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Now, mere hours later, he was embroiled in the life of a woman who would certainly bring him nothing but grief.
However, there was no help for it at this point. He was fascinated and he had never been able to resist exposing the cause of any fascination.
Mysteries were meant to be solved.
Simon watched Desjardins and Mr. James settle the injured woman into a carriage, and wondered why and how the comte’s plans had altered so drastically over the course of the day. That morning the comte had enlisted Lysette’s assistance in reaching James, but tonight Lysette had been in his arms, while Desjardins and James appeared to be rubbing along well on their own.
The situation unsettled Simon, causing the hairs on his nape to stand on end and tension to stiffen his spine. Something was amiss and Lysette’s sudden change of heart was beyond suspicious. Mindless with lust, he had not cared about her motivations. He’d cared only about pushing inside her and staying there until he could think again.
Frustrated by the sudden sensation of being played the fool, Simon growled and continued his journey to the back of the manse. He glanced at every window as he passed it, searching for any signs of occupation. He hoped everyone was safely free of entrapment. His eyes lit on the destruction of one window and a shattered chair beneath it. Glass littered the gravel pathway and bore testament of a desperate attempt to stay alive.
How in hell had this happened?
Simon gained the terrace and was relieved to see that the line of water carriers continued to work industriously.
He rejoined them, working past the sunrise, his thoughts actively occupied with the mystery Lysette, Desjardins, and James presented.
Chapter 8
“What in bloody hell happened to you?” Eddington queried as Simon stumbled through the front door shortly after nine in the morning.
The fresh, clean fragrance of the interior of his home was a welcome relief after smelling nothing but smoke the entirety of the long night. Simon glanced at his sweat-soaked and soot-covered garments and knew the entire lot would have to be destroyed. The burnt odor was now permanently ingrained in the cloth. In contrast, the earl was freshly bathed and wearing a comfortable robe.
“You are buying me a new wardrobe,” Simon growled, shrugging out of his coat, an action that caused ash to sprinkle down to the rug.
Eddington’s nose wrinkled. “Good God. You are a disaster.”
“The Baroness Orlinda’s home caught fire during the ball.” Simon brushed past the earl on his way to the stairs.
“An accident?” Eddington fell into step behind him.
“So it would appear. A poorly secured lamp in the gallery.”
“What are the odds?”
Simon snorted.
“Was anyone injured?”
“Smoke inhalation and some minor burns. Miraculous, really, if you saw the state of the manse.”
Pushing open the door to his room, Simon absorbed the familiar feeling of homecoming. He had purchased the house as is, with furniture and art included. The man who had owned the place previously must have had an affection for slumber. The bed was massive and comfortable, the drapes thick and dark, the rugs plush and warm. The palate of dark reds, greens, and stained walnut furnishings created a soothing, masculine retreat.
“That is not the worst of it,” Simon muttered, stifling a yawn and shooting a longing glance at his turned-down bed. His valet took one look at him and quickly tossed a towel over a footstool, so that Simon could sit and remove his boots. Then the servant excused himself to arrange a bath.
“There is more?” Eddington asked, wide-eyed. The elegantly tall earl moved to one of the wingbacks in front of the grate and smiled at the pretty maid who was stoking the fire into a hearty, welcoming blaze. She flushed prettily and bobbed a quick curtsy before retreating, leaving the two men alone.
“Mademoiselle Rousseau attempted to seduce me.”
“Attempted?” There was laughter in the earl’s voice and Simon glared at him.
“Yesterday morning she was set on luring Mr. James to an ignoble end, and last night James and Desjardins were working in tandem while she was after me.”
“Interesting,” the earl murmured. “What are your thoughts?”
Arching a brow, Simon stood to remove his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. “My thoughts are that you will return my coin to me whether I complete the task agreed to or not. If they have set me as a target, our agreement will not be forfeit nor substituted.”
“What leverage do you have to enforce this?”
Simon raised his fists.
Eddington shuddered. “Point taken.”
It was Simon’s pugilistic expertise that had first caught the earl’s attention. Simon had taken down nearly a dozen men with only minor bruising to show for his efforts, and Eddington had immediately decided that he could use a man of such talent. Since Simon’s position as Lady Winter’s paramour was eliminated by her marriage, he gratefully accepted the employment. In short order, Simon proved he was as agile of mind as he was on his feet.
“You think they mean to implicate you?” Eddington asked thoughtfully. “If you were accused of crimes against Franklin and your work for the English Crown was to become known, it would increase the animosity toward England with both the French and the Revolutionaries.”
“That is certainly possible,” Simon agreed, pulling his shirt over his head and reaching for the fastenings of his breeches. “There were other oddities last night. While Desjardins and James were occupied with each other, Lysette waited with two other females.”
“Who were they?”
“I am not certain. Truly, I did not pay much attention to either of them, other than that they surrounded her as mother hens would. Lysette is not the type of woman that other women like. I know you collect what I mean.”
“Curious.” Eddington set his elbows on the armrests and brought his steepled fingertips to his lips. “What do you intend to do?”
“I am going to bathe, then sleep.” Simon moved toward the bathing chamber, where the splashing of water told him the tub was being readied. “After that, I will visit Mademoiselle Rousseau and ask her outright.”
“You think she will tell you?” the earl called after him.
“No. But at least she will know that I am not ignorant of something being amiss.”
“You might wish to enlist aid.”
“I might,” Simon said evasively, having already planned to do just that. However, that was not information he wished to share with the earl.
“I will see to it,” Eddington offered. “I have asked Becking to remain in France while I am here. Might as well put him to good use.”
“Excellent, my lord.”
He shut the door behind him.
Edward awoke due to a ferocious spate of coughing. He sat up from his reclined position in a chair and glanced around the room, briefly surprised to find himself still in Corinne’s house. The last thing he remembered was listening to the physician’s orders to keep her cool if she turned feverish and to suction out her mouth and nose at regular intervals so that she could breathe.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was shortly after nine in the morning.
Pushing to his feet, Edward stretched muscles cramped by hours spent sleeping in a wingback. He was late for work, something he had never been in the entirety of his life. He needed to return home immediately, where he could draft a note to Franklin in explanation, bathe, and prepare for the day.
Glancing quickly around the room for any of his belongings, Edward then moved to the door that separated the private sitting room he occupied from Corinne’s bedchamber. He knocked lightly, waited for an acknowledgment that did not come, and opened the door regardless.
While the sitting room was decorated in a mixture of various shades of cream and brown with stained wood molding and furnishings, the bedroom was far more feminine with its palette of pale pinks and burgundy with whitewashed wood and gilt. But both rooms were permeated w
ith the soft floral scent that belonged to Corinne alone. It was innocent, not seductive, yet he was drawn to it.
As he stepped deeper into the space, Edward’s gaze locked on the tiny form in the middle of the large four-poster bed. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths and black mucus bubbled from her nostrils. Furious, he rounded the chair where the housekeeper sat, intent on a scolding, and found the elderly woman sleeping and completely oblivious to the needs of her employer. The woman’s lace-fringed cap was askew and covering her lined brow, allowing messy gray curls to peek out from the left side.
