Leslie Lafoy by The Rogues Bride Page B

drive. But if Lumpy could manage to marry a title … And, while he was at it, money … Well, all would be right in the world of the Danleas. Lumpy could go on being a peer, his sisters would have better odds of snagging a peer of their very own, and while money wouldn’t exactly flow like the fountains in Hyde Park, they’d have considerably more of it than they did today.
    Now why they thought she might be willing to be the sacrificial bride in their grand plan for social survival … Somewhere in England there might be a titled woman desperate to wed and bed— Simone shuddered. Bed Lumpy? No, she took it back; there wasn’t any woman anywhere desperate enough to marry a short, fat, bald man with a perpetually running nose and an eye that twiched to three-four time. God, if for some reason she was forced to marry him …
    “Hey ho!”
    Simone blinked away the vision of tossing Lumpy out the window of the bridal bower and focused on the rear yard. Ah, Haywood. Of course he was waiting for her. In almost the exact same spot he’d been standing in when she’d ignored his protests and ridden away.
    “Hey ho yourself,” she answered, reining in Jasper and swinging down from the saddle. “You haven’t been standing there the whole time I’ve been gone, have you?”
    Ignoring the question—and the groomsman dashing toward them—Haywood caught Jasper’s bridle and asked, “Did you get Lord Lockwood’s coat returned to his sister?”
    “Actually,” she replied as the groomsman politely jostled Haywood aside and led Jasper off to the stable, “I returned it to Lord Lockwood himself.”
    “You went to his home?” Haywood gasped, taking a half step back.
    What? Of all … “And up to his bedroom,” she supplied, with wholly feigned sweetness. “You may be right about that Lunatic Lockwood thing. A decor wholly dedicated to debauchery.” As Haywood stared at her agog, she added, “Fur whips. Leather swings. I’m sure it was nothing you, being a man about town, would consider shocking. And come to think of—”
    “Where is Alvin?” he asked, leaning to the side to look past her and down the drive.
    “I sold him to a ship’s captain bound for Shanghai.” Haywood straightened to stare at her, his eyes wide. “Oh, for godsakes,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s somewhere behind me. And when he gets here, he’ll tell you, ever so dutifully and faithfully and honestly, that I went to Lady Lockwood’s home, not Tristan’s.”
    “So you didn’t actually see Lord Lockwood.”
    Sweet Jesus. Such hopefulness. “I didn’t say that,” Simone countered, desperately holding on to her patience. “He came by to visit with his sister while I was there.”
    “You left immediately, of course.”
    “Oh yes,” she assured him dryly. “I squeaked like a little mouse, blushed furiously while babbling something inane, and then, wringing my trembling hands, ran out the door as fast as my quaking knees and delicate little feet would carry me.”
    He considered her with narrowed eyes. “You did not.”
    Well, at last he’d found his brain. “Then why’d you bother to ask if I did?”
    “I was hoping that, just once, you’d surprise me by acting as a lady is supposed to.”
    And then he’d let it slip away again. “And just why would I want to behave ridiculously?”
    “For the sake of your repu … ta…” He cleared his throat, looked down at his boots, and mumbled, “Never mind.”
    How, after six long years, the man could still harbor illusions … “Hark,” she drawled as the sound of hoofbeats drifted faintly up the drive. “Alvin approaches. Just out of curiosity, do you and Drayton pay him to rat on me?”
    Haywood drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “He does not rat . He offers reports when necessary, when he thinks there might be consequences for which Drayton or I might need to prepare ourselves.”
    “And he offers these reports freely?”
    Haywood’s blush was answer