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Chapter 7
Simon woke to the sun pouring through the open doorway of the cottage. He felt empty. Lonely. It was an all-too-familiar sensation. Then he recalled he was not in London or alone in his bed. He had been taken by a determined, spritely miss who wanted him to remember her. Simon sensed Fanny was no longer in bed beside him, and he released a small sigh of relief. How in God’s name would he sleep beside her for six more nights and not give in to the cravings that had kept him awake for most of the night. He did not even recall when he had fallen asleep, but blessedly he had not been haunted by any dreams.
Pushing from the small bed, he swung his feet down and sat on the edge. The lady was curled onto the chaise reading a book, wearing a gown with a far too low-cut neckline trimmed with green ribbon. The manner in which she sat with her feet curled under her shins allowed the fabric to mold itself over her soft curves. Her golden hair was loose and tumbled wildly over her shoulders and down to her hips. There was a soft frown on her face as if the words were of utmost importance. “What do you read?” he asked.
She sighed and lifted up the book for his perusal.
A Lady’s Guide to Proper Etiquette and Charm. “Good God,” he said. “I never expected it.”
Her nose wrinkled. “According to the old dragon…”
“Who?”
“The Dowager Countess of Celdon. My siblings and I need town polish, so I must read it.”
“Town polish?”
“My brother, who is now the new Earl of Celdon, has hired an etiquette teacher.”
“Colin is an earl.”
“Yes, astonishing, isn’t it? And a very wealthy one too. I am now an heiress.”
“How is he taking to the role?”
“He is acquitting himself quite admirably. We are all very proud of him. Though he has some notion that our family needs to become respectable. No more shenanigans or scandals.”
He arched an incredulous brow. “I gather your eldest brother is not aware that you are here.”
Miss Fairbanks once again wrinkled her nose. “We shall keep it between us.”
She tapped the spine of the small leather tome. “Miss Fernsby wrote this book. He is in love with her.”
“Is he?”
“Oh yes, it was quite evident to everyone but Colin himself.”
Simon had nothing to say to that. Still, he wanted to keep talking with her. “And is the book good reading?”
“It has some of the most outrageous advice.”
“A kidnapper who is learning the proper niceties,” he said drily.
She smiled slowly. “Do not forget you are now a willing prisoner. At least for seven more days.”
“You mean six.”
She arched a finely shaped eyebrow. “Yesterday does not count.”
“Do I have a say on this?”
“No, my lord, you do not, I’m afraid.”
She returned to her reading, and he sat there and stared at her, feeling bemused yet oddly contented. He was not sure what he had expected upon waking, but it was not this. Somehow his imagination had conjured up the lady in armor and a sword ready to battle with him and his memories and any stubbornness on his part.
“You are staring,” she murmured, her nose in the book. “I can feel it.”
She sounded delighted at the prospect.
