“No I don’t,” the duke said, looking put out. “You spend an age choosing jewelry. In fact I don’t start my dressing until you’ve reached that stage because I know it gives me a good thirty minutes to ready myself.”
“That is not true!” the duchess declared.
“Yes it is, and before this escalates, we’re dancing,” Daniel said, taking his wife’s hand and towing her towards the floor, leaving Claire and Simon alone once more.
“Do you have digestion trouble, Claire?” Simon questioned as he watched Daniel place Eva in the line across from him. “Or a delicate illness that would account for your secrecy?”
“I beg your pardon? How dare you ask me such a personal question in company.”
“I shall call upon you, then, and ask you when we are not in company.”
She didn’t show any outward signs of anger, however the glare she turned upon him would have felled the average man. “I have no wish for you to call upon me, my lord. Ever,” she added. Had anyone passed at the moment, they would have thought the very respectable Miss Belmont was merely conversing with him; she hadn’t raised her voice, nor was her body stiff. “In fact I would be quite happy if we never spoke again.”
“You wound me, Miss Belmont, and there was me thinking we were friends,” Simon drawled when he wanted to roar at her–wrap his hands around the tops of her slender arms and shake the answer from her. “And just so we’re clear on the matter of you in that lane today, I will keep asking you until you tell me why you were so upset, and more importantly, why you were there alone.”
“Why do you care?”
Simon shouldn’t have been happy to see her composure slip slightly as she hissed the words at him, but he was. “Because I think something is very wrong to have sent you there today, and I want to help.”
Panic widened her eyes, and then she blinked and regained control. “Very well. If you insist on knowing, then I must tell you. However I had given her my word.”
“Her?” Simon questioned, watching Claire closely.
“One of my maids suffers from terrible headaches, and she was bedridden today, so I offered to get her a tonic.”
Simon did not speak straightaway, instead letting the silence draw out between them. Usually he was very good at silence; even in a room filled with noise, he had a knack of using it to get people talking. However Claire was more than equal to the task. In fact, she smiled at someone passing and waved her hand before looking back at him.
“You must be very close with her to have gone to such lengths, Claire. Disguising yourself in those old, dark clothes and wandering about in that shady lane with no one to protect you. Such dedication to your staff is to be commended.” She didn’t speak, so he continued. “I wonder why you felt the need to run when you knew it was me that you had collided with?”
“I told you I had no further wish to discuss what happened today.”
One thing Simon knew about Claire Belmont was that she was scrupulously honest. In fact he’d never known her to lie until tonight. “You’re lying to me, Claire, and that only concerns me more.” Simon’s words were softly spoken but he knew she heard them.
She didn’t speak again. Instead, turning on her heel, she walked away. Head high, she made her way slowly through the crowd until he could no longer see her.
CHAPTER THREE
Simon rose early the morning after the Harrison ball. Pulling on his dressing gown, he then made his way through the house and out into the gardens. The air was crisp as the new day began to dawn, and the smell of fires being stoked around him started to chase away the more earthy scents of his garden. He loved being outside; this was where he felt happiest, and if his fingers were immersed in soil, then he was even happier. Raised by his aunt and uncle, both of whom loved the outdoors and puttered in their glasshouses constantly, he had developed that love too. Simon knew about plants and herbs; he understood what grew best in the shade and what flourished in the sun. Aunt Penelope and Uncle Peter had taught him endlessly about such things, and he’d soaked up every word. Watching a plant grow that he had nurtured from a seedling was a special gift and one he appreciated more and more as he grew older.
His staff were used to him now, and rarely threw him a sideways glance as he wandered barefoot up and down the rows of plants and trees he tended. He crushed a few precious leaves in his hand and smelt the freshness that reminded him of Luxley, his estate. Dropping to his knees beside a bed of violets, he pulled a few weeds. These were his aunt’s favorites, so he had planted them for the rare occasions she visited London. This relaxed him, gave him clarity, and this was where he came when he needed to think.