Chapter Thirteen

February 11, 1818

Hyde Park

Mayfair, London

S imon whistled a jaunty tune as he walked the paths in the park. Snow flurries fell lazily through the air. Not enough to become a bother but just enough that they lent a magical covering of lace upon the trees, shrubberies, and the winter-dead grass. Since he'd had business and errands throughout Mayfair that afternoon and she wished to visit with her mother, they had arranged to meet by the footbridge, and from there, they would take tea in a tearoom in the area.

If he had been asked a year ago or even three months ago if he would have looked forward to being married or even seeing his wife every day, he would have scoffed and said such a thing was gammon, yet something had shifted between him and Hattie the other day after he sneaked her into the Reading Room. It had been a chance taking her there, for her reputation as a woman more adept at landing in scandalous situations didn't align with that of a bluestocking, but seeing the joy on her face surrounded by books not available to women was reward on its own. Perhaps she'd been bored in her life, which is why she'd sought out attention from men.

But the connection they shared gave him renewed hope for the future, and if things continued to go well, he could easily see everything he'd ever wanted—beyond the navy—close to his grasp.

As he neared the meeting point, the sound of voices raised in argument drifted to his ears, and one of them was Hattie's.

"What the devil?" Seconds after he'd left the path and veered toward the stream and footbridge, his gaze fell on the form of his wife, unmistakable today for she'd worn a scarlet pelisse over an ivory dress with a matching ivory bonnet trimmed with red ribbons.

There was a man with her, the same one he'd spied with her in this same park on the day of their wedding. She gave him a push and when Hattie attempted to move around the man, he caught her arm, hauled her against him. There were some words exchanged; they were in such a low register Simon couldn't hear. Hattie took exception to whatever it had been, and told him so in no uncertain terms, but then Mr. Toppin kissed her. She wrenched away with a cry of protest, and being the spitfire she was, she drove a knee into the flesh between the man's legs.

While Mr. Toppin doubled over and she sprang away, Simon bounded over to them both. Anger filled his chest for he was quite outraged by the affront.

"Keep your hands off my wife, you bastard." A faint haze of red went over his vision, and when Mr. Toppin stood to his full height, Simon pounced. He landed a punch to the other man's chin that sent the interloper flailing backward.

"She never wanted you anyway," Mr. Toppin yelled. He came flying back at Simon, got off a punch of his own that connected with Simon's midsection.

Pain exploded through his gut, but he ignored it. "I'll wager she'd not keen on you, and since you won't take her resistance for an answer, I'll have to drive home my point." Swinging out with a fist, Simon connected with the man's shoulder, which sent him spinning about.

"Stop, for the love of God, stop! You'll be hurt." Hattie's plea was largely ignored, but she jammed herself between them with her arms outstretched to keep them separated.

"Perhaps I want him hurt," he said with a decided growl in his voice, for Hattie was his. It didn't matter how that had come about, so he thrust her behind him in a bid to lend his protection. To Mr. Toppin, he said, "If you dare to touch her or even talk to her again, you'll get more than a few jabs with my fists in return."

The other man wiped at the blood near his lip. He must have bitten his tongue when Simon clocked his chin. Hate glittered in his eyes. "You will not win in this regard, Captain Huxley. I'll wager she still has feelings for me, and you are interrupting us being together."

Another swath of rage swept through Simon's person. "Stay away if you know what's best for you."

Mr. Toppin glanced at Hattie, who came out from behind Simon. "Our conversation isn't yet finished."

"I have asked you to stay away. Please abide by those wishes."

He huffed. "You are confused and distracted, but fear not. I will persevere." Then he left just as Simon rushed at him once more.

Once he'd left, Hattie rounded on him. She popped her hands on her hips. "What was the meaning of that? You could have been hurt." Concern and a bit of hysteria wove through her voice.

"But I wasn't, and besides, I will not tolerate another man trying to steal what is mine."

"As if I am naught but property?" Annoyance lined her face.

"No, because you are my wife , and essentially a valuable part of my life." Why couldn't she understand that? "If someone threatens you, I will defend, for that is what a decent man should do."

"Well, you are that." When she looked at him, tears welled in her eyes, magnifying their moss green color. "And before you ask, I did not encourage his attentions, had no idea he would have been in the park let alone found me here."

"Of course I know that." He nodded as some of the more intense rage left his person. "The man is obsessed with you, and that is worrying." With a hand to the small of her back, Simon guided her back to the path. "You and I might have been forced into this union, but as time has gone by, I have become accustomed to you and am pleased with how things are going between us."

They were silent as they walked to where he'd instructed his driver to wait. Once he'd assisted her into the vehicle and then sat beside her on one of the benches, he glanced at her.

"Do you still wish to go to the tearoom?"

"Not really." Her chin quivered, no doubt from reaction. "I would enjoy it more if we had tea at home."

"Very well." Curls of pleasure went through his gut as he rapped on the roof and instructed the driver to go back to Manchester Square. Once the carriage lurched into movement, he slipped his arms about Hattie while ignoring the bruises that were no doubt forming on his abdomen. "If a woman was hanging about me, wouldn't you feel some sort of ownership or jealousy about that?" It was part vanity and part pride to want to hear her response.

"I suppose." She blew out a breath. "It would be unseemly not to since you are my husband, and I'm rather interested in seeing where this marriage is headed."

It wasn't an outright confession of feelings, but then he hadn't said anything either, for such things were only beginning to bud. He pressed his lips to her hair. "Then that is that." It was quite a cozy feeling, this drawing closer.

In a twinkling, they arrived home.

As soon as they gave over their outerwear, Hattie put a hand to his arm while they approached the stairs. "After tea, will you spend the evening with me?"

Well, damn. "Uh…" Simon tugged at the knot of his cravat. "Unfortunately, there is something I must attend to later tonight."

"What is it? You have been gone more evenings than not since we were wed." A hint of annoyance echoed in her voice.

"Uh…" He couldn't explain lest he give up his secret.

"Ah, you won't tell me because you have a mistress." That annoyance grew strong, and her expression turned into a thundercloud. "After all those pretty words you keep feeding me, and the jealous postering recently, this is what you've chosen to do?"

"No, of course not, but I just can't share." Above all, he wanted her to love him as the man instead of him for his voice. That wasn't an unreasonable request.

Was it?

"I'm not certain I believe you," she said in a quiet voice. "This is why I have grown disenchanted with romance. There is too much scope for lies and secrets to sneak in and distort everything." She climbed a few stair treads, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him, pain was evident in her eyes. "Get your own tea, Captain. I rather think I don't wish to have your company for the rest of this day." Then she jogged up the remainder of the stairs, and seconds later, the door to her suite slammed closed.

The fact she hadn't gone to his suite spoke volumes.

Confused about his feelings for Hattie and worried that he might be killing the relationship before it could put down strong roots, Simon took himself off through Mayfair, and needing wise counsel, he soon found himself at Rockwood House.

After two of his knocks went unanswered, he was about to change course and call on Ashbury, but the door panel finally swung open, and the marquess himself stood in the frame with a domino mask resting on his blonde head and wearing black silk breeches with an untucked, fine lawn shirt with billowing sleeves much like a pirate of old would do. A small feather clung to the chest hair peeking out of the deep open placket of the garment.

Clearly, Simon had interrupted the man's time with his wife. "I had no idea you would be… engaged at this time of the day, but I can leave you to it."

"Don't be silly." The marquess swung the open wide and gestured him in. He grabbed up a banyan that he donned, which must have been lying on one of the chairs in the entryway. There was no embarrassment in his expression, and Simon didn't ask what exactly he'd interrupted. "I gave the staff the afternoon and evening off. Was just having a bit of slap and tickle with my wife, but it will be good for her to wait and anticipate for a bit."

"I shall take your word for that." He'd heard a few rumors regarding the man's tastes regarding sexual kinks and games, but that was none of his business, but he did envy that ease and companionship. That was something he'd hoped to have with Hattie, but this damned secret was tearing all that apart.

Once inside, Rockwood led him to a parlor as he tied the sash of his Oriental-style banyan. "What brings you out to see me? I assumed this honeymoon period would have kept you busy enough."

Heat rushed up the back of Simon's neck. He was far too restless to settle on a piece of furniture, so he chose to stand at the windows. "My wife and I are getting along well in that regard."

"Yet you are here, interrupting my carnal pursuits," the marquess said with a cheeky grin.

"Right, so I'll say my peace and then leave you to it." He rubbed a hand along the side of his face. "Though Hattie and I are growing closer, there is a secret I'm keeping out of necessity that is putting a gulf between us, but if I tell her the truth, she might see me differently." It was the best he could do without giving away everything.

"Is the thing the secret is guarding more important than your wife?"

"That is difficult to say, since it is a bit of how I make my living."

"Would you rather lose it or her?" The marquess shrugged. "Perhaps you need to ask yourself if you are coming to love her." He fiddled with the end of the banyan's sash. "I can already see in the way you speak of her, and even in the way you struggle with this issue, that things have changed between you."

The heat on his neck intensified. "Perhaps, but I want her to love me for me, if that is indeed where we are heading."

The marquess blew out a breath. "Let us boil it down to the basic truth." He stared at Simon with speculation. "When you fall in love with a person, you accept them as they are, in full. Love means seeing the other person without a filter as it were, seeing their soul naked and vulnerable, taking their problems and pasts, and setting those things free." A goofy sort of grin curved the marquess' lips. "Love is acknowledging all the parts of your partner and promising to make their rough edges smoother, and accept the same from them." He shrugged. "Because at the end of the day, love simply is ."

"And trust that everything will work itself out," Simon added as some of the tension in his shoulders faded.

"Indeed." Rockwood's eyes twinkled. "Love doesn't just change one aspect of your life, my friend. It changes… everything, and that transformation is one of the glorious things about it." He clapped a hand to Simon's back. "Go home, Captain. Make amends with your wife. Be honest with her and hope she'll do the same for you, and above all, make her feel cherished. Everything else will unravel itself."

"How can you know that?"

"I've been 'round long enough to know that some things just work. And for whatever reason, matches made at the Lyon's Den are the things we needed instead of what we wanted." The marquess nodded in encouragement. "Bare your soul and discover what happens."

Simon drew in a deep breath then let it ease out. "I will. Thank you." The answer seemed so simple, but it was quite daunting. "I'll leave you to return to your previous activities."

"I appreciate that. Keeping Astrid waiting sometimes does not go well for me." Yet his grin belied the assumption in the statement.

"We need to meet at a club soon for a proper chat," Simon said as he left the parlor, but the marquess had left him at the stairs to hurry to the upper levels.

Clearly, the man was besotted, and that gave him hope for his own union.

By the time Simon gained his townhouse once more, his confidence had rebounded as had his hope for his marriage. After tracking his wife to the private parlor on the second level, he cleared his throat so as not to startle her.

"I would like to talk candidly and honestly, if you are receptive," he said as he approached the low sofa where she read a fashion periodical.

"Why? You were adamant earlier you didn't wish to tell me what keeps you away nearly every night." But she set the periodical on a small table at her elbow.

"You will understand once I tell you."

She nodded. "Very well." When she patted the brocade cushion beside her, he silently rejoiced at the boon. "First, I want to tell you why I'm leery of love and romance."

"All right." Feeling as if they both hovered on the edge of a precipice, Simon sat beside her and waited.

Hattie sighed. "Years ago, I was engaged to a man I was wildly in love with; I simply adored him." She frowned and stared at her clenched hands in her lap. "He was the second son of an earl, who was a contemporary of my father's."

"It was a smart match." He steeled himself for the heartbreak to come.

"Yes." She nodded. "We had a long engagement—six months, I think. I thought I knew him, but he kept a large secret as well."

"Ah, and that is why me keeping mine has upset you." Some of the puzzle pieces were sliding into place.

When she raised her gaze to his, sadness reflected there. "After what happened, I don't find it easy to trust." The delicate tendons in her throat worked with a hard swallow. "On the morning of my wedding, my fiancé pulled me aside. He was a bit crazed and properly frightened, said he needed to tell me the truth, that he was in love with someone else—a man—but that he would marry me to save my reputation and make it seem as if he were a usual gentleman of the ton ."

"Oh, Hattie, I'm so sorry." It all made sense. "Perhaps it was better he told you before you wed, so you wouldn't be trapped in a marriage that might not be whole."

"That is what I thought too." She nodded and a tear fell to her cheek. "Of course, I told him that he needn't marry me. I didn't want a marriage in name only, and I couldn't in good conscience hold the man to his promise to marry me if he loved another. It didn't even matter if that other was a man." For long moments she remained quiet as she tried to get hold of her emotions. "Eventually, he and his lover ran off to Rome, and from the last letter I had from him, they are quite happy and content with a small farm they bought in the countryside."

"Yet this left you with a shredded reputation. Additionally, it is the reason you enjoyed dallying with men but didn't demand marriage, and why you weren't matched by the time the Lyon's Den came into play."

"That is my story, but I like to think I made the right decision." Her chin trembled.

"You set him free; somehow, I know he appreciates that." Simon took one of her hands in his. "I believe everyone wants contentment and the right to follow their heart—in everything." He pressed his lips together. "Before I married you, I wanted a companion to spend my time with, and you have fulfilled that wish beautifully. Additionally, I don't want to spend our union arguing or thinking ill of each other because of misunderstandings or secrets."

She squeezed his fingers. "I want that too."

"Good." As his heartbeat kicked up, he blew out a breath. "The reason why I can't stay at home with you tonight is because I need to attend the opera."

"With a mistress?" When she attempted to pull her hand away, he tightened his grip.

"No. I have never lied about that." His voice wavered. "Because I am in truth the tenor known as Mr. Alexander Dellingham. And that is why I have been away most nights."

"What?" Amazement broke over her face. " You are my favorite singer? But when you sang for me the other day, it was painfully off key."

"I am." He couldn't help but chuckle. "I pretended I was quite horrid at it to disguise my voice. I wanted to keep the secret because…" Was it petty to admit?

"Because?" One of her blonde eyebrows rose in question.

"I wanted you to perhaps admire and respect me for the man I am instead of the voice you have apparently come to love." His chuckle sounded far too nervous. "Especially since I know how much you adore the sound of said voice."

"Ah." Hattie nodded as understanding dawned in her eyes along with a bit of amusement. "That is fair. I suppose celebrity is as difficult to navigate as is being wealthy. One never knows why someone wishes to be with them."

"Yes, exactly." Relief twisted down his spine. "Are you angry with me?"

"No! Of course not." She fairly vibrated in her excitement. "Do you still plan to go to the opera tonight?"

"I should, for it is part of my contract and I have already been paid. Besides, I'm singing a favorite tonight, the very song you and I practiced the other day, along with a few others." Now that the perceived danger was over, he was relaxed enough to grin. "Would you like to accompany me?"

"I would, but the performance is sold out. My mother tried to obtain tickets months ago, but not even Papa's connections could help."

In this, he would give her a gift. "You shall go as my guest, which means you may watch from the wings behind the curtains if you wish. Or you can sit in Pennington's box. I heard earlier from a friend that his countess is feeling under the weather from a lingering head cold, so the box will be free."

"Oh, how lovely!" She squeezed his hand as she beamed. "Yes, yes of course. I would adore that. And I have just the gown to wear." A little squeal of joy escaped her, and he rather adored that sound. "Mama is going to be so impressed!"

"Uh, you can't tell her. Not just yet until I puzzle out how to break the news to the world." He didn't wish for his identity to be leaked prematurely.

"I can understand that. It will remain our secret, and it's fantastic!" Without warning, Hattie pounced on him.

With a cry of surprise, Simon fell backward across the low sofa while wrapping his arms around her. "Can I assume you are no longer cross with me?"

"I am not." For a few moments, she covered his face with kisses that had heated need shivering along his shaft. " That is why you always wore a half-mask on stage. I never connected that, but I did connect with your voice, and now I'm married to my favorite singer." Her eyes shone. "Imagine hearing your voice all the time and knowing exactly who you are. You don't need to hide any longer."

"Yes, this is true." And a relief. His heart trembled. "It is not more important than me, though."

"It is not, for you are quite delicious without the voice." She kissed his lips, spent a few moments exploring, which led to her fingers wandering to the front of his breeches to trace his growing arousal.

"You are quite clever, and you have an odd fondness for the sound of my voice, so I know you would have eventually figured things out."

"And I would have been annoyed that you didn't share such a thing with me," she whispered, and her lips brushed his.

"We can't have that, can we?" Then he gave himself up to kissing his wife and doing some exploring of his own, for her lush body was quite the siren call.

Suddenly the feeling of falling assailed him, and he couldn't help tumbling down that slope toward something new and a bit alarming due to the unknown nature of it. Bloody hell. Surely, he wasn't going tip over tail for her, and so quickly. But then, he grinned as he slipped his hand beneath her skirting. There were worse things, and for now, he would enjoy where fate led.