The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(19)

She was, it occurred to him in a rather bizarre moment of clarity, the sort of person he'd probably call friend if she were a man.

But since it was abundantly obvious—to both his eyes and his body—that she wasn't a man, Simon decided it was in both of their best interests to wrap up this "situation" as soon as possible. Aside from the fact that Daphne's reputation would suffer a deadly blow if they were discovered, Simon wasn't positive that he could trust himself to keep his hands off of her for very much longer.

It was an unsettling feeling, that. Especially for a man who so valued his self-control. Control was everything. Without it he'd never have stood up to his father or taken a first at university.

Without it, he'd—

Without it, he thought grimly, he'd still be speaking like an idiot.

"I'll haul him out of here," he said suddenly. "You go back to the ballroom."

Daphne frowned, glancing over her shoulder to the hall that led back to the party. "Are you certain? I thought you wanted me to go to the library."

"That was when we were going to leave him here while I summoned the carriage. But we can't do that if he's awake."

She nodded her agreement, and asked, "Are you sure you can do it? Nigel's a rather large man."

"I'm larger."

She cocked her head. The duke, although lean, was powerfully built, with broad shoulders and firmly muscled thighs. (Daphne knew she wasn't supposed to notice such things, but, really, was it her fault that current fashions dictated such snug breeches?) More to the point, he had a certain air about him, something almost predatory, something that hinted of tightly controlled strength and power.

Daphne decided she had no doubt that he'd be able to move Nigel.

"Very well," she said, giving him a nod. "And thank you. It's very kind of you to help me in this way."



"I'm rarely kind," he muttered.

"Really?" she murmured, allowing herself a tiny smile. "How odd. I couldn't possibly think of anything else to call it. But then again, I've learned that men—"

"You do seem to be the expert on men," he said, somewhat acerbically, then grunted as he hauled Nigel to his feet.

Nigel promptly reached for Daphne, practically sobbing her name. Simon had to brace his legs to keep him from lunging at her. Daphne darted back a step. "Yes, well, I do have four brothers.

A better education I cannot imagine."

There was no way of knowing if the duke had intended to answer her, because Nigel chose that moment to regain his energy (although clearly not his equilibrium) and yanked himself free of Simon's grip. He threw himself onto Daphne, making incoherent, drunken noises all the way.

If Daphne hadn't had her back to the wall, she would have been knocked to the ground. As it was, she hit the wall with a bone-jarring thud, knocking all the breath from her body.

"Oh, for the love of Christ," the duke swore, sounding supremely disgusted. He hauled Nigel off Daphne, then turned to her, and asked, "Can I hit him?"

"Oh, please do go ahead," she replied, still gasping for breath. She'd tried to be kind and generous toward her erstwhile suitor, but really, enough was enough.

The duke muttered something that sounded like "good" and landed a stunningly powerful blow on Nigel's chin.

Nigel went down like a stone.

Daphne regarded the man on the floor with equanimity. "I don't think he's going to wake up this time."

Simon shook out his fist. "No."

Daphne blinked and looked back up. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure," he said, scowling at Nigel.

"What shall we do now?" Her gaze joined his on the man on the floor—now well and truly unconscious.

"Back to the original plan," he said crisply. "We leave him here while you wait in the library. I'd rather not have to drag him out until I've a carriage waiting."





Daphne gave him a sensible nod. "Do you need help righting him, or should I proceed directly to the library?'

The duke was silent for a moment. His head tilted this way and that as he analyzed Nigel's position on the floor. "Actually, a bit of help would be greatly appreciated."

"Really?' Daphne asked, surprised. "I was sure you'd say no."

That earned her a faintly amused and superior look from the duke. "And is that why you asked?"

"No, of course not," Daphne replied, slightly offended. "I'm not so stupid as to offer help if I have no intention of giving it. I was merely going to point out that men, in my experiences—"

"You have too much experience," the duke muttered under his breath.

"What?!"

"I beg your pardon," he amended. "You think you have too much experience."

Daphne glared at him, her dark eyes smoldering nearly to black. "That is not true, and who are you to say, anyway?"

"No, that's not quite right, either," the duke mused, completely ignoring her furious question. "I think it's more that I think you think you have too much experience."

"Why you—You—" As retorts went, it wasn't especially effective, but it was all Daphne could manage to get out. Her powers of speech tended to fail her when she was angry. And she was really angry.