Rescued By A Viscount(40)

“Can you really?”

“Yes I can, really.”

“I apologize if I sound sceptical, Simon. I just have never thought of you as a man who can do chores such as making a bed. I do not know many noblemen who could.”

“I had wondered when she would make a reappearance,” Simon said, watching as she pulled the cover back on her bed and started to make it.

“Who?”

“The woman who challenges me in London. I have seen very little of her today, and I’m glad she still lurks inside you.”

“I am not being challenging, Simon. I was merely stating a fact.”

“That you believe all noblemen cannot make beds,” he said, admiring the shape of her bottom as she bent to tuck in the sheet.

“I do not deliberately challenge you.”

“Never tell me you were born with that sharp tongue?”

The look she gave him was supposed to be fierce, yet it was merely pathetic when accompanied by a yawn. “It is my duty towards your future wife not to pander to your considerable ego, Lord Kelkirk. Someone needs to set you back on your heels a time or two, and the task is not an onerous one, I assure you.”

She made the bed as she did everything,–quickly, efficiently, and perfectly.

“Can I help it if people like me?”

“Women like you,” she clarified, smoothing one slender hand over the final blanket. “Women are foolish around you, my lord. All that fawning and simpering makes me feel ill. I have no idea how you countenance it.”

Simon laughed as she frowned. “So it is your duty to ensure I do not have all seven deadly sins and that my future wife is presented with a malleable husband she can manipulate?

He saw the flash of another smile as she turned to pick up a pillow and place it on the bed. “I am far too tired to give this conversation my full attention. Therefore we shall discuss it further when I am once again capable of putting you in your place.”

And with those words, the smile was gone again, and in its place was a frown that revealed she was thinking once more about what she was about to do, about her dead brother—the brother she loved best—and about her dead brother’s child.

“I shall take that reprieve, Miss Belmont, and collect us both water for washing and then bid you goodnight.” Simon made himself walk out the door and close it softly behind him before he took her in his arms and held her until the fear had gone.

After collecting the water and giving her some, he entered his room and quickly made the bed. He then stripped to the waist and washed, the cool water feeling good after a day’s travels. He pulled off his boots, opened the window, and lay on the bed in his breeches. His mind immediately went to Claire and what she had set out to do. He didn’t know many women who would have undertaken such a task. He also didn’t doubt there was every likelihood she would have succeeded without him, yet just thinking about her alone out there made him shudder. Closing his eyes, he hoped she was now in bed as he was, because she needed sleep desperately. Two minutes later, he was slumbering.



Claire had washed and pulled on her nightdress. Unpinning her hair, she then remembered there was no way of getting it back on top of her head tomorrow and that she should have left it up, as it was unlikely she would sleep tonight. Brushing it vigorously, she thought she could perhaps manage a simple bun or even a plait. Lying on the bed, she looked into darkness and tried not to think about Simon doing the same just a few feet from her. Would he be asleep already, his big body slumbering peacefully until morning? Claire closed her eyes and tried to clear her thoughts.

Was the child a boy or a girl? How old was it? The questions suddenly began to roll around again inside her head.

Determined to get a few hours sleep, she tried to clear her thoughts by counting the doors in her brother’s townhouse and then the servants. The problem was that nighttime invariably also brought out the worst of Claire’s fears and magnified them tenfold. It was lucky no one saw her, as she would probably fall on them, sobbing pitifully.

After several hours, Claire gave up and slipped out of bed and lit her candle. At least if she walked about or read, her thoughts were focused on something other than her problems and fears. Wrapping a shawl around her, she went barefoot from her room. She tiptoeed down the hall, hoping Simon would stay asleep. Remembering the carriage and how deeply he had slept, she thought it was likely he would. In fact, she was fairly certain it would take a herd of stampeding cows to disturb him. The bottom stair creaked, but she heard no sound from behind her, so she made her way back into the room that held all the books. There were so many of them. Lifting the candle, she ran her hand along the titles and settled on a work about how to nurture seedlings. Surely that would be boring enough to put her to sleep.