Chapter 74
By the time Simon returned to his own residence, the hour had grown late.
He stepped through the front doors and was immediately greeted by his butler, Roland, who had evidently been waiting for him. He and two other servants were the only staff Simon could still afford to pay.
"My lord." Roland bowed.
Simon removed his gloves as he walked inside. "What is it?" He snapped, in yet another irritable mood.
Roland, who had already witnessed his master at his worst, barely bucked at his harsh tone now.
"Someone is here to see you, my lord."
Simon halted, a frown wrinkling his brows. "A caller?"
"Yes, my lord. He has been waiting for you."
At this hour?
He could think of very few people who would call upon him so late without first sending word.
"Who is it?"
The butler hesitated only briefly before giving him the name.
"Mr. Sheffield, my lord."
Simon knew the man. The irritation that had already been simmering beneath his skin rose to a boil.
"Where is he?"
"He is still waiting in the drawing room."
Simon nodded and dismissed the butler with a small gesture.
He did not bother to tamp down his annoyance as he stormed towards the drawing room. Whatever this man wanted, Simon had no intention of making him comfortable.
He pushed open the door and saw the man standing near the fireplace.
Simon recognized him immediately, even with his back turned.
They had met before, though never often enough for Simon to consider him anything resembling a friend. Their previous communications had been conducted through letters and brief meetings in public establishments, always with the same unpleasantness that lingered prominently between them.
The man, Henry Sheffield, didn’t bother to acknowledge his presence.
"I did not expect you to come here," Simon said stiffly, closing the door behind him. "Our correspondences were sufficient. There was no reason for you to trouble yourself with a personal visit."
In other words, Henry had no right to be in his house.
Simon wanted him gone. He wanted him out of his sight that instant, because he knew he would not be able to breathe freely while the man remained there.
Henry did not appear particularly concerned by the rebuke. Turning, he regarded Simon calmly and said, "My employer is becoming impatient with your lack of response."
The words strippef the last of Simon’s restraint from him.
The evening had already frayed his nerves.
"What would you have me bloody do?" He glared fiercely, wishing he could simply have the man thrown out. But he couldn’t, not with consequences.
Wretched. He felt utterly wretched.
He ground his teeth so hard he nearly chipped one, but even that did nothing to quell the fury raging through him. It burned beneath his skin, a vicious inferno that threatened to consume him from the inside out.
What had being born into this family ever done for him? He had spent his entire life within arm’s reach of power, close enough to see its privileges but never close enough to wield them. All that proximity had earned him was disappointment, humiliation, and a lifetime of being reminded that he was not quite important enough.
It had cost him far more than it had ever given him.
Simon took another step, his voice rising despite his attempt to remain calm.
"It is not as though I can produce thirty thousand pounds out of thin air. I asked for more time, and your employer agreed to give it to me. He agreed. So allow me some peace. If everything goes as I expect, I will have the eight thousand pounds soon enough. I can make a payment. I can settle part of it. I simply need more time."
"There is not much time left," was Henry’s response.
"What?" Simon stared at him, taken aback.
"You heard me." The man looked utterly indifferent. The world could be going up in flames around him and he wouldn’t show a single emotion. The man adjust one of his cuffs with maddening calm before continuing. "However, my employer has decided to be charitable."
Simon almost laughed. There was nothing charitable about the man standing before him or his employer.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that if you are unable to repay what you owe, another arrangement can be made."
Simon’s anger gave way to wary interest. "What sort of arrangement?"
The way the man’s gaze settled upon him was unsettling. "You may earn your way out of your debt. You have certain qualities my employer considers useful. He believes that you may be particularly well suited to some work he has in mind."
"What kind of work?" He was skeptical, of course but not enough to outright dismiss the suggestion.
"You will be told when the time comes."
His irritation returned, but it was tempered now by something else.
Hope.
It was a dangerous thing, Simon knew, but desperation had a way of making even dangerous things look attractive.
"So I work for him. And in return?"
"Your debt will be reduced according to the terms he sets."
Simon looked toward the fireplace, his thoughts racing.
Thirty thousand pounds.
He did not like the uncertainty. He did not like being kept in the dark but he also hated the idea of being beholden to a man who had somehow managed to acquire so much control over him.
But what choice did he have? This man was offering him a way to stay afloat.
He straightened his shoulders, forcing some of his old confidence back into his expression.
"Very well."
Simon did not know it then, but there would come a day when he would look back upon this moment and recognize it as the beginning of his ruin—the moment he had willingly offered his soul to the devil.
Though, perhaps, that was not quite accurate. His soul had never truly been his to offer. The devil had owned him long before he ever realized it.