Never Deceive a Viscount by Renee Ann Miller

Author:Renee Ann Miller [Miller, Renee Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-04-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Bright streaks of early morning sun cut through the window, casting a wide band of light across Simon’s desk in his Bloomsbury residence. Restless, and finding sleep elusive, he’d risen earlier than usual. He stuffed his note to Mr. Marlow inside an envelope, along with several banknotes. Simon handed it to Nick, who stood patiently waiting before the desk, and tossed the lad a shilling.

Sporting a wide grin, Nick snatched the coin out of the air and slipped it into his tattered coat pocket.

“Not a word about this, especially to Lily. Are we clear?”

Nick nodded his head. “She won’t get a word out of me, sir. Not. A. Word.”

“Good lad.”

The boy’s stomach rumbled.

Simon doubted Nick had eaten. Every morning the boy showed up looking disheveled. Most likely his parents worked from dawn to dusk at some factory, leaving the child to fend for himself. Simon tossed him another coin. “That bakery on Theobald’s Road sells hot cross buns. Buy yourself a couple.”

“Thank you, sir. Do you want some too?”

An appealing idea. Baines would probably serve the same thing he cooked every morning: runny eggs, burnt toast, and bacon rashers as tough as a horse’s hoof. He tossed Nick another shilling and winked. “You’re a bright lad. Sneak me two.”

“Will do, guv’ner. Will do.” Nick darted out the doorway.

Harris walked into the office. Without a word, he placed the morning newspaper on Simon’s desk, then exited the room as if it reeked of decomposing fish heads.

It appeared the man wasn’t talking to him. He knew why. Last night Baines had walked into Simon’s bedchamber to find him staring at Emma’s house. The valet had accused him of being smitten.

Smitten. What poppycock. And when he’d refuted the claim, Baines had had the audacity to argue with him.

Simon wasn’t interested in Emma Trafford. He’d nearly kissed her because he hoped to see if the kiss sparked a recollection. And his obsession was with the woman’s home. It had more to do with Mrs. Flynn’s cooking and the worn but comfortable furnishings that didn’t have flamingos stitched on them. It definitely had nothing to do with Emma’s smile, or the scent of her skin, or that she’d shown him her brother’s letter and asked Simon about his own boyhood. Or that while he’d fixed the pipe, he’d felt like part of a family. And it surely had nothing to do with her hoyden sister.

Angry over Baines’s gibberish, he’d threatened to banish the interfering man to the North Country. Now Harris was acting like Simon had kicked a beloved dog, and Baines was moping about as dejected as a wallflower at a ball.

Kismet, who sat on the windowsill, shot Simon a narrow-eyed glare.

“You too?”

The white cat jumped down and walked out of the room, his tail swishing in the air.

“It isn’t like I’d actually do it,” he called after the feline. Though at times the idea of sending both the old retainers away held immeasurable appeal.

You’d miss them, a voice in his head whispered.

Like one would miss a toothache.

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