Chapter 197

Alone, Cassandra surveyed the sea of faces until she spotted Lady Georgina Harrington standing among a group of older women.

Georgina was engaged in conversation, but upon noticing Cassandra approaching, she excused herself from the others.

"Lady Montague," she greeted her pleasantly. "How lovely to see you."

"And you, Lady Harrington."

They exchanged the customary pleasantries before Cassandra guided the conversation towards the Ladies’ Coterie Club and her prospective membership. Georgina had promised to recommend her for admission, and Cassandra was eager to know whether her name had been formally put forward and when the members intended to consider her application.

"I have spoken to a few of the ladies," Georgina assured her. "Your name will be considered. I cannot promise an immediate decision, but I expect the matter to come before them soon."

"Then I shall endeavour to contain my impatience."

"I suspect you are more patient than you let on, particularly when it concerns something you genuinely desire." Georgina chuckled.

If only she knew how right she was.

"Only when circumstances leave me little choice."

As they spoke, Cassandra’s attention briefly wandered. She caught sight of Merissa standing in front of a gentleman, though Cassandra could only see his back. It prevented her from making out his features.

He appeared rather animated, speaking with great enthusiasm, while Merissa listened with rapt interest.

Cassandra might have thought little of the exchange had the gentleman not shifted slightly, offering her a glimpse of his side profile.

It was Simon.

She blinked, surprised to find him in attendance at Lady Sinclair’s ball.

Simon, however, seemed perfectly comfortable in his surroundings, as though he had no desire to be anywhere else with Merissa’s attention fixed entirely upon him.

She looked captivated, though whether by Simon’s words or simply by the attention he was giving her, Cassandra could not tell.

—

The ballroom had grown stuffier as the evening wore on, and the noise had begun to carry into the adjoining rooms.

In need of a reprieve from the crowds, Simon eventually withdrew to the card room, where several gentlemen had gathered to escape the crush.

A few were occupied at a card table, while others stood in small groups, drinks in hand, discussing everything from politics to the latest society gossip.

Simon welcomed the change of atmosphere. The ballroom was pleasant enough at first, but there was only so much conversation about fashionable entertainments he could endure before seeking an escape.

Lord Grimsley, one of Simon’s casual acquaintances, stood near the mantelpiece with a glass of brandy in hand. He greeted Simon as he approached.

"Who was the young lady you were speaking with earlier?" he asked curiously once Simon was within earshot. "The one in the emerald gown."

"That would be Merissa Langley," Simon replied. "A relative of the Dowager duchess."

"Then your family is fortunate in its relations." Grimsley took a sip of his brandy. "She is one of the loveliest young women I have seen this evening."

Simon could hardly dispute that observation. Merissa was undeniably beautiful.

He offered a faint, amused smile. "I shall inform her that she has acquired another admirer."

He might have done just that under different circumstances, but Grimsley was a notorious rake, as disreputable as they came. Merissa struck him as a genuinely pleasant young woman, and she hardly needed the attentions of a man like him.

"You should do so. Though I must say, she seemed rather taken with you."

Simon’s response was automatic. "Merissa is a delightful young woman, but I have no interest in pursuing debutantes."

"No interest in debutantes?" Grimsley repeated, amusement creeping into his voice.

"None whatsoever," Simon affirmed. "As I said, I have absolutely no inclination to pursue them."

Someone spoke up from behind him.

"No, only their mothers."

Simon turned, recognising the familiar gruff timbre.

Draven stood a short distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. His expression was severe, and the displeasure in his eyes was hard to miss.

It was a calculated insult, intended to knock Simon down a peg.

It was amusing how Simon had come to be regarded as the family troublemaker, the hateful and aggressive one, when Draven was often just as willing to provoke him. He had a particular habit of going out of his way to attack Simon, and today was no exception.

For a brief moment, Simon simply regarded him before a familiar, languid smile spread across his face.

He appeared entirely unbothered by the insult. "I never took you for a man who entertained idle chatter, Draven. But since you are so curious about my affairs, I shall put your mind at ease. I have every intention of preserving my chastity until I meet a lady with whom I intend to spend the rest of my days. A noble enough sacrifice, don’t you think?" he asked with mock innocence.

The few gentlemen that were within earshot laughed. Simon inclined his head, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. It was a familiar tactic, one he had perfected over the years whenever someone attempted to make a spectacle of him. Deflect the insult, make light of it, and deny his opponent the satisfaction of seeing it land.

Draven, however, was not amused.

He moved closer, fixing Simon with a stern look. Once the other men turned their attention elsewhere, he lowered his voice.

"One day, your carelessness will catch up with you. You will find yourself in bed with another man’s wife, and when her husband discovers you, he will put a bullet through your skull. I wonder whether you will find it quite so amusing then."

Simon’s smile didn’t waver, though it acquired a sharper edge. He had never been especially troubled by Draven’s disapproval. If anything, he found a peculiar satisfaction in how readily he could provoke his cousin.

"You would like that, wouldn’t you?" he murmured. "To see me dead. I imagine you would celebrate the occasion."

"Do not flatter yourself."

"Why not? It would hardly be out of character for you. Whenever someone in this family dies, you always seem to be somewhere nearby," Simon said, keeping his voice low enough for Draven alone to hear. "You were conveniently late to safe Gareth when he was drowning. You stood by and watched him die, just as you did when your father passed. Even Grandfather drew his final, anguished breath while you loomed over him. One might almost think death has developed a particular fondness for your company."

It was a cruel thing to say, but Simon did not regret it. Draven had taken the first shot, and he had no intention of allowing it to go unanswered.

Simon knew exactly where to hurt him. Those deaths were wounds that had never truly healed, and he had chosen to press his fingers into them.

As soon as the words left his cousin’s mouth, they drudged up old memories from Draven’s past, painful memories, forcing him to briefly relive them.

One moment he was standing in that card room and the next, he was a boy again, soaking wet and freezing from the cold as he watched his mother crying over his brother’s lifeless body.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." He remembered saying. Over and over again until his throat was hoarse and he became numb to the cold.