Chapter Eleven

H ettie's hands were still trembling by the time she reached her own home. It had been bound to happen, of course. Given how close she was to her sister and his association with the man her sister was now married to, their running into one another at some point had been inevitable. Knowing it would happen and being fully prepared for the jolt of seeing him—well, those were very different things.

She resented him. She resented that he was so stoic and so removed from the situation. Perhaps it did bother him to see her, but one would certainly never know it to look at him. His expression had remained inscrutable, and his polite tone had conveyed nothing of his emotional state. Did he have an emotional state?

It was hard to balance the two sides of him she had seen. When he'd rescued her initially, he'd been patient. He'd been comforting and solid and had offered her—what had he offered her? Nothing. Not really. But she had presumed to believe he had some regard for her. In the end, with his cold dismissal after their intimate encounter, she didn't know who he truly was. Was he the kind man who'd plucked her from the water or the cold-hearted cad who cared not a whit for anyone's feelings?

The footman, James, employed by Vincent, helped her down from the carriage. He acted as her guard of sorts, keeping her safe from threats both inside the home and out. His presence was a comfort to her, as it deterred any unpleasantness from Arthur. But as she climbed the steps to the front door, she heard shouting from within.

Then the door flew open and Simon appeared directly in front of her, his face twisted into an expression of complete fury.

"You are responsible," he snapped. "Barred from my own uncle's home! A home that, since you are worthless as a woman and cannot even provide him an heir, will one day be mine!"

"Yes," she said. "I have asked that you not be given entry to my home. And Arthur has agreed. All the servants have been informed that you are not welcome here."

"What reason could you have?"

"You drink and gamble so recklessly that any association with you is unwise. And others may not realize that you were thick as thieves with the Walpoles, but I know. I know. And perhaps I cannot prove that you aided them, but I will not be dissuaded from believing it. You should leave, Simon. You're creating a scene."

He pushed past her, nearly knocking her back down the steps. Had James not been behind her to catch her, she could only imagine that she would have been gravely injured by such a fall on the hard stones. She also could not imagine that such injury had not been Simon's intention all along.

When he was gone, she smoothed her skirts and then stepped through the open door into the foyer. Arthur's face was all but purple with rage, and for the first time since their marriage she knew beyond question that it was not directed at her.

"Insolent puppy!" He spat. "How dare he speak to me the way he did! If I could, I'd disown him entirely."

As it stood, he would only inherit the title and a very small amount of money to maintain his estate. Everything else would revert to her when Arthur died. "I find that I am very tired after that ugly scene, Arthur. Excuse me as I retire for a rest."

He said nothing, just continued fuming and griping to the empty entry hall about his nephew's worthlessness. Climbing the stairs, Hettie entered her room and closed the door behind her. Then she leaned back against the cool wood and tried to still the tremors that wracked her.

Simon's words rang in her mind. Worthless as a woman. Unable to provide an heir. He didn't know that his uncle's impotence was the cause. More so, Hettie had the terrible realization that she could very much provide an heir, it just wouldn't be an heir of Arthur's blood.

It had been nearly six weeks since Mr. Ettinger had rescued her. Six weeks and her courses had not come.

"Oh, dear sweet heaven," she whispered.

Could it be?

It was surely the only explanation. And it was about to make her life very, very complicated.

*

Simon didn't return to the Albany. He was half afraid to. What if Ardmore was waiting for him again? The deadline the moneylender had given him was fast approaching, and he was no closer to snatching the title and fortune from his uncle's dying grasp than he had been when he'd made the foolish promise.

There would be no further extensions. There would be no more grace. And, terrifyingly, Simon knew that death might be preferable to whatever they would do to him.

If he couldn't get to his uncle in his home, then he'd just have to get to him elsewhere. Because not getting to him, not ending the old bastard's miserable life, was no longer an option. And he might take it upon himself to get rid of Lady Ernsdale, as well. If for no other reason than she had insulted him so terribly. As if she had the right to bar him from a house that would one day be his!

"That bitch will pay, and so will Arthur," he murmured to himself.

He needed a plan. A strategy. And since he couldn't watch his uncle's movements twenty-four hours a day, then he would need to enlist some help. There were any number of places in the city where such an accomplice might be obtained. One in particular was The Cock & Crow. A dockside tavern, dark and seedy, it was the sort of place where one's name and face were forgotten as soon as they left. Given that he was about to embroil himself in a conspiracy for murder, being forgettable was vital to his continued existence.