Page 28 of The Trouble With Titles
“Why did they wish to question your servants?”
“I … do not know. Trafford seems to think one of the servants attacked him.”
Turning over what she knew in her mind, Madeline reached a conclusion. Simon would not like it, but?—
“You are a skilled negotiator, Simon. I believe you need to learn more about their investigation so you might help them to resolve their problem. The duke has an excellent reputation and is attempting to do right by his family. Approach him without resentment, and offer to assist so you might end this.”
Simon rose,ambling over to gaze up at one of the gods in the moonlight. It was Athena, holding her spear in hand and with a helmet on her head. The goddess of wisdom.
Madeline had always been a good friend, listening to his troubles and offering quiet words. Too often he had not heeded her advice, and he did not wish to continue as he had.
He supposed he might call on Halmesbury, where the duke might feel more at ease in his own home, and Simon could offer his assistance. Months of contending with Lord Boyle’s fickleness had taught him tolerance, which he could apply to his own troubles. Somehow it was easier to execute his duty when he put his own wishes aside, but since the liberty to pursue his own goals was at hand, he acted like a vacillating simpleton. Madeline was right. It was time to apply his talents to his defense. It was the final remaining obstacle to beginning a new life.
Simon reached a conclusion, Athena staring down at him in approval. “I shall speak with our solicitors and then approach Halmesbury to offer my assistance. It must be a terrible experience to have a family member so brutally murdered. To think of someone to whom I am so intimately tied dying alone,with only a foe to witness his untimely exit from the world—it is chilling.”
Madeline smiled. “Excellent. The duke is logical. Once he notes your sincerity, it will cast doubt on their theory, then you can pursue your own plans.”
“And what would those be?” Simon was startled to hear the suggestive tone of his voice. It was not subtle, but his thoughts had shifted to the woman he had admired these many years. They had been practically children when they were forced apart by circumstances beyond his control, but since the obstacles had been removed one by one, his mind was never far from the fact that they were children no longer.
Madeline’s smile faded and her gaze fell to his lips as she swallowed hard in the pulsating quiet. Simon could hear the blood coursing through his veins as he watched her. She rose from the bench, and his eyes were drawn to the sweet curve of her bosom, which rose and fell as if she had been exerting herself.
She approached him, coming to a stop a mere foot away to raise her face and peer up at him. She was a silver beauty in the night, and Simon could feel heat stealing across the surface of his skin in response to the tension which hung suspended between them. Reaching up, he extended a finger to draw it down the curve of her cheek. Madeline inhaled in surprise, her eyes fixed on his as he traced a path down her throat and down to herdécolletagewith agonizing patience.
She tilted toward him, and Simon submitted to his long-buried desires to lean down and capture her soft lips with his. They remained frozen, their mouths pressed together in bliss. When he reached the limits of his tolerance, he brought his arms up to pull her into a tight embrace, groaning at the exquisite joy of her body against his.
His hands trembled with the desire to slide down and explore her womanly curves, his blood thickening at the thought that if he could resolve this fuss, he could finally claim his prize. And there could be no greater prize than a naked Madeline in his bed every night for the rest of their lives.
Desperate craving took hold, as their lips dueled for hungry domination. When her mouth parted for air, he stole his chance to lock his tongue with hers in an intricate dance of mating as the seconds stretched out and Simon gave himself over to his long-held desires to feel and taste his Psyche and to experience the joy of letting his inhibitions go. Discovering that she was far sweeter than he had imagined in the darkness of his bedchamber, panting as if they had run a mile together when they broke apart.
Honey and fruit lingered when he lifted his head to stare down at her in wonder. “You waited for me? All these years?”
There was a long silence, her eyes moistening with tears. “I … almost gave up. But you are my Eros. I would do anything to reunite with you.”
Simon swallowed hard, overcome by the thought of how close he had come to losing her forever—how he could still lose her, even as they were inches from finally uniting. But he had hurt her enough. He must come to her as an unburdened man and not drag the productive Bigsby household into his chaos. It was imperative that he prove he had not committed this gruesome crime without damaging her reputation.
“I am so sorry for abandoning you. And that I have nothing to offer you.”
“You are enough,” she whispered back, into the still of the night.
“Yet I must ask you to continue your wait because I cannot make any promises until I put an end to this firestorm.”
She reached up to caress his cheek, a brush of butterfly wings to quiet the despairing beast within. “I will be here.”
“I do not deserve your patience.”
Madeline pulled a face, tugging on his heart with the ironic humor reflected there. “Regardless, you have it.”
Patience be damned.I have been patient for far too long!
Why had she allowed more than ten years to pass without taking a bloody stand for herself? For Simon? For them!
Madeline stomped along the garden path after Simon’s departure with a tempest in her chest.
He was emotionally compromised by this situation he was in. By his neurotic family, who swilled spirits and walked through their days in the haze of laudanum and self-absorption.
While he insisted that no one in his clan could be capable of the flare of passion that had led to the death of the Baron of Filminster, Madeline had no such compunctions. She had witnessed the Scotts take advantage of Simon’s guilt over Nicholas’s accident for these many years, and could well imagine one of them bringing down a sculpture onto the head of a so-called foe who stood between them and their selfish pursuits.
Especially one who threatened their imagined comforts.
