Seducing Simon

Excerpt

Chapter One

London, 1938

Troy frowned at the puddle at her feet. Small feet, and a large, murky puddle.

The day had been a personal triumph. She didn't intend to let this little inconvenience spoil her mood. The youngest translator in the Foreign Office, she gloried in the day's exposure of a dangerous spy. A handsome devil, his blond hair glinting in the sunlight coming through the window. He had made a mistake in thinking a girl couldn't be dangerous. He'd realized too late that her translations of his language were so accurate he'd been betraying himself. She knew just when he realized she was picking up every nuance and began to fear her.

Damned high heels. If she tried to jump and didn't make it, she might slip and fall in the messy stuff. That would be a mood-spoiler for sure.

Maybe she'd better walk down to the next corner, even if it took her farther. She hesitated and started to turn to go. Then a low, bright red Alta sports coupe cut around the traffic, swerving into the puddle at much too fast a speed.

Dirty water splashed her from head to toe, leaving wet freckles of mud soaking even her bronze, shoulder length hair. As for her dress--... She gasped with indignation, and stepped back to assess the damage. She must look a complete mess. She wouldn't have thought one puddle, no matter how big, could drench her so thoroughly.

She began to try to brush off some of the mud, but only succeeded in smearing it. Damn and blast that careless villain for driving so fast in town. She felt drippy from head to toe, besides being hungry and tired. She'd love to wring the neck of that inconsiderate driver.

The water must have addled her already wrung-out mind. She could have sworn she heard myriad little voices from the water whispering their regret at splashing her.

She was not a mage with magical abilities over water. She was only Troy, the daughter of a mage.

Wasn't she?

She'd often wondered if she'd ever show any sign of a mage's power, but those tiny voices couldn't be what she'd waited for.

Could they?

She took another glance at her muddy skirt and uttered a rather loud "Blast that damned driver." She stood pondering what to do. She was a mess. No respectable cabbie would want her in his cab. She'd better start walking.

She started gave a start when a male hand holding a large white handkerchief began to mop at her face and hair.

"I'm one very sorry damned driver, miss. That was inexcusably careless of me."

Troy froze. She remembered every intonation of that seductive voice. The voice she had avoided hearing for four years. Simon, the man she'd thought never to see again. She looked down for a moment, and realized she wanted to take the chance he wouldn't recognize her. He hadn't seen her since she was fifteen. She knew well she'd changed a great deal in the past few years.

Keeping her face lowered, she grabbed the handkerchief and dabbed at her wet blouse. Oh blessed Merlin, the silk material clung to her breasts as if it were her second skin. Well, at least he wouldn't recognize that part of her. She'd barely started to develop when he'd last seen her. Poking her breasts out, but still not looking up, she considered what to say. Ah yes, she'd been immersed in French all day. Why not continue?

She batted his hands away. "Espece d'imbecile. Cretin." She switched to English with a decided French accent. "Go away. Go away."

He dropped his hands. "Would you at least let me pay for new clothes of your choice? I fear I've ruined your lovely outfit."

If that wasn't just like Simon. Trying to buy his way out of a scrape.

"Just go away," she said again. Determined not to let her sorrow show, and miserable even beyond what she'd expected, she forgot to use her assumed accent. To see Simon again and not want to acknowledge him seemed so unnecessary and cruel. If he hadn't already broken her heart, it would certainly crack now at a place or two.

Even looking down at her toes, she could see him still. Could feel him hold himself motionless.

"Will you please look at me, Miss? How can I apologize when you keep your eyes fixed on the pavement?"

Blessed Merlin, he'd caught her change of accent. Whatever else his faults, Simon was no dummy. Speechless, she kept her eyes down, but a large male hand gently took her chin and raised it.

"Troy," he sighed. "Troy. It's really you. I thought I knew your voice. You're all grown up. Grown up and as beautiful as I always knew you'd be. I wouldn't be sure were it not for your gorgeous eyes. I've never seen anyone else with that lovely sherry color. Unless it's your mother's."

He added the last with a grin, which faded as she glared at him.

"Ah, Troy," he sighed. "Not you too."

He said not another word.

Simon hailed a cab, ushered her in, and then gave the driver enough money to take her anyplace in town.

"Please send me your cleaning bill," he said. His voice sounded as formal as if they'd never known each other. But they had known each other since the day she was born.

And that was all. As he turned and stalked away, Troy felt the tears threatening to erupt from her throat. Swallowing them long enough to give the driver directions, she huddled in the back seat. A soggy mess by the time she reached her flat, she stripped off her clothes, fell on her bed, and let the tears flow.

She cried for a long time. She'd not mourned like this since she'd first heard of his appalling actions and how he'd walked out on his family. The family who loved him as she had.

When the storm of tears ended, Troy showered and let the hot water warm her shivering body. Then she wrapped herself in a snug flannel robe. She didn't fool herself that she was cold on this relatively warm day. Seeing Simon wrecked what peace of mind she'd forced herself into after the scandal had rocked their family. And all the families in the tight, exclusive circle of the Earl of Sinclair, her beloved grandfather.

None of them had ever been the same.

She'd adored Simon ever since she realized boys were different from girls. Even before that, when she was a child, knowing he'd gone to Eton and was a dismal distance from her. As a young girl, she idolized him in silence, keeping her longings close to her heart. Beautiful as the angel Gabriel, she'd known he was unattainable to such an inferior being as herself. He was fourteen years older after all, and moved in a different world. He'd sometimes let her tag along when he and his friends came down from Eton or Oxford, but not often. Perhaps the fact she'd become an expert horsewoman, even at a young age, let her occasionally slip into his life.

He'd left for London at once after the news of his deceit devastated them all. His family never disowned him, but they refused to discuss him. Troy watched his father's hair streak with white almost overnight. After three girls, Simon had been born late in the marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Essingden, and he'd seemed everything an heir should be until he was almost thirty. He's been destined to be as worthy as an heir could be. And then the scandal broke. Simon had stood motionless and silent through all questioning, and then left to take up a new life. One of careless carousing and enjoying the more dissolute offerings of London.

He'd answered no questions and made only one remark and that to his father. Troy heard he'd stood straight and tall, looking his father in the eye. "I have no defense to make and so will make none. And would not if I could. "

And then he'd wheeled and left his father's house at Raphael's Retreat. The home and family everyone thought he'd treasured above all else.

On that day, the world as Troy knew it changed forever.