This is my first fanfic, so pretty please R&R! It's set around the Christmas following the end of Rebel Angels.

The maid appears at my bedroom door, diminutive and silent, her hands folded over her skirts. I don't even notice her until she clears her throat nervously. I jump and slap my hand guiltily over the letter I was composing.

"Miss Doyle, Mr. Simon Middleton for you, in the parlor."

I stay seated, glancing at Kartik's most recent, hastily scrawled, letter. The wet ink from my half-finished reply stains my fingers and palm.

"Miss?"

"You may tell Mr. Middleton that I will be down in a moment. I must…" I glance at my ink stained hand. "Freshen up."

I enter the parlor timidly, silent as a church mouse. Simon has his back to me as he inspects the various portraits of long-dead Doyle family members. He has grown taller since last Christmas, and his shoulders are broader. Were it not for his hair, I would be certain a stranger stood in our parlor. I watch him mutely, my feet bolted to the floor.

Finally, Simon turns, looking about idly. When his eyes fall on me, he freezes, equally stunned as I. I stare back at him, mouth half ajar as I cast about for something to say.

Finally, Simon finds his voice. "Miss Doyle. You look very well."

"Thank you," I reply, after a pause. The supreme awkwardness of the situation has made me into a halfwit. I can scarcely keep from blushing, let alone carry on a civil conversation. "How is your family?" I inquire politely, the words vacant and rehearsed.

"Quite well," he answers dutifully. There is silence again, and we regard each other with guarded expressions. Wondering at the reason for his visit, I search his face for signs of anger, pain, or even sorrow. But there is nothing, only a genteel politeness. I look to the floor, no longer able to resist the hot blush that flushes into my cheeks. He can only be here to harangue me over the cowardly way I rejected him – a discarded brooch left on the mantelpiece of his home, to be discovered by the servants. I find myself wishing I would've had the courage to at least tell him I'm not the right girl for him – to explain that my dark past will forever shadow my future. That I'm not the schoolgirl debutante he expects.

"Did you receive my package?" Simon asks suddenly, with passion in his voice that surprises me. I look up to see his earnest eyes – still the same laughing jewels they were when we first met, but now all childhood softness has vanished from his face. He has a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, jutting over shadowed hollows in his cheeks. He is a man.

"I… I did."

Simon nods, looking disappointed. "You promised you would write me," he says softly, his reminder carrying the hurt of an abandoned child. "I thought that maybe when you saw that I…" He glances at the floor, his lips pressed thin. "Well, I thought you might at least maintain a correspondence."

What do I say? "I apologize," I answer weakly. "I thought that you would not wish to speak with me after I…" My blush deepens as I search for the most diplomatic way to put it.

"After you rejected my gift?" Simon inquires sharply. "After you rejected me?" He smiles, faintly, but genuinely. "I am not so easily put off, Miss Doyle."

"I didn't know."

"Give me another chance. The Simon Middleton you knew was too eager to please, desperate for your approval. Let me show you who I am without an agenda."

"An agenda?"

Simon seems bemused by my confusion. "Why, your affection of course. What else?"

I blush for an entirely different reason, warmed by the compliment, despite my embarrassment. "I would never presume such a thing, Mr. Middleton."

"So, may I redeem myself?"

"Certainly," I answer, without considering the consequences. I had mostly envisioned a stroll through Hyde Park chaperoned by Grandmama and perhaps Tom. Or maybe another invitation to dine with his family. Least of all had I expected his actual proposal.

"Can you get away from your family this evening? Alone?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Alone?"

Simon grinned wolfishly. "I assure you, your virtue is in no danger from me. I am a gentleman, after all."

I blushed at the insinuation. "I don't know…"

"Gemma, please?"

"It's just… my grandmother is like a hawk, and Tom would sooner wed a pauper than allow me out alone."

"Where are Tom and your grandmother now?"

"Grandmama is calling on friends and Tom is seeing patients at the asylum."

"Let's go now." Simon takes my hand, trying to pull me forward. I tug back, resisting. "Just a ride round the park in my carriage – we'll draw the curtains."

"Mr. Middleton, I –"

Simon cut me off, his voice low, "I can't have servants overhearing us." I remembered my maid, Molly, who had a terrible habit of listening at doors.

"Alright then," I whispered. "But what of me? The servants will surely spread gossip when I go off alone with you."

"Pretend we are merely going to the stables so you might introduce me to your favorite horse."

As per Simon's suggestion, we staged a loud conversation in which Simon professed his devout love of all things equestrian, and I insisted on taking him to the stables to see my favorite (nonexistent) mare.

Once in his carriage, the coachman set the horses in motion.

"Mr. Middleton –"

"Gemma, just call me Simon."

"Simon, what is the meaning of all this?" I keep my voice low, in case he didn't want the driver to hear.

"I told you – I wanted to redeem myself. You think me a foolish, young dandy with naught more in my head than the latest gossip and fox hunting."

"No," I deny swiftly. That's not entirely true – I was quite captivated with him at one point, though I can't entirely recall why.

Simon laughed bitterly. "I know what you think, Gemma. It's written all over your face. Why else would you have rejected a well-connected, wealthy man?"

I sigh and look at my hands. My breath escapes in puffs of white. I hadn't thought to take a cloak, or even a shawl, and the winter air is bitingly cold. Simon takes pity and removes his own jacket, forcing me to accept it by wrapping it about my shoulders.

"Just tell me why," he asks after a pause.

"I don't…"

"Gemma," he says sharply, making me look up. "Just tell me."

I look down again. "I was afraid that eventually you would grow tired of me. That I would only become one of the animal mounts in your massive house – just another monument to your triumph, eventually vacant and meaningless."

Simon sighed. "I suppose that may have happened. That may happen to even the most passionate of lovers. There must be more. Tell me!"

Riled by his urgency, I snap, "Because you're so sodding perfect!" Simon looks affronted. "You are wealthy and well-connected, but what am I? Minor gentry with more secrets than you can imagine. Your perfect world would not accommodate me and all my imperfections."

"Do you think me a blind fool? Do you think the package I sent was just a lucky guess?" Simon scowls, leaning forward aggressively. "I see your secrets spinning a web around your neck, choking the life from you, stealing your breath and your will!"

"You speak as if I keep corpses in the carriage house," I say lightly, trying to keep my voice from cracking.

Simon leans closer to me, his expression cold. "Do not patronize me. I do not expect you to confess all to me, but know this – you are not the only one with secrets."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I sent you that box, so you might know that while I cannot understand, I can at least help. We all have things to hide, some worse than others."

I laugh scornfully, forgetting my manners. "What can you possibly have to hide, Mr. Middleton?"

Simon looks distant, sitting back, away from me. "More than you know," he sighs.

Compassion surges through me and I think of all the lies and secrets that have twisted my life since Mother's death. Even the pretentious gentry have their share of closeted monsters, though I often forget it. I think immediately of Felicity and her beloved father, the admiral, and how he ruined her innocence so entirely that even Fee can't realize it.

"What is your secret?" I breathe softly, hoping he will hear the apology in my tone.

Simon looks away sharply. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it? I think I prefer to be mysterious just now – just like the enigmatic Miss Gemma Doyle."

My forehead wrinkles with worry. Is he angry with me?

"You wouldn't believe my secret, anyway," I say irritably.

"Try me," Simon challenges.

"No."

"Then we are at an impasse."

"I suppose so."

"Then I will take you home, Miss Doyle." His return to the formal address makes me cringe. He is angry with me.

"Please do," I answer staunchly, resisting the urge to throttle him.

When we return to the house, Simon helps me down from the carriage. "May I call on you again, Miss Doyle?" he asks suddenly.

Taken by surprise, I answer, "Certainly."

"Then I shall see you again, soon. You may find that I know more about your secrets than you think."

"You may find that you are mistaken," I reply evenly, my temper beginning to flare again.

"Perhaps." Simon sits back in his carriage and I turn my back on him to ascend the stairs to the front door. "Oh, by the by," Simon calls from his carriage, his voice suddenly slick with condescension, "the Rakshana are always watching, Miss Doyle. Do be careful."

And with that, the driver snaps the reins and Simon's carriage glides briskly away, leaving me standing like an idiot at the front door.

Le Fin.

I hoped you all liked it! I will beg a second time for reveiws. big, sad puppy eyes You know you want to...