Sylvia Day - [Georgian 04] by Don't Tempt Me Page B

Rousseau, did you not?”
    “Too much time.”
    “You tired of her?”
    “We were never lovers, if that is your hope.”
    “By all accounts, she is quite lovely.”
    “Beautiful,” Simon agreed, “and a bit touched. I like my bedsport wild, but sane.”
    “Interesting.” Blue eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you could overlook her brain in favor of her body?”
    “Perhaps you can fuck her yourself,” Simon bit out. “Do not forget, my lord. I no longer work for you.”
    The earl smiled. “I have not forgotten.”
    “Good.” With his mood souring by the moment, Simon pushed back from the table and stood. Putting distance between him and Eddington was suddenly of primary importance. There were very few things as dangerous as a politically minded, ambitious man. “Enjoy the house. I believe I will quit France in favor of Spain.”
    “You would be paid handsomely,” Eddington offered.
    “You do not understand.” Simon set both hands palms-down atop the table. “Lysette is no fool. She knows I disdain her. If I approach her for sex, she would see straightaway that I had ulterior motives. There is no chance she would trust me.”
    “She might, if you tell her that you have been betrayed by those you once worked for. Tell her that your accounts have been seized, and you thirst for revenge and restitution.”
    Simon snorted. “Why in hell would she believe such a tale?”
    “Because it’s true?”
    Shock held Simon frozen for the length of several heartbeats, then he growled, “Surely you would not be so imprudent.”
    “Desperate times lead to desperate measures.” The earl maintained his leisurely pose, but Simon felt the tension in him. He knew he’d provoked a dangerous enmity. “England is beset on all sides. I would do anything to protect her.”
    “Spare me. This has nothing to do with the good of England and everything to do with your own lofty aspirations.”
    “If my aspirations are achieved by assisting my country, what harm is there in that?”
    Simon’s fist slammed into the table, rattling everything that rested upon it. Eddington flinched.
    “What harm is there?” Simon barked. “You force me to risk my life when your own would do as well? You are comely enough. Why not manage the deed yourself?”
    “I am at a disadvantage from the start. Since I lack even an introduction to Mademoiselle Rousseau, I have months of acclimation ahead of me. The same difficulty faces every other alternate I considered. I am left with no choice but you.”
    “Just as I have no choice?” Simon snapped. “You drag me into your mire with a smile.”
    Eddington attempted a more serious mien, but it was too late. Simon was infuriated as he had never been before. The whole of his life he had made every move by necessity, never having an option if he wanted to survive. The thought of finally achieving independence had been dear to him. Never looking over his shoulder, never fearing he would be discovered with something to hide.
    . . . to be thrust back into that life against his will . . .
    He realized he’d never had any power at all.
    He should have followed Mitchell’s example—gathered his coin, changed his name, and traveled to a distant land.
    Although he collected his error too late, Simon was a man who lived by his wits. He never made the same mistake twice. Eddington had him on a leash now, but he would not always. When all was said and done, Simon intended to ensure that he was never under anyone’s thumb again.
    And Eddington would rue the day he set this plan in motion.
    Pulling out his chair again, Simon sat. “Tell me everything you know.”
     
    Lynette turned back and forth before the mirror with wide eyes.
    “I am not certain I possess the aplomb to carry this garment,” she said, her gaze meeting Solange’s reflected perusal.
    “ Absurde. You are a vision.” Solange stood at her back, fluffing out the many layers of lace and shimmering blue-green silk. “You remind me of your mother