Chapter 15 #3
so admire it.”
Simon nodded, though his knowledge of embroidery was limited to the fact that it was something he thankfully never had to
endure himself. He wasn’t sorry for that, but Miss Clayton seemed to notice something behind him and blushed, quickly turning
back to him. “But you were speaking of the play, of course. Not embroidery.”
Simon studied her a moment, then glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of Mrs. Clayton’s pointed expression toward her
daughter. Once she noticed Simon’s attention, she feigned ignorance, but Simon was no fool. Was the mother coaching the daughter
along?
“Have you enjoyed the storyline of the play?” Simon turned his body slightly to keep Mrs. Clayton in his periphery.
“I have,” Miss Clayton replied with another wide smile, though it faltered slightly as her brow furrowed. “Though I must admit,
I was having some trouble following along with the banter. Sometimes it sounds as if the characters are rather rude to each
other, yet the crowd laughs all the same.”
“Indeed,” Simon agreed, watching Mrs. Clayton’s movements from the corner of his eye. “The humor does tend to be rather sharp.”
“But I adore funny plays,” Miss Clayton added quickly, her cheeks flushing. “So much wit, don’t you think?” She forced a small
laugh at the end, as if to emphasize her point.
Good heavens, the poor girl either was so nervous that she had to rely on her mother for help with the conversation or lacked
the wit to form her own opinions entirely. Yes, she appeared compliant and subdued—qualities Ben had once insisted were ideal
in a wife—but Simon knew better. He wanted more.
Emme would have challenged the themes of the play, sparking a lively debate over the characters’ choices, and pointed out
some of her favorite humorous exchanges.
Simon’s chest tightened again. But desperate viscounts, it seemed, had to make practical choices.
The orchestra resumed, playing a light melody to accompany the intermission, and the audience began to rise from their seats.
Simon stood, offering Miss Clayton his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the hallway?”
Miss Clayton nodded graciously, slipping her hand onto his arm. “How kind of you, my lord.”
They moved into the bustling corridor, mingling with the other attendees, the murmur of voices and rustle of gowns filling
the air. Simon made polite conversation with Miss Clayton as they walked, but the comparison with Emme kept distracting him
from his focus. There was something both absurd and endearing about her blatant attempt to observe him from afar. Did she
doubt his ability to court a woman? Or was she merely assessing the success of her matchmaking scheme?
Or—his thoughts rushed to a halt—could Emmeline be jealous?
He frowned, shaking the thought from his mind. No, of course not. The entire idea to court Miss Clayton had been hers, after
all. Jealous women didn’t orchestrate such things, did they?
“Lord Ravenscross.” Selena Hemston appeared at his side, her presence commanding as always. “How delightful to see you this evening.”
Simon straightened, his face and expression cooling as he dipped his chin. “Miss Hemston.”
Selena offered him a slow, practiced smile, the kind that was meant to disarm, to charm. And she was charming, in her own
way—polished, confident, and unmistakably beautiful. She knew how to dress to turn heads, and tonight was no exception. Her
deep red gown shimmered in the candlelight, and her dark hair was styled to perfection, every curl a testament to her calculated
allure.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Clayton?” Simon turned toward the young woman on his arm. “Miss Clayton, this is Miss Hemston.”
Selena trailed an unwelcome look over the woman. “I believe we’ve met once or twice before.”
Miss Clayton wilted beneath the stare. “Good evening, Miss Hemston.”
If Selena could reduce the woman to a mere shadow of herself with a look, a few weeks with Simon’s siblings would utterly
annihilate her.
Miss Clayton’s attention shifted to something behind Simon, and she gave a polite curtsy. “I shall leave you to your conversation.
I should greet my father before the next act begins.”
She slipped away, leaving him alone with Selena, whose smile only deepened, feline in its satisfaction. “I couldn’t help but
notice you and Miss Clayton,” she purred. “Such a practical choice for you, wouldn’t you agree?”
Simon held her gaze, unwilling to fall into her trap. “How are you enjoying the play, Miss Hemston?”
“Ah, not quite the conversational partner you were hoping for, I take it?” Her laugh was light, but there was an edge to it.
“Why continue playing this ridiculous game and torturing yourself longer than you must? There is an easy, quite willing solution to all your difficulties, Lord Ravenscross. All you need to do is say the word.”
Getting caught in her claws was a terrifying prospect for any man. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “I’m assuming,
then, that this comedy is not to your liking.”
Selena’s jaw tensed for the briefest moment before she took a step closer, her lilac scent filling the air between them. It
was a scent he knew well—strong, potent, undeniably hers—carefully chosen to make her presence known. “I’m suggesting, Simon,
that we both know you need not only money to save Ravenscross but someone with the fortitude to help you rebuild. I can provide
both, and you know it.”
“I appreciate your magnanimity to my plight, Miss Hemston.” Simon offered a slight nod before stepping back. “And I am sorry
to appear unobliging, but I do not believe we are well suited.”
“Why not?” Her fan flicked open with a flourish, the feathers brushing against her wrist with practiced elegance. “I come
from a family of influence. My father is well known”—though Simon wasn’t certain of how well respected—“and with my dowry,
you could more than secure your estate. Together, we could ensure your legacy. I have ambition, Simon, the kind that aligns
perfectly with your needs.”
And with her own.
Simon’s jaw clenched against her offer. The very thought that a child born of their union would inherit Ravenscross, under
the influence of her shrewd, coldhearted father, sent a chill through him. No, his family would never accept it—not even his
astute Aunt Agatha would stand for such an arrangement. But he knew Selena well enough to sense her determination. The viscountcy
of Ravenscross might not be the most powerful title in the land, but it carried with it prestige—prestige that Selena longed
for to rise above her father’s shadow, to win his affection.
Well, if she was determined to be direct, then so could he.
“You seek a title?” Simon asked, cutting to the point. “To win your father’s favor?”
Selena’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. For a fleeting moment, the confident mask slipped and her smile quivered.
“What of it?” Her reply took on a sharpness. “You think I’m the only one with something to prove? You need this just as much
as I do. I’m offering a partnership. One where we both get what we want.”
“You want my title, and in exchange, I’m supposed to marry a woman whose loyalty is to herself, not my family.”
Her eyes flashed. “I am loyal—to my future. And if you think for a second that I wouldn’t be loyal to you, you’re wrong. I’ve
always respected you, Simon. I wouldn’t be standing here making this offer if I didn’t believe you were the best match for
me. We could be powerful together. Don’t you see?”
He saw it, all right. She was pragmatic, just as he was. Her offer wasn’t born from affection, nor from passion—it was a calculated
arrangement, a way to rise, to secure power and influence. But ambition alone couldn’t sustain a life.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hemston.” He softened the edge in his voice and drew in a deep breath. “I cannot build my future on ambition
alone, no matter the cost.”
“No matter the cost?” Selena’s expression darkened, her mouth tightening as she snapped her fan shut. “You think you’ll find
something better? With Miss Clayton, or”—her lips curled—“a country gentleman’s daughter?”
Simon flinched at the mention of Emme, and Selena caught the movement, her eyes narrowing with a predator’s satisfaction.
“You’re not as insensible as that, no matter your emotional entrenchment. Besides, rumor has it your dear Miss Lockhart has
found a new interest of the clerical variety.”
Simon’s heart stilled at her words, and though he fought to keep his expression neutral, he could feel his features betraying him. Her smile flickered, sharp and knowing. “Ah, I see you haven’t heard the latest. I’ve even witnessed their exchange of letters firsthand.”
Letters? Would Emme resort to such a breach of propriety? Unless there was some truth in Selena’s words.
He stilled against the swell of disappointment. But why shouldn’t she find someone else? He’d given her no reason to hope
for him, despite every fiber of his soul praying for a miracle.
“I fail to see how Miss Lockhart’s personal matters have anything to do with me, Miss Hemston.”
“Of course not. But as a friend, I wouldn’t want your hopes to be misguided.” Her eyes gleamed with a knowing look. “Why do you fight my offer with such
tenacity, Lord Ravenscross? No one else can give you what I can.”
The weight of her proposition pressed into his good sense. One answer would change his fortune forever.
But it would also ruin his life.
She leaned in ever so slightly, her voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “If we both learn to play nice, as I know I am quite
capable of doing, it may become more than an alliance. It could become a real connection.”
Simon steadied his expression and studied the woman’s face, nearly strangled by the urge to call her out for her forwardness,
for her breach of propriety, for the fact that a marriage started on such animosity from his part and self-interest on hers
had very little chance to be much more than indifference at best or utter torture at worse.
“Miss Hemston, I would encourage you to find someone who values the same things you do because I am not that man.” He dipped
his head to leave. “Forgive me.”
Simon caught the glare she sent him as he turned, but he would not stay for more. Already, his extended conversation with Selena would likely raise some eyebrows, and if there was one thing Simon knew well, it was how easily the gossips could spin a simple conversation to their favor.
He was working hard to repair his family’s reputation, to restore the estate’s solvency with his own efforts, rather than
relying solely on Aunt Agatha’s charity. The last thing he needed was anything that could complicate that. His family’s future
depended on it.