly a married man. How very convenient.”
Simon’s friend knew him better than he thought.
“I’m not here to discuss my marriage.”
“Oh, I know,” Rowan mused. “Your entire life has been about this. Finding the man who took everything from you. Since the day your aunt pulled you from the wreckage, since the day she raised you as her own, you’ve had a single purpose.” He met Simon’s gaze.
“Now, I’m closer than ever.” Simon’s grip tightened around his glass. “Which is why I cannot afford mistakes.”
“Is she a mistake?”
Silence.
For the first time that evening, Simon looked away.
Rowan smirked knowingly. “Ah.”
Simon clenched his jaw and got up from his seat. He strode toward the fireplace, bracing a hand against the mantel.
“The bastard who did this has lived freely for years while my parents rotted in the ground,” he murmured. “While I—” He exhaled sharply. “While I became the man I am now.”
Rowan’s expression softened as he watched him. “A man who does not have the luxury of distractions.”
“You’re right. Tell me again what you’ve learned,” he said, steering the conversation back to the matter that had brought him here. “We should keep on topic.”
Rowan chuckled, unbothered as always. “Suit yourself,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his expression now turning serious. “The man we spoke of before—the one who was seen lingering near your estate that night—well, I did some digging on him.”
“Go on.”
“He seems to have a record,” Rowan’s tone darkened. “His actions were calculated.”
“I know that,” Simon snapped. “That is not new information, Rowan.”
“Why must you get frustrated with me? I am on your side,” Rowan grumbled. “You must realize how difficult it is to unearth information about something that happened twenty bloody years ago? People forget, and they lie.”
Simon clenched his fists. He hated that Rowan was right.
“Then find me someone who remembers.”
“I am trying.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Try harder.”
Rowan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Yes, Your Grace,” he murmured dryly. “I wonder, does your new wife know about your little vendetta?”
Simon’s entire body tensed, and his friend noticed immediately. He did not even need to answer.
“Ah. That is interesting. Do you plan on telling her at least?”
“No,” Simon said curtly. “It does not concern her.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Simon shot him a warning look.
“You are married, Linwood. And marriage—at least, a successful one—is built on honesty.” He took a lazy sip from his glass. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Since when did you become an authority on marriage?” Simon scoffed.
“Oh, I’m not,” Rowan admitted easily. “But even I know that secrets have a way of unraveling at the worst possible moment. You really mean to keep her in the dark forever?”
“Yes.”
“And here I thought you might be growing soft,” Rowan sighed, disappointed.
“You overestimate her importance in my life,” Simon smirked.
Rowan let out a low whistle. “A harsh statement even for you. Tell me then, if she means so little, why are you so tense at the mere mention of her?”
Simon paused at that.
“See?” Rowan exclaimed, as though he had just been proven correct. “Even now. Your reaction. It is like clockwork.”
“You sound far too invested in this,” Simon recovered quickly. “I have never known you to be one to enjoy gossip.”
“Oh, it’s hardly gossip,” Rowan dismissed immediately. “You may consider it a kind of curiosity instead. One moment, you’re the most stubborn bachelor in England, and the next—you’re married? And I have yet to meet the girl.”
“You won’t,” Simon said immediately.
“Why not?” Rowan pressed, clearly having too much fun with the whole thing.
Simon set his drink down with a little more force than necessary. “It is irrelevant.”
“Oh, it is entirely relevant,” Rowan countered. “Because unless I am mistaken—and I rarely am—you just reacted like a jealous husband.”
Simon snorted, shaking his head. “Hardly.”
“No?” Rowan tilted his head, seeming unconvinced.
“No,” Simon replied with more force than necessary.
“Then allow me to ask you a few things, purely for my own entertainment, Your Grace.”
Simon rubbed his hand against his face. Knowing Rowan, he scarcely had any choice in the matter.
“At least make it quick.”
“I shall do no such thing.” Rowan grinned. “First question—if she is nothing more than a convenient arrangement, why do you refuse to let me meet her?”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Because you would be insufferable.”
Rowan smirked. “True. But not an answer.”
“Because it is not necessary for you to meet her.”
“Not necessary,” Rowan echoed. “You’ve had other guests at your estate since the wedding, have you not?”
“Of course, I have,” Simon rolled his eyes. “She has not been sentenced to life and can meet guests as she pleases.”
“Right, so then it’s only me who is not allowed to meet her, not that she cannot meet guests?”
Simon considered the thought for a moment. The thought of Rowan meeting and speaking to Rachel—given his rakish reputation—made something sharp twist in his chest. Even though he knew that his friend would never attempt anything with his wife.
It was ridiculous, of course. Entirely unreasonable. And then, Simon realized…
Possessive.
The thought alone was enough to unsettle him.
Rowan continued. “Next question—if you saw another man looking at her, admiring her, perhaps even flirting with her, would you care?”
“Why would another man dare to flirt with her?” Simon countered. “She is married, and such a thing can prove disastrous for him.”
“Consider this a hypothetical situation,” Rowan insisted. “If, say, the two of you were not married.”
“Then, it would not be a bother,” Simon answered, though he reconsidered his words retrospectively.
“So, you would not intervene?” Rowan pressed.
“I suppose not.” Simon shrugged his shoulders, but gritted his teeth.
“My friend,” Rowan smirked, “you’re a terrible liar.”
“And you’re looking for a truth that does not exist,” Simon countered. “That is called reaching.”
“Fine then. I am reaching,” Rowan appeared to concede for a moment. “So then, tell me one final thing, if I were to call upon your home tomorrow, introduce myself to the new duchess, and perhaps even steal a dance, how would you feel about that?”
“You will do no such thing.” Simon’s response was immediate and menacing.
“There you go,” Rowan said, satisfied finally. “That right there is called jealousy. And what a fascinating development it is.”
Rowan was practically glowing with glee. For the life of him, Simon could not understand why the matter pleased him so.
“Are you done with your questioning?”
“Well, no. Just one more.” A playful smirk played across his friend’s lips. “It is a rather personal question, this one, but tell me, Linwood—have you claimed her yet?”
Simon shot him a warning look, but Rowan only laughed.
“So, no, then?”
“It is none of your business,” Simon asserted.
“Well, if you haven’t, then I should say that you’re in quite the predicament. Must be maddening.”
Simon remained silent, but his mind betrayed him. It was maddening.
He could still see her. The way she had looked that night, her body trembling beneath his hands, her breathless gasps, the way she had fallen apart in his arms.
He had meant to teach her control, yet he had nearly lost his own.
And now, he was avoiding her.
Because if he was near her, he knew—knew—that he would not be able to resist touching her again.
He wanted her. God help him, he wanted her.
“None of this should be your concern. She is my wife,” Simon said at last, his voice steady. “And you will keep your distance.”
“Oh, this is rich. You barely know the woman and yet—” Rowan laughed, studying Simon with a grin that made him want to punch him. “You feel both jealous and possessive?”
Simon knew better than to argue. It was futile, and it would be a lie.
“God above. You do.”
“Say another word, and I will put you through that window,” Simon warned, finally running out of all patience.
Rowan merely raised his hands in surrender, though his amusement remained. “Very well. I shall be a gentleman and not inquire further.” He paused, then his grin returned. “For now.”
Simon muttered a curse under his breath and turned back to his drink, but his mind was firmly distracted now, encompassed only by the thoughts of the duchess alone.
The way she looked at him. The way she trembled when he touched her.
And, most of all—
Just how much he wanted to do all of that all over again.