Kasey Michaels by Escapade Page A

Simon’s mother—who Simon knew could not have been boosted from the room if he’d sent for a regiment of dragoons to oust her—the two mischief-makers, and himself. That was still two more than he could have wished for but, as he didn’t think Lester Plum would have much to say for himself, he decided to let the man stay.
    Once assured that his mother had recovered from her fit of choking, and after signaling to Lester that he return to his former seat, Simon—after fortifying himself with a deep drink from his wineglass—began once more.
    “Shall we agree that we have matters to discuss, Miss Johnston?”
    Caledonia Johnston looked to the ceiling, then to her right and left, her pursed lips also rather comically shifting left to right as if she was swishing her answer around inside her mouth for a few moments, tasting it, before offering, “I suppose you think I should apologize for almost shooting you last night. If you insist.”
    “Oh, I do, Miss Johnston, I absolutely do insist,” Simon countered, admiring her courage even as he longed to throttle her. “I also insist you then forget the entire incident ever occurred. The interlude does neither of us much credit.”
    “If you say so, although it’s really beyond stupid, because we both know nothing happened except that I bested you. Goodness—wait a moment—that could be embarrassing to you, couldn’t it, if it were to be repeated in your clubs and such? Anyway—sorry,” Callie ended shortly, not sounding at all sincere as she stood up, looking toward the doorway. “Well, that’s done. Come on, Lester. Let’s be on our way.”
    “Sit... down ,” Simon warned tightly, feeling a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.
    “Simon, honestly,” the viscountess scolded as both Callie and Lester collapsed into their chairs once more. “Don’t you know you’ll land many more flies with honey than with vinegar? Be nice to the gel.”
    “Nice. Nice? I’d rather try to pet a wild lion,” Simon bit out, then shook his head, knowing he was getting matters nowhere by being so prickly. “Miss Johnston, do you think it would it be at all possible for you to tell me, tell us , exactly why it is that you’ve taken it into your head to murder the earl of Filton?”
    “See? I told you, Callie,” Lester Plum said happily, nudging her in the ribs with his elbow. “Told you it looked like murder.”
    Simon looked to Lester, belatedly wondering why the man’s lips were black, but then remembered that the young man was also dressed up to look like a woman, so that it probably didn’t much matter what color he’d painted his mouth. “What was it supposed to look like, Mr. Plum?” he asked, thinking maybe the fellow could be of some help in the interview after all.
    Lester wriggled himself forward on the cushions, eager to speak. It wasn’t often anyone really listened to him, asked his opinion, or thought it remotely possible that he had anything important to say. “Well, as it happens, Callie thought his knee would be the best place to shoot him. Nothing fatal, you understand. Just maim him—so he’d suffer in bad weather and couldn’t dance all night.”
    “Oh! I do like that!” the viscountess exclaimed happily. “Bloodthirsty, but not necessarily lethal. Really, Simon, it seems to me you might have been rather poor-spirited in not allowing the gel her revenge. It is revenge you’re seeking, isn’t it? Never say he ruined you, for that would certainly deflate me.”
    “Ruined me?” Callie repeated, looking to the viscountess questioningly for a moment before stiffening her spine as the realization of what the older woman meant was brought home to her. “Certainly not!”
    “Oh, good,” Imogene said, smiling sunnily. “That’s all right then, isn’t it, Simon?”
    “Mother,” Simon began, then just shook his head, believing he had enough on his plate at the moment without engaging his parent in a discussion of her harebrained