The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(33)

"I am up to something."

Her head tilted sarcastically as her eyes rolled upward. "He thinks you're up to something nefarious."

"I'd like to be up to something nefarious," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She frowned. "I think we should tell Anthony about our plan."

"And what could possibly be the benefit to that?"

Daphne remembered the full-hour grilling she'd endured the previous night, and just said, "Oh, I think I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

Simon merely raised his brows. "My dear Daphne..."



Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

"Surely you're not going to force me to call you Miss Bridgerton." He sighed dramatically.

"After all that we've been through."

"We've been through nothing, you ridiculous man, but I suppose you may call me Daphne nonetheless."

"Excellent." He nodded in a condescending manner. "You may call me 'your grace.'"

She swatted him.

"Very well," he replied, his lips twitching at the corners. "Simon, if you must."

"Oh I must," Daphne said, rolling her eyes, "clearly, I must."

He leaned toward her, something odd and slightly hot sparking in the depths of his pale eyes.

"Must you?" he murmured. "I should be very excited to hear it."

Daphne had the sudden sense that he was talking about something far more intimate than the mere mention of his given name. A strange, tingling sort of heat shot down her arms, and without thinking, she jumped back a step. "Those flowers are quite lovely," she blurted out.

He regarded them lazily, rotating the bouquet with his wrist. "Yes, they are, aren't they?"

"I adore them."

'They're not for you."Daphne choked on air. Simon grinned. "They're for your mother."

Her mouth slowly opened in surprise, a short little gasp of air passing through her lips before she said, "Oh, you clever, clever man. She will positively melt at your feet. But this will come back to haunt you, you know."

He gave her an arch look. "Oh really?"

"Really. She will be more determined than ever to drag you to the altar. You shall be just as beleaguered at parties as if we hadn't concocted this scheme."

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "Before I would have had to endure the attentions of dozens of Ambitious Mamas. Now I must deal with only one."

"Her tenacity might surprise you," Daphne muttered. Then she twisted her head to look out the partially open door. "She must truly like you," she added. "She's left us alone far longer than is proper."





Simon pondered that and leaned forward to whisper, "Could she be listening at the door?"

Daphne shook her head. "No, we would have heard her shoes clicking down the hall."

Something about that statement made him smile, and Daphne found herself smiling right along with him. "I really should thank you, though," she said, "before she returns."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Your plan is a brilliant success. At least for me. Did you notice how many suitors came to call this morning?"

He crossed his arms, the tulips dangling upside down. "I noticed."

"It's brilliant, really. I've never had so many callers in a single afternoon before. Mother was beside herself with pride. Even Humboldt—he's our butler—was beaming, and I've never seen him so much as smile before. Ooops! Look, you're dripping." She leaned down and righted the flowers, her forearm grazing the front of his coat. She immediately jumped back, startled by both the heat and power of him.

Good God, if she could sense all that through his shirt and coat, what must he be like—

Daphne colored red. Deep, dark red.

"I should give my entire fortune for those thoughts," Simon said, his brows rising in question.

Thankfully, Violet chose that moment to sail into the room. "I'm terribly sorry for abandoning you for so long," she said, "but Mr. Crane's horse threw a shoe, so naturally I had to accompany him to the stables and find a groom to repair the damage."

In all their years together—which, Daphne thought acerbically, naturally constituted her entire life—Daphne had never known her mother to step foot in the stables.

"You are truly an exceptional hostess," Simon said, holding out the flowers. "Here, these are for you."

"For me?" Violet's mouth fell open in surprise, and a strange little breathy sound escaped her lips. "Are you certain? Because I—" She looked over at Daphne, and then at Simon, and then finally back at her daughter. "Are you certain?"

"Absolutely."

Violet blinked rapidly, and Daphne noticed that there were actually tears in her mother's eyes.

No one ever gave her flowers, she realized. At least not since her father had died ten years earlier. Violet was such a mother—Daphne had forgotten that she was a woman as well.





"I don't know what to say," Violet sniffled.

"Try 'thank you,' " Daphne whispered in her ear, her grin lending warmth to her voice.