Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rachel felt sick.
She had hoped that he would stay. Or that he would dance with her. That perhaps, for once, they could do something that resembled a real marriage, even if only for appearances.
But of course, Simon was Simon. And he would much rather discuss business than stand too close to her.
Rachel masked her disappointment behind a smile, watching him walk away from her. Marina shot her a confused look.
“I have to say,” she said, “that was rather…”
“Abrupt?” Rachel smiled. “Nothing to worry about. If there is one thing about Simon, it’s that he does not like to drag out his goodbyes.”
“Is he always like this?” Marina frowned.
Rachel composed herself then. She knew it was a bad idea to let her sister get privy to the reality of her marriage. “No, no. It’s just that he’s been quite busy with work. I do not blame him; he works very hard for us. It’s good. A man should be a provider.”
She hoped that her words were enough to stop Marina from questioning further.
But in her heart, she knew that they did not resonate with her entirely.
After all, was it really too much of an ask to want her husband to dance with her?
All around her, couples swirled. Such was the norm.
Why could she not want the same for herself?
She would not dare say the words out loud, partly because she did not want Marina to worry for her.
But partly because by saying them out loud, she would be forced to give up on what little hope she had left and accept the reality of her situation.
Simon did what he wanted. There was little compromise on that.
“I would ask you to look on the bright side,” Marina said, nudging her softly with her elbow. “At least this gives the two of us a chance to spend some more time together. That is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Rachel smiled softly.
“Then, please. Give me a genuine smile this time.”
Rachel felt exposed. It was as though Marina could see right through her. She opened her mouth to retort, but a subtle tap on her shoulder interrupted her, making her turn around.
“Lady Everly.”
Rachel turned, surprised to find Lord Philip Ashford before her. He was an old acquaintance from previous Seasons.
“My lord,” she greeted politely. “What a surprise to see you here.”
She had met the man a few times, and he had even asked her to dance once, though she had not been able to.
“Yes, the same for me,” he replied, smiling earnestly. “I saw you from across the room, and I had to confirm with one of the other guests if you were really here. Then, when I received the confirmation, I just knew that I had to come over and speak with you.”
Rachel only nodded in response, unsure of what to say.
“And might I add,” he went on, “I was rather heartbroken when I heard the news of your marriage.”
An awkward laugh escaped Rachel’s lips. At least someone is paying me attention, she thought to herself, and glanced in the direction that Simon had gone.
“I am sure you recovered quickly,” she replied after a moment.
“Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “a man must endure. Though if I remember from our last encounter, you had promised me a dance.”
His gaze flickered over to the dance floor while Rachel’s went to the duke again, who had his back turned to the two of them.
Oh, he couldn’t care less, Rachel thought to herself, sourly.
”It is positively a crime for a lady such as yourself to stand unaccompanied at a ball,” Lord Ashford continued. “Would it be too much of a bother if I asked you for a dance?”
Should I? She felt hesitant to accept, but then again, it was not wrong for a married woman to dance, though it was not that usual.
“Surely, your husband would not object?” he continued, as though reading her thoughts.
He will not even notice, in all likelihood.
She glanced toward Simon again, her stomach twisting, then she straightened her shoulders.
“It would be my pleasure,” she said, accepting the Lord’s offered hand. Perhaps it was the sting of rejection from Simon that made her accept it as a small act of her own rebellion, but she decided to do it.
“You were in a rush to get out of there,” Rowan shook his head. “Pray tell. What business do we have to discuss?”
“I do not appreciate the sarcasm,” Simon shot him a glare. “You should be pleased that I let you meet her to begin with.”
“Oh, of course. How could I ever repay you the favor?” Rowan laughed.
“By shutting your mouth, perhaps,” Simon replied, rolling his eyes.
“You ask an impossible thing,” Rowan chuckled. “You know, there is something I wish to say to you, but I am afraid that it will only result in you getting angry with me.”
Simon raised an eyebrow in his friend’s direction, knowing that nothing would deter him from saying what he had to.
“I have never seen you act so foolishly before,” Rowan continued.
“Watch yourself,” Simon warned. But then the curiosity got the best of him. “What foolish thing have I done now, exactly?”
In his mind, keeping distance from her was the wisest thing he could do. Both for his sake and hers.
“You abandoned your wife,” Rowan smirked, gesturing toward the dance floor. “A wife who very clearly wanted you to stay. She wanted you to ask her for a dance.”
“Oh, spare me the advice, Rowan.”
“Why would I? This is far too amusing.” He leaned back against the pillar, studying Simon with open curiosity. “Tell me, what exactly is your grand plan? You married her, paraded her before the ton, and now you’re going to ignore her? A rather unconventional approach to wedded bliss, I must say.”
”You already know the answer to that.”
“Ah, yes.” Rowan took a sip of his drink. “The perfect deception. The Duke of Everly finally settled, no longer concerning himself with the ghosts of the past. All so the one responsible for your parents’ murder believes you have finally moved on.”
“Precisely.”
It was convenient for them both. Except that she did not need to know his reasoning.
“I venture it’s more than that now, though,” Rowan continued. “I think you’re afraid.”
“Do you even realize how ridiculous your theories sound?” Simon rolled his eyes.
“Oh, it is entirely reasonable.” Rowan’s smirk widened. “You avoid her, yet you cannot stop watching her.”
Simon hated to admit it, but Rowan was not entirely wrong. Even when he tried his hardest to ignore her, it was difficult not to sneak a look in her direction. It was as though something inside of him compelled him to do so.
“Am I wrong?” Rowan continued.
“I would rather talk about something else,” Simon sighed.
“No, no,” Rowan said. “Because I must tell you that you are not paying close enough attention. If you were, I wager you would not be as calm.”
“What on earth are you going on…”
Rowan simply turned him around before he could finish his sentence, and that is when he saw her.
She was on the dance floor.
With another man. Was that Lord Ashford?
The sight immediately made his blood boil. They kept a distance as they danced, but even having him in her immediate vicinity was enough to send him spiraling.
He would kill him.
“My, my,” Rowan murmured beside him, his tone entirely too amused. “Not so unbothered now, are you? Look at that, another man dancing with the lady you called your beloved.”
Simon’s grip tightened around his glass so hard it might have shattered right there.
“Well then,” Rowan seemed to be adding fuel to the fire now, “are you not going to do anything about it?”
Simon considered it for a moment. His instinct was to kill him, but since that would cause too much of a scene, he decided on the second-best thing instead.
“Yes, I am.”
“Do not break any bones,” Rowan smirked.
“Oh, heavens no,” Simon replied in a dry tone, “I am merely ensuring my wife is not put in an uncomfortable position. Excuse me.”
He did not know what Rowan said in response to that. He couldn’t care less about it. As he made his way over to the dance floor, his mind was singularly focused on her. All that mattered was that he had to take her away.
Rachel had been doing perfectly fine. Lord Ashford was charming, the dance was pleasant, and though she was still mildly irritated by Simon’s absence, she had chosen to push it aside.
That is, until she felt a shift in the air. She did not need to turn to know who it was.
Simon.
Even Lord Ashford hesitated mid-step, his gaze flickering over her shoulder, his hold on her loosening just slightly.
Without hesitation, without care for the dozens of curious gazes now fixed upon them, Simon stepped onto the dance floor and then between them as though he was staking a claim. He caught her wrist, his fingers warm against her bare skin as he pulled her out of Lord Ashford’s grasp.
“Your Grace…” Lord Ashford began, suddenly sounding more nervous than Rachel had ever heard him.
Simon didn’t even look at him, as though he found him unworthy of any sort of proper acknowledgement.
“She is done dancing,” he said simply, as though it was a fact that he had the authority to decide.
There was a stir in the crowd around them. People had noticed the rather rude interruption and whispered amongst themselves. In most circumstances, such an interruption would have made her upset or even embarrassed.
But this time, she seemed to be having the exact opposite reaction.
This felt…. exciting.
He placed one hand at her wrist, and the other at her waist—his fingers splaying possessively over the fabric of her gown.
“Simon,” she started to say.
“We are leaving,” he announced, tugging at her now and pulling her along with him.
“Do I get a say in the matter at all?” she asked as he led her outside.
“You have done enough,” he growled. The man looked positively furious, and for the life of her, Rachel did not know why it excited her so much. He was being possessive as a husband ought to be, though she had thought he was not capable of such an emotion.
“The ball is not yet over,” she argued.
“Does it look as though I care?” he narrowed his eyes at her.