Ten Ways to Ruin

Oliver chose that unfortunate moment to let out a loud snore. Simon’s anger doubled. “I do not believe Mr. Lancaster is in any condition to drive you home.”

“No matter.” She slipped past him. “I shall get a hackney.”

As she attempted to keep walking, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I said I would take you home.”

He felt her tremble at his low clipped tone.

She looked at him and nodded as if she finally understood he would not be denied. “As you wish, Mr. Kingsley.”

They descended the stairs in silence. Only the sound of their footsteps on the creaky wood steps filled the air. Once outside, she glanced over at a small phaeton.

“I must get the oranges.”

Oranges?

She pulled him toward the carriage. “Mary will be very disappointed if I forget them.”

“Mary?”

“My maid. The Lancasters’ housekeeper gave her a basket of beautiful oranges. She was very excited about them. Mary that is.”

“Grab the oranges and let’s be off,” he replied gruffly. How had Emma seized the upper hand? He’d arrived furious and ready for battle, but at every turn, she’d outmaneuvered him.

After retrieving the basket, she turned and gave him a brilliant smile. “I suppose I should thank you for the offer of your carriage. I do believe you were right that Oliver was too drunk and to drive home.” She glanced up at the darkening sky. “And it does appear as if the rain may return.”

He walked in silence, still too angry for more than a few clipped words.

When he made no reply, she added, “I can only assume you must have paid a call on Susan. Will you be attending the ball tomorrow?”

“I rather doubt it.” He opened the carriage door and said, “Get in.”

“Of course, how else will I get home.” She took his hand and climbed inside the coach.

God give him patience, he thought. Once settled, he hammered the roof with his fist.

“Would you please explain to me how you ended up in Soho in the company of the disreputable Mr. Bowles?” he asked stiffly.

“Oliver offered to take me. Mr. Bowles was his art instructor when he was younger.” She played with the buttons on her glove. “I am not sure why you are angry. This was

your idea.”

“What?” he shouted in disbelief. “How is anything you do my fault?”

“Yes, in the conservatory at Worth Hall. I believe your words were something to the effect of ‘hang those who want to tell you what you can and cannot do because you’re a lady.’” She tilted her head and leveled him an innocent look. “Did I remember that correctly?”

Son of a bitch. Now she was throwing his words back at him. “I suppose that was the point of what I said. But I never told you to go to a man’s home alone to find an instructor.”

“I did no such thing. I went with Oliver, remember?”

“Who is barely twenty and far from a respectable gentleman to accompany you.”

“Well, that is scarcely you either, is it?” she said mockingly. “And Oliver is the son of a viscount.”

“The younger son of a viscount. And you should be thankful it was me and not some stranger intent on raping you,” Simon bit out, barely containing his anger. How could an innocent young lady have so little regard for her safety or reputation?

“Well, I don’t have to worry about you doing that after our last meeting. If I remember right, you wanted no part of being an item on my list to scratch off. Besides, this section of Soho is fairly respectable. I highly doubt some man would attempt to rape me in the middle of the day on Frith Street.”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You know nothing about this section of town. I was born and raised only a few blocks from here. There are sections of Soho where rape, even in the middle of the day, is entirely possible.”