The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(35)

"But—"

"I don't like your tone, Anthony Bridgerton!"

Simon thought he heard Daphne choke on a chuckle, and he wondered what that was all about.

"If it would please Your Motherhood," Anthony said in excruciatingly even tones, "I would like a private word with his grace."

"This time I'm really going to get that vase," Daphne announced, and dashed from the room.

Violet crossed her arms, and said to Anthony, "I will not have you mistreat a guest in my home."

"I shan't lay so much as a hand on him," Anthony replied. "I give you my word."





Having never had a mother, Simon was finding this exchange fascinating. Bridgerton House was, after all, technically Anthony's house, not his mother's, and Simon was impressed that Anthony had refrained from pointing this out. "It's quite all right, Lady Bridgerton," he interjected. "I'm sure Anthony and I have much to discuss."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Much."

"Very well," Violet said. "You're going to do what you want no matter what I say, anyway. But I'm not leaving." She plopped down onto the sofa. "This is my drawing room, and I'm comfortable here. If the two of you want to engage in that asinine interchange that passes for conversation among the males of our species, you may do so elsewhere."

Simon blinked in surprise. Clearly there was more to Daphne's mother than met the eye.

Anthony jerked his head toward the door, and Simon followed him into the hall.

"My study is this way," Anthony said.

"You have a study here?"

"I am the head of the family."

"Of course," Simon allowed, "but you do reside elsewhere."

Anthony paused and turned an assessing stare on Simon. "It cannot have escaped your notice that my position as head of the Bridgerton family carries with it serious responsibilities."

Simon looked him evenly in the eye. "Meaning Daphne?"

"Precisely."

"If I recall," Simon said, "earlier this week you told me you wanted to introduce us."

"That was before I thought you'd be interested in her!"

Simon held his tongue as he preceded Anthony into his study, remaining silent until Anthony shut the door. "Why," he asked softly, "would you assume I would not be interested in your sister?"

"Besides the fact that you have sworn to me that you will never marry?" Anthony drawled.

He had a good point. Simon hated that he had such a good point. "Besides that," he snapped.

Anthony blinked a couple of times, then said, "No one is interested in Daphne. At least no one we'd have her marry."





Simon crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "You don't hold her in terribly high regard, do y—?"

Before he could even finish the query, Anthony had him by throat. "Don't you dare insult my sister."

But Simon had learned quite a bit about self-defense on his travels, and it took him only two seconds to reverse their positions. "I wasn't insulting your sister," he said in a malevolent voice.

"I was insulting you."

Strange gurgling sounds were coming from Anthony's throat, so Simon let him go. "As it happens," he said, brushing his hands against each other, "Daphne explained to me why she has not attracted any suitable suitors."

"Oh?" Anthony asked derisively.

"Personally, I think it has everything to do with your and your brothers' apelike ways, but she tells me it is because all London views her as a friend, and none sees her as a romantic heroine."

Anthony was silent for a long moment before saying, "I see." Then, after another pause, he added thoughtfully, "She's probably right."

Simon said nothing, just watched his friend as he sorted all of this out. Finally, Anthony said, "I still don't like your sniffing about her."

"Good God, you make me sound positively canine."

Anthony crossed his arms, "Don't forget, we ran in the same pack after we left Oxford. I know exactly what you've done."

"Oh, for the love of Christ, Bridgerton, we were twenty! All men are idiots at that age. Besides, you know damn well that h—h—"

Simon felt his tongue grow awkward, and faked a coughing fit to cover his stammer. Damn.

This happened so infrequently these days, but when it did, it was always when he was upset or angry. If he lost control over his emotions, he lost control over his speech. It was as simple as that.

And unfortunately, episodes such as this only served to make him upset and angry with himself, which in turn exacerbated the stammer. It was the worst sort of vicious circle.

Anthony looked at him quizzically. "Are you all right?"

Simon nodded. "Just a bit of dust in my throat," he lied.

"Shall I ring for tea?'



Simon nodded again. He didn't particularly want tea, but it seemed the sort of thing one would ask for if one truly did have dust in one's throat.

Anthony tugged at the bellpull, then turned back to Simon and asked, "You were saying?"

Simon swallowed, hoping the gesture would help him to regain control over his ire. "I merely meant to point out that you know better than, anyone that at least half of my reputation is undeserved."