Chapter Five
Simon
Simon shut his bedroom door behind him, then leaned against it as his eyes closed in relief.
His valet, Thompson, meant well, but the man’s meticulous unpacking of the numerous trunks was wearing on his patience.
He strode down the corridor. Even at such a late hour, a huge tumbler of whiskey would be welcome.
Having never moved from one residence to another, Simon had little idea how overwhelming it would be. How had he amassed so many things over the years? And would it all fit inside his new residence?
Descending the staircase, Simon sauntered down the hall leading to his new study. While passing the library, a flicker of light from beneath the library door immediately caught his attention.
Had someone left a lamp burning? That was a dangerous thing to do, and unacceptable of the household staff. His brow furrowed, Simon approached the library and slowly swung open the door.
The library contained two settees facing one another and flanked by comfortable chairs.
Tables at each end of the settees provided convenient places to set a cup of tea or a stack of books.
There was a lamp on each table, but only one was lit.
It was burning low, casting a small pool of light on two books stacked neatly beside it.
The rest of the room lay shrouded in darkness, the faint glow doing little to dispel the shadows.
Simon paused on the threshold, his hand tightening on the doorframe as his gaze swept the room.
A sensation prickled along the back of his neck, a near-physical thing.
His pulse quickened, absurdly so for a man who prided himself on being rational, unshakable.
But there it was—that unmistakable awareness of being watched.
And again…that faint perfume of lavender and vanilla.
He stepped farther into the room, his boots soundless on the fine wool rug.
The faint scent of leather and old paper filled his senses, grounding him even as unease whispered through his mind.
“Hello?” he asked quietly, hating the way his voice seemed to vanish into the gloom. “Is there someone here?”
He did not expect an answer, and truthfully, he felt more than foolish speaking out loud in an obviously empty room.
There was no one there. And if there was, who might it be?
A maid? One of the footmen? Or even Mister Williams?
Even if it were one of his employees, surely they would not hide from him.
Only silence met his ears, and Simon found himself barely able to draw a full breath as the air grew heavy and thick.
He did not dare shift his weight nor breathe too deeply.
Was he going insane? Or was something or someone really inside the room?
All day, he’d had the sensation that someone was watching him from the shadows.
Lurking around every corner. At times, he’d even thought he could hear footsteps echoing from different areas of the huge townhome.
Footsteps that seemed different from the staff’s usual patterns.
But that was seriously insane.
“Come out, whoever you are,” Simon demanded in his fiercest voice, but other than a flicker of lamplight, nothing indicated someone was there. “Show yourself at once.”
Silence met his imperious demand. He turned about in a circle, his gaze looking beyond the arc of light.
He squinted, his hands curling into fists as he glanced toward the farthest end of the room, where tall shelves took up most of one wall.
There was a single floor-to-ceiling window there, the massive draperies drawn tight.
A large desk occupied one corner, a convenient place to write letters or to peruse the various books of maps his father kept stored here.
Was that the faintest squeak of sound? A mouse, perhaps?
Just as he convinced himself he was imagining it, a faint rustle caught his attention.
It was soft. Quick. A whisper of movement, darting from beneath the desk to behind the curtains.
It was too dark to see just what it was, but Simon’s muscles tensed in anticipation.
He moved toward the noise, each step measured, his focus sharpened on the shadowed folds of dark green fabric.
Another sound—this time, not a squeak but a tiny meow.
The draperies stirred, and from their depths emerged the small gray kitten Simon had seen earlier in the kitchens. Round, golden eyes were luminous in the dim light as the kitten stretched lazily, tail flicking, before trotting toward him with a greeting chirp.
Simon exhaled, a sharp laugh of relief escaping him. “Good God,” he muttered, crouching to scoop the creature up. “You, sir, are an assassin of nerves.” The kitten purred in response, digging tiny claws into Simon’s shirtsleeves as it huddled into his warmth.
Still chuckling, Simon straightened and gave the library one last glance. Empty. Silent. He shook his head at his own foolishness. A grown man undone by shadows and a stray cat.
Yet as he turned down the lamp’s wick, casting the room in full darkness before he turned toward the door, he could not help but think—just for an instant—that something unseen lingered still, watching him from the shadows.