Read Online Days of Rakes and Roses by Anna Campbell - Free Book Online Page B

him down in distant Anatolia? The moment she saw Simon, Lydia would admit that she’d waited for him.
    What a blasted ass he was. How unforgivably bloody arrogant.
    Now here he stood as grumpy as a tiger with a sore tooth, glowering at the woman he loved and couldn’t have. The woman who hadn’t spared him a glance all night. She stood mere yards away with her fiancé. In less than forty-eight hours, she intended to make that puffed-up toad the happiest of men, sod Grenville Berwick’s soul.
    As the concert’s supper interval ended, Simon hung back. He should go home. He’d be no happier away from Lydia, but at least on his own, he didn’t have to hide his anguish. Maintaining a careless façade over grinding misery became more onerous with every minute so close to her, yet so impossibly far away.
    With a surge of futile resentment, Simon watched Lydia take Berwick’s arm. Heads lowered in conversation, they crossed the floor toward the ballroom.
    Yes, Simon should definitely go. Watching Lydia only made him feel like he punched old bruises, doubling the ache.
    Still, he found himself transfixed at the sight of her, tall, slender and graceful in Nile green silk. The subtle color made her skin look enticingly white. Her auburn hair was pinned high in a style that emphasized the slant of her cheekbones and the glitter in her amber eyes. Call him an over-optimistic fool, but those eyes seemed shadowed. The sadness seemed incongruous in a woman due to marry in two days.
    General opinion stated that Lady Lydia Rothermere was an unemotional creature, her enthusiasms focused on charity causes rather than flesh and blood individuals. Simon knew better. It would kill her to spend the rest of her life with that bloodless fish Grenville Berwick. She was born for love. She was born for Simon Metcalf.
    Oh, Lydia, don’t you know what wretchedness you resign yourself to in this marriage?
    As if she heard his angry question, she glanced up sharply to meet his gaze. For one turbulent instant, no longer than the space between one breath and the next, a resonant silence stretched between them. The crowd’s excited chatter, the violins tuning in the ballroom, the rattle of traffic along Brook Street, all receded to nothing. Half a huge room separated them and no words were spoken. But in that silence he claimed her.
    Finally. Inevitably. Eternally.
    A rotund lady in a purple turban intruded upon Lydia’s attention and the preternatural connection snapped as if it had never existed. Except that it had existed. Simon knew in his soul that she’d felt that link as profoundly as he had.
    How could she choose another man over him? It was a travesty. Even if the fellow she married had proven himself worthy of her.
    Lydia’s heightened color hinted at her awareness of Simon’s continuing attention. Of course she knew. She always had, even before that stirring moment of communication. She was the other half of his soul. The damnable tragedy of it was that he couldn’t get her to acknowledge that truth.
    After another word to Lydia, Sir Grenville strolled through into the ballroom with a visible confidence that made Simon’s hands clench at his sides. The throng in the supper room thinned as people returned for the concert’s second half. A famous Italian soprano had been engaged this evening. People were more eager than usual to find their seats.
    His stare unwavering on Lydia, Simon leaned against the wall near the glass doors onto the terrace. Feeding his longing only built his torment, like a dog choking on a chain too short to reach the water bowl.
    But he couldn’t wrench himself away. Not yet.
    At last the squat woman stopped haranguing Lydia and stumped away. By now, the supper room was almost empty and servants had started to clear away the silver and porcelain serving dishes from the long tables. Still Simon lounged against the wall with totally spurious indolence. Every instinct was on hunting alert. How could it be otherwise