Days of Rakes and Roses Read Free Page A

her own. To remain upright, she curled her hand over Grenville’s shoulder. Her heart raced so fast, she felt light-headed, as if the ground shifted beneath her.
    She was addled to think that the man on the staircase was Simon. Not after all this time. Not now when she finally came so close to severing the chains of her past.
    For years, she’d pined after him. Then when he didn’t contact her after her father’s death, she’d finally understood that Simon had no intention of returning for her. Stupid girl. Five years before that without so much as a note should have indicated his indifference.
    Even after finally acknowledging that Simon cared nothing for her, no man could compete with the ghost of her first amour. Until she’d met Grenville and realized that life could offer rewards separate from Simon’s unattainable love. Independence. A family. Dedication to service.
    Deliberately she didn’t look toward the staircase again. She had to be mistaken. The illusion resulted from wedding nerves and the fact that so close to her nuptials, memories of her long-lost love would inevitably resurface. Simon had left England immediately after the incident in the hayshed. She’d only rarely heard about his doings—Simon Metcalf’s exploits were considered too outré for the ears of an unmarried girl, even one past first youth. He’d fallen in with a rakish crowd on the Continent; raffish women, louche aristocrats, penniless adventurers. If polite society mentioned Simon Metcalf, it was in censorious terms. The last report Lydia had of Simon was from somewhere in the remote reaches of the Ottoman Empire.
    Still the merest idea that he could be back in London made her heart flutter like a bird longing to break out of its cage. Would she never be free of him?
    With his usual aplomb, Grenville steered her through the crowd toward the French doors open to the fine night. With the unseasonal warmth, many guests had resorted to the garden. Lydia and Grenville’s progress toward the terrace aroused no curiosity, thank goodness.
    Lydia soon returned enough to herself to deride her loss of control. Even in the unlikely event that the man was Simon, she hadn’t seen the reprobate for ten years. She was no longer a dewy-eyed adolescent panting for his attentions. She was renowned for her poise and her ability to quell unrest in a bread line with a single word.
    They didn’t make it to the terrace. Her brother strode toward her. To anyone who didn’t know Cam well, he appeared his usual cool self. The Rothermeres specialized in looking untouched, even through scandals that threatened to blow their world apart. But as he caught her arm, she saw a spark of what could be guilt in his green eyes. “Lydia, I’ve got a surprise for you. An old friend is here to wish you well.”
    Every muscle in her body stiffened into horrified immobility. Although for all her self-serving denial, she’d known from the first that the man was Simon. What on earth was Cam doing bringing him to her betrothal ball? She suddenly remembered that her brother had always defended his friend to their father, even after Lydia’s indiscretion. But Cam must know that tonight, Simon Metcalf was the last man she wanted to see.
    Simon stood at Cam’s shoulder and the comprehensive glance he swept over Lydia heated her blush to fire. The noisy room, loud with talk and music, faded into an echoing void. The sight of Simon jammed Lydia’s throat with painful silence. She couldn’t help remembering that the last time they were together, she’d been half out of her dress.
    As if from a long way away, Cam continued. “Sir Grenville, allow me to present an old family connection, Simon Metcalf. We grew up together. Simon, this is Lydia’s intended, Sir Grenville Berwick.”
    The courtesies the men exchanged were meaningless gabble in Lydia’s ears. All she heard was her heart’s pounding. She couldn’t tear her gaze from Simon.
    Devil take him, he was even more