Passion for the Game

Epilogue

The slight scratching on the open door drew Simon’s attention from the maps spread out across his desk. He looked up at the butler with both brows raised. “Yes?”

“There is a young man at the door asking for Lady Winter, sir. I did tell him that neither she nor you were at home, but he refuses to leave.”

Simon straightened. “Oh? Who is it?”

The servant cleared his throat. “He appears to be a Gypsy.”

Surprise held his tongue for the length of a heartbeat, then Simon said, “Show him in.”

He took a moment to clear the sensitive documents on his desk, then he sat and waited for the dark-haired youth who entered his study a moment later.

“Where is Lady Winter?” the boy asked, the set of his shoulders and jaw betraying his mulish determination to get whatever it was he came for.

Simon leaned back in his chair. “She is traveling the Continent, last I heard.”

The boy frowned. “Is Miss Benbridge with her? How can I find them? Do you have their direction?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Colin Mitchell.”

“Well, Mr. Mitchell, would you care for a drink?” Simon stood and moved to the row of decanters that lined the table in front of the window.

“No.”

Hiding a smile, Simon poured two fingers of brandy into a glass and then turned around, leaning his hip against the console with one heel crossed over the other. Mitchell stood in the same spot, his gaze searching the room, pausing occasionally on various objects with narrowed eyes. Hunting for clues to the answers he sought. He was a finely built young man, and attractive in an exotic way that Simon imagined the ladies found most appealing.

“What will you do if you find the fair Amelia?” Simon asked. “Work in the stables? Care for her horses?”

Mitchell’s eyes widened.

“Yes, I know who you are, though I was told you were dead.” Simon lifted his glass and tossed back the contents. His belly warmed, making him smile. “So do you intend to work as her underling, pining for her from afar? Or perhaps you hope to tumble her in the hay as often as possible until she either marries or grows fat with your child.”

Simon straightened and set down his glass, bracing himself for the expected-yet surprisingly impressive-tackle that knocked him to the floor. He and the boy rolled, locked in combat, knocking over a small table and shattering the porcelain figurines that had graced its top.

It took only a few moments for Simon to claim the upper hand. The time would have been shorter had he not been so concerned about hurting the lad.

“Cease,” he ordered, “and listen to me.” He no longer drawled; his tone was now deadly earnest.

Mitchell stilled, but his features remained stamped with fury. “Don’t ever speak of Amelia in that way!”

Pushing to his feet, Simon extended his hand to assist the young man up. “I am only pointing out the obvious. You have nothing. Nothing to offer, nothing with which to support her, no title to give her prestige.”

The clenching of the young man’s jaw and fists betrayed his hatred for the truth. “I know all of that.”

“Good. Now”-Simon righted his clothing and resumed his seat behind the desk-“What if I offered to help you acquire what you need to make you worthy-coin, a fitting home, perhaps even a title from some distant land that would suit the physical features provided by your heritage?”

Mitchell stilled, his gaze narrowing with avid interest. “How?”

“I am engaged in certain…activities that could be facilitated by a youth with your potential. I heard of your dashing near rescue of Miss Benbridge. With the right molding, you could be quite an asset to me.” Simon smiled. “I would not make this offer to anyone else. So consider yourself fortunate.”

“Why me?” Mitchell asked suspiciously, and not without a little scorn. He was slightly cynical, which Simon thought was excellent. A purely green boy would be of no use at all. “You don’t know me, or what I’m capable of.”

Simon held his gaze steadily. “I understand well the lengths a man will go for a woman he cares for.”

“I love her.”

“Yes. To the point where you would seek her out at great cost to yourself. I need dedication such as that. In return, I will ensure that you become a man of some means.”

“That would take years.” Mitchell ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know that I can bear it.”

“Give yourselves time to mature. Allow her to see what she has missed all of these years. Then, if she will have you anyway, you will know that she is making the decision with a woman’s heart, and not a child’s.”

For a long moment, the young man remained motionless, the weight of his indecision a tangible thing.

“Try it,” Simon urged. “What harm can come from the effort?”

Finally, Mitchell heaved out his breath and sank into the seat opposite the desk. “I’m listening.”

“Excellent!” Simon leaned back in his chair. “Now here are my thoughts…”