The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(34)

"Oh, Daff, you are the worst." Violet swatted her in the arm, looking more like a young woman than Daphne had ever seen her. "But thank you, your grace. These are beautiful blooms, but more importantly, it was a most thoughtful gesture. I shall treasure this moment always."

Simon looked as if he were about to say something, but in the end he just smiled and inclined his head.

Daphne looked at her mother, saw the unmistakable joy in her cornflower blue eyes, and

realized with a touch of shame that none of her own children had ever acted in such a thoughtful manner as this man standing beside her.

The Duke of Hastings. Daphne decided then and there that she'd be a fool if she didn't fall in love with him. Of course it would be nice if he returned the sentiment.

"Mother," Daphne said, "would you like me to fetch you a vase?"

"What?" Violet was still too busy sniffing blissfully at her flowers to pay attention to her daughter's words. "Oh. Yes, of course. Ask Humboldt for the cut crystal from my grandmother."

Daphne flashed a grateful smile at Simon and headed for the door, but before she could take more than two steps, the large and forbidding form of her eldest brother materialized in the doorway.

"Daphne," Anthony growled. "Just the person I needed to see."

Daphne decided the best strategy was simply to ignore his churlish mood. "In just a moment, Anthony," she said sweetly. "Mother has asked me to fetch a vase. Hastings has brought her flowers."

"Hastings is here?" Anthony looked past her to the duo further in the room. "What are you doing here, Hastings?"

"Calling on your sister." Anthony pushed past Daphne and strode into the room, looking rather like a thundercloud on legs.

"I did not give you leave to court my sister," he bellowed.

"I did," Violet said. She shoved the flowers in Anthony's face, wiggling them so as to deposit the greatest amount of pollen on his nose. "Aren't these lovely?"

Anthony sneezed and pushed them aside. "Mother, I am trying to have a conversation with the duke."



Violet looked at Simon. "Do you want to have this conversation with my son?"

"Not particularly."

"Fine, then. Anthony, be quiet."

Daphne clapped her hand over her mouth, but a snuffly-giggly sound escaped nonetheless.

"You!" Anthony jabbed a finger in her direction. "Be quiet!"

"Perhaps I should fetch that vase," Daphne mused.

"And leave me to the tender mercies of your brother?" Simon said in a mild voice. "I think not."

Daphne raised a brow. "Do you imply that you are not man enough to deal with him?"

"Nothing of the sort. Merely that he ought to be your problem, not mine, and—"

"What the hell is going on here?" Anthony roared.

"Anthony!" Violet exclaimed. "I will not tolerate such unbecoming language in my drawing room."

Daphne smirked.

Simon did nothing more than cock his head, regarding Anthony with a curious stare.

Anthony threw a dark scowl at both of them before turning his attention to his mother. "He is not to be trusted. Do you have any idea what is happening here?" he demanded.

"Of course I do," Violet replied. "The duke is paying a call upon your sister."

"And I brought flowers for your mother," Simon said helpfully.

Anthony gazed longingly at Simon's nose. Simon had the distinct impression that Anthony was imagining smashing it in.

Anthony whipped his head around to face his mother. "Do you understand the extent of his reputation?"

"Reformed rakes make the best husbands," Violet said.

"Rubbish and you know it."

"He's not a true rake, anyway," Daphne added.



The look Anthony shot at his sister was so comically malevolent Simon nearly laughed. He managed to restrain himself, but mostly just because he was fairly certain that any show of humor would cause Anthony's fist to lose its battle with his brain, with Simon's face emerging as the conflict's primary casualty.

"You don't know," Anthony said, his voice low and nearly shaking with rage. "You don't know what he has done."

"No more than what you have done, I'm sure," Violet said slyly.

"Precisely!" Anthony roared. "Good God, I know exactly what is going on in his brain right now, and it has nothing to do with poetry and roses."

Simon pictured laying Daphne down on a bed of rose petals. "Well, maybe roses," he murmured.

"I'm going to kill him," Anthony announced.

"These are tulips, anyway," Violet said primly, "from Holland. And Anthony, you really must summon control of your emotions. This is most unseemly."

"He is not fit to lick Daphne's boots."

Simon's head filled with more erotic images, this time of himself licking her toes. He decided not to comment. Besides, he had already decided that he wasn't going to allow his thoughts to wander in such directions. Daphne was Anthony's sister, for God's sake. He couldn't seduce her.

"I refuse to listen to another disparaging word about his grace," Violet stated emphatically, "and that is the end of the subject."