The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(16)

"Oh, good," she interrupted. "I really didn't want to leave him here. It seemed rather cruel."

Simon thought it seemed rather generous considering the big oaf had nearly attacked her, but he kept that opinion to himself and instead continued on with his plan. "You will wait in the library while I'm gone."

"In the library? But—"

"In the library," he repeated firmly. "With the door shut. Do you really want to be discovered with Nigel's body should anyone happen to wander down this hallway?"

"His body? Good gracious, sir, you needn't make it sound as if he were dead."

"As I was saying," he continued, ignoring her comment completely, "you will remain in the library. When I return, we will relocate Nigel here to my carriage."

"And how will we do that?"

He gave her a disarmingly lopsided grin. "I haven't the faintest idea."

For a moment Daphne forgot to breathe. Just when she'd decided that her would-be rescuer was irredeemingly arrogant, he had to go and smile at her like that. It was one of those boyish grins, the kind that melted female hearts within a ten-mile radius.

And, much to Daphne's dismay, it was awfully hard to remain thoroughly irritated with a man under the influence of such a smile. After growing up with four brothers, all of whom had seemed to know how to charm ladies from birth, Daphne had thought she was immune.

But apparently not. Her chest was tingling, her stomach was turning cartwheels, and her knees felt like melted butter.

"Nigel," she muttered, desperately trying to force her attention away from the nameless man standing across from her, "I must see to Nigel." She crouched down and shook him none too



gently by the shoulder. "Nigel? Nigel? You have to wake up now, Nigel."

"Daphne," Nigel moaned. "Oh, Daphne."

The dark-haired stranger's head snapped around. "Daphne? Did he say Daphne?"

She drew back, unnerved by his direct question and the rather intense look in his eyes. "Yes."

"Your name is Daphne?"

Now she was beginning to wonder if he was an idiot.

"Yes."

He groaned. "Not Daphne Bridgerton."

Her face slid into a puzzled frown. "The very one."

Simon staggered back a step. He suddenly felt physically ill, as his brain finally processed the fact that she had thick, chestnut hair. The famous Bridgerton hair. Not to mention the Bridgerton nose, and cheekbones, and—Bugger it all, this was Anthony's sister! Bloody hell. There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend's Sister.

While he stood there, probably staring at her like a complete idiot, she planted her hands on her hips, and demanded, "And who are you?"

"Simon Basset," he muttered.

"The duke?" she squeaked. He nodded grimly, "Oh, dear."

Simon watched with growing horror as the blood drained from her face. "Good God, woman, you're not going to swoon, are you?" He couldn't imagine why she would, but Anthony—her brother, he reminded himself— had spent half the afternoon warning him about the effects of a young, unmarried duke on the young, unmarried female population. Anthony had specifically singled out Daphne as the exception to the rule, but still, she looked deucedly pale. "Are you?"

he demanded, when she said nothing. "Going to swoon?"

She looked offended that he'd even considered the notion. "Of course not!"

"Good."

"It's just that—"

"What?" Simon asked suspiciously.





"Well," she said with a rather dainty shrug of her shoulders, "I've been warned about you."

This was really too much. "By whom?" he demanded.

She stared at him as if he were an imbecile. "By everyone."

"That, my d—" He felt something suspiciously like a stammer coming on, and so he took a deep breath to steady his tongue. He'd become a master at this kind of control. All she would see was a man who looked as if he were trying to keep his temper in check. And considering the direction of their conversation, that image could not seem terribly far-fetched.

"My dear Miss Bridgerton," Simon said, starting anew in a more even and controlled tone, "I find that difficult to believe."

She shrugged again, and he had the most irritating sensation that she was enjoying his distress.

"Believe what you will," she said blithely, "but it was in the paper today."

"What?'

"In Whistledown," she replied, as if that explained anything.

"Whistle-which?"

Daphne stared at him blankly for a moment until she remembered that he was newly returned to London. "Oh, you must not know about it," she said softly, a wicked little smile crossing her lips.

"Fancy that."

The duke took a step forward, his stance positively menacing. "Miss Bridgerton, I feel I should warn you that I am within an inch of strangling the information out of you."

"It's a gossip sheet," she said, hastily backing up a step. "That's all. It's rather silly, actually, but everyone reads it."