“If Lord Barrett proposes after all, and I asked Miss Carstairs to part with him, would she?”
“She might oblige you. She’s a kind person, and she never likes to hurt anyone, but Lord Barrett is quite determined about her. He might not be willing to end it, and he’s such a wily character. He’d make it difficult for her to break it off.”
“He’s that besotted?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What should I do? What would you recommend?”
“At the moment, you can’t really do anything, can you? You have a house full of guests.”
“I can’t exactly call off the party and send them home.”
“No, you can’t, and there’s no guarantee that Lord Barrett will forge ahead. I mean, he might figure out that you’re completely incompatible. But if he doesn’t change his mind, you could have a word with your father. You could explain that you have changed your mind.”
“That announcement wouldn’t go over very well, and what would happen to me then? My father would have to find another candidate. It might take forever, and I was so eager to marry this year. All my friends are having weddings. I want to join in the fun.”
Her comment underscored how deluded she was about matrimony, and he was compelled to counsel, “You can’t pick a husband merely because you’re in a hurry to be a bride.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You have to select the right husband. He has to be the type who will put you on a pedestal above all other women. Lord Barrett never would. You could never matter to him in any significant way.”
“I understand that now.”
“I’ll be here for the next week or so,” he said, lightening the tone of the conversation. “We can discuss the sort of spouse you need and deserve.”
“I wish I could wed someone young and handsome like you.”
She flashed a hot look that he felt clear down to his toes, and he was greatly encouraged by it.
“I’d marry you if I could.” He oozed regret. “I can guarantee we’d have a lifetime of pleasure and excitement.”
“You’re too far beneath me, Simon.” She sounded like the spoiled brat she was. “My father would never approve.”
“If a girl is clever, she can obtain what she wants. And haven’t we already agreed that your father doesn’t know who would suit you? Just remember that he picked Lord Barrett! He has no idea of the kind of man you require.”
“You might be correct about that.”
He’d planted enough seeds for one evening. He’d water them and watch them grow. He had ten more days to flirt with her. When she was so naïve, it was an eternity. Who could predict where they’d be when the party ended?
Simon was certain of one pertinent fact. He would walk away from the relationship much wealthier. She’d wind up as his wife or—if she got cold feet—he’d persuade her father to pay him to go away. Lord Roland would likely cough up a small fortune to rid himself of a cad like Simon.
In the interim, he was positive he’d scuttled Lord Barrett’s chances with Penny, so Libby’s road with Barrett was suddenly wide open. Simon nodded with satisfaction, delighted to have done her such a good turn.
He stuck out his hand and said, “Come with me.”
“To where?”
“To loaf on your bed of course.”
She blanched. “We can’t!”
“Yes, we can. The door is locked, and we’re alone. No one will stumble on us.”
“It would be wrong. It would be a sin.”
He chuckled. “It’s only a sin if we’re caught. And we’re not about to be caught.”
She didn’t move, and he clasped hold of her arm and raised her to her feet. He began kissing her again, and he kept on and on until her limbs were rubbery and her curvaceous front was pressed to his all the way down.
He thought she’d be a splendid bride. She was beautiful, elegant, and refined, and she was very rich too, and a rich girl was always prettier than a poor one. As he pictured her dowry money flowing into his purse, he scooped her up and carried her over to the bed.
She scowled. “I told you we can’t do this.”
“I know,” he arrogantly retorted, “but give me a few minutes to show you how much fun we can have, and I’m betting you’ll be glad I insisted.”
He dropped her onto the mattress and followed her down.
“What do you think of Lord Barrett?”
At the question posed by Lady Penny, Libby was stumped over what her reply should be. They were alone in the park, strolling arm in arm, their heads pressed together.
Penny constantly begged to chat and seemed intent on becoming friends, but Libby was torn over the notion of their socializing too intimately. She wanted to be closer to the younger girl, but she didn’t want to be closer too.
A picnic was about to be served on the lawn. Tents had been erected, chairs and tables arranged. The servants were bustling to and fro, anxious to ensure that every little detail was perfect. As the preparations had grown frenzied, Penny had suggested they slip away for a few minutes, and Libby couldn’t have refused.
“Lord Barrett?” Libby said, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t really know him. Is it appropriate for me to offer a comment?”
“You’ve spoken to him on several occasions. What is your opinion of him?”
“He’s very . . . polite.”
“That’s not much of a compliment. How else would you describe him?”
“I doubt I could or should.” Libby frowned. “Why are you asking me about him?”
“I like you so much.”
“I’m flattered, and I like you too.”
“You’re so much older than me.”
Libby chuckled. “I’m not that old. Aren’t you eighteen? I’m only twenty-five.”
“You’re so sophisticated compared to me.”
“I suppose that’s a valid assessment.” Libby was responding carefully, not eager to engage in the conversation Penny was determined to have. “My upbringing was unconventional and nothing surprises me.”
“Just so, Miss Carstairs. And may I call you Libby?”
“I would like that very much.”
The snobby girl didn’t extend the same courtesy, didn’t request
