Chapter 73
The room had grown warm from the fire, and the curtains had been drawn tightly enough to shut out the world beyond them.
Lady Agatha Dubarry lay beside Simon beneath the disordered sheets, one arm draped lazily across his chest like she had no intention of allowing their evening of passion to end just yet.
They had been lovers for long enough that neither of them felt any particular awkwardness in the aftermath of their intimacy. There was also no affection between them.
Their arrangement was practical and it suited them just fine, even if neither of them ever spoke of it in such blunt terms.
Agatha enjoyed Simon’s company, his youth, his beauty and the attentions he gave her. Simon enjoyed the comfort and luxury her generosity afforded him.
There were other women, of course. Agatha knew that much. She was not foolish enough to believe she was the only woman Simon visited, and he conveniently ignored the fact that she had a husband.
Simon, after all, had never promised her exclusivity.
Yet there was something different about Agatha. She had been in his life longer than most, and unlike the others, she had become accustomed to supporting him in ways that went beyond an occasional generous gift.
She had become one of the pillars holding up the extravagant life he could no longer afford on his own.
Her fingers drifted idly across his chest as she studied him.
"You have thoroughly exhausted me tonight," she murmured, her fingertips tracing a lazy path down his toned abdomen before returning to his chest. "But I am insatiable when it comes to you. I wonder whether you have enough strength left for another round."
Under other circumstances, Simon might have welcomed the suggestion. Tonight, however, his thoughts were too occupied to respond as she expected.
His gaze remained fixed upon the ceiling, lost in thought.
The creditors had become increasingly aggressive. But even that was no longer quite accurate.
There was only one creditor now.
Almost overnight, Simon had gone from owing money to several men to owing everything to a single one—a man deranged enough to purchase every debt Simon had accumulated over the years and assume them all as his own.
A man Simon had aptly nicknamed ’Satan’.
That was what had been troubling him all day, long before he had arrived at Agatha’s house. The letters were coming more frequently now and the wordings became more aggressive with each letter, the demands more insistent, and the threats increasingly difficult to ignore.
He needed money. More importantly, he needed it quickly.
Thirty thousand pounds.
His mind circled back to that outrageous sum like it had countless times over the past several weeks.
Simon hauled himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for the cigar he had left on the bedside table. He lit it, drew slowly on it, and let the smoke linger in his lungs. He knew a single cigar would not make his troubles disappear, but perhaps it would soothe the more turbulent thoughts crowding his mind.
If Draven could only be persuaded to restore the annuity, Simon could use the sum to momentarily placate his creditor for the time being.
It would not be enough to clear his debts. Thirty thousand pounds was an obscene amount and even eight thousand would only make a dent in the mountain he had created for himself.
But it would buy him time.
Time was what he needed.
Time to find another source of money. Time to simply breathe.
Simon barely noticed when Agatha shifted closer.
She pressed a kiss against his neck, then another, her hand sliding around his shoulder as she attempted to draw his attention back to her. When that failed, she reached over and plucked the cigar from his fingers.
She brought it to her lips, inhaled from the spot his mouth had just been and slowly released the smoke into the air between them.
"Your thoughts are elsewhere," she observed. "Tonight is supposed to be about the two of us."
"I have been truly horrible company. Forgive me." Simon finally glanced at her. "I have just been occupied with matters I need to settle."
Agatha didn’t seem moved by this. She had heard variations of the same answer from him before.
She moved closer again, breast pressed against him, her lips brushing his neck as she tried to coax him back into the mood he had been in earlier.
Simon remained distracted, a slave to his thoughts.
He pondered about money more in the past month than he had in his entire life.
He wanted, for once, to stop.
Agatha’s hand was still wandering over him, and when she made another attempt to draw him toward her, Simon finally caught her wrist gently and moved it away.
"I have other appointments tonight." He said, avoiding her eyes.
Agatha drew back and gave him an offended look.
"Appointments?" She questioned curtly.
"You know what I mean."
"I do," she replied, huffing softly as she pulled the sheets higher around herself. "It does not mean I have to like it."
Simon glanced at her and found the displeasure written plainly across her face.
For a moment, he considered simply leaving it there, but he knew better than to offend one of the few people currently willing to make his life easier.
He leaned toward her and kissed her. It was brief, affectionate enough to placate her but lacking the passion she had been trying to summon from him.
When he pulled away, he began searching for his discarded clothes.
Agatha watched him dress for a while before reaching toward the bedside table.
She opened the drawer and withdrew a small leather pouch. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed it toward him.
The pouch landed on the bed near his hand.
Simon paused.
He looked down at it, then back at Agatha.
She was smiling coyly, her earlier displeasure gone as quickly as it had appeared.
"I have always admired your artwork." She settled more comfortably against the pillows. "Use it to buy yourself some proper supplies. You cannot continue painting with whatever scraps you happen to find lying around."
She looked him over with such unabashed hunger that, for a moment, he might as well have been some common street whore on Hyde Road rather than a member of the nobility.
He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth until they ached, yet even that did little to ease his irritation. Still, he would never voice his contempt for her behavior, particularly when he knew he was partly responsible for it.
How could he expect her to treat him any differently when this had always been the nature of their arrangement? He was the man she sought whenever she wanted the passion her marriage failed to provide.
He had tolerated the indignity for far too long already. What difference could one more night make?
Simon bent to pick up the pouch. His father hadn’t given much of a damn where he was concerned but grandfather would surely be rolling in his grave if he could see him now.
This was hardly appropriate behavior for a Montague.
Simon loosened the drawstring just enough to glimpse the coins inside.
"That is generous." He muttered.
Agatha gave him a knowing look. "Perhaps you could paint something for me."
Simon slipped the pouch into the inner pocket of his coat. "What would you like?"
She stretched languidly across the bed, making the suggestion behind her words perfectly obvious.
"Perhaps something that would make you remember this evening."
A faint smile touched Simon’s mouth.
"I shall consider it."
"You had better."
He finished dressing and straightened his coat. Without meaning to, his gaze moved to linger upon the woman in the bed.
Agatha had never pretended to love him. Neither had he pretended to love her. There was attraction between them, certainly, but the foundation of their relationship was something far less sentimental.
He gave her his company and she compensated him handsomely for it.
How far had he fallen, Simon thought bitterly. A man like him should have been able to command any luxury he desired. Now he found himself dependent upon the generosity of his own lover. His last name alone should have guaranteed him a life free from want, yet here he was, reduced to accepting charity.
Eight thousand pounds was a paltry sum to Draven, scarcely more than a drop in the vast ocean of his wealth. That money was his by right, yet his churlish cousin was determined to deny him even that.