The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(65)

Jeffries's eyes widened, and he scurried out of the room.

A moment later Anthony Bridgerton strode in. He took one look at Simon, and said, "You look like hell."

Simon stood and raised a brow—not an easy feat in his current condition. "This surprises you?"

Anthony laughed. The sound was a little mirthless, a little hollow, but Simon heard a shadow of his old friend. A shadow of their old friendship. He was surprised by how grateful he was for that.

Anthony motioned to Simon's eyes. "Which one is mine?"

"The right," Simon replied, gingerly touching his abused skin. "Daphne packs quite a punch for a girl, but she lacks your size and strength."

"Still," Anthony said, leaning forward to inspect his sister's handiwork, "she did quite a nice job."

"You should be proud of her," Simon grunted. "Hurts like the devil."

"Good."

And then they were silent, with so much to say and no idea how to say it.

"I never wanted it to be like this," Anthony finally said.

"Nor I."

Anthony leaned against the edge of Simon's desk, but he shifted uncomfortably, looking oddly ill at ease in his own body. "It wasn't easy for me to let you court her."

"You knew it wasn't real."





"You made it real last night."

What was he to say? That Daphne had been the seducer, not he? That she'd been the one to lead him off the terrace and dance into the darkness of the night? None of that mattered. He was far more experienced than Daphne. He should have been able to stop.

He said nothing.

"I hope we may put this behind us," Anthony said.

"I'm certain that would be Daphne's fondest wish."

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "And is it now your aim in life to grant her fondest wishes?"

All but one, Simon thought. All but the one that really matters. "You know that I will do everything in my capabilities to keep her happy," he said quietly.

Anthony nodded. "If you hurt her—"

"I will never hurt her," Simon vowed, his eyes blazing.

Anthony regarded him with a long and even stare. "I was prepared to kill you for dishonoring her. If you damage her soul, I guarantee you will never find peace as long as you live. Which,"

he added, his eyes turning slightly harder, "would not be long."

"Just long enough to put me in excruciating pain?" Simon asked mildly.

"Exactly."

Simon nodded. Even though Anthony was threatening torture and death, Simon could not help but respect him for it. Devotion to one's sister was an honorable thing.

Simon wondered if Anthony perhaps saw something in him that no one else did. They had

known each other for over half of their lives. Did Anthony somehow see the darkest corners of his soul? The anguish and fury he tried so hard to keep hidden?

And if so, was that why he worried for his sister's happiness?

"I give you my word," Simon said. "I will do everything in my power to keep Daphne safe and content."

Anthony nodded curtly. "See that you do." He pushed himself away from the desk and walked to the door. "Or you'll be seeing me."

He left.





Simon groaned and sank back into the leather chair. When had his life grown so damned

complicated? When had friends become enemies and flirtations grown to lust?

And what the hell was he going to do with Daphne? He didn't want to hurt her, couldn't bear to hurt her, actually, and yet he was doomed to do so simply by marrying her. He burned for her, ached for the day when he could lay her down and cover her body with his, slowly entering her until she moaned his name—

He shuddered. Such thoughts could not possibly be advantageous to his health.

"Your grace?"

Jeffries again. Simon was too tired to look up, so he just made an acknowledging motion with his hand.

"Perhaps you would like to retire for the evening, your grace."

Simon managed to look at the clock, but that was only because he didn't have to move his head to do it. It was barely seven in the evening. Hardly his usual bedtime. "It's early yet," he mumbled.

"Still," the butler said pointedly, "perhaps you'd like to retire."

Simon closed his eyes. Jeffries had a point. Maybe what he needed was a long engagement with his feather mattress and fine linen sheets. He could escape to his bedroom, where he might manage to avoid seeing a Bridgerton for an entire night.

Hell, the way he felt, he might hole up there for days.





Chapter 13


It's marriage for the Duke of Hasting and Miss Bridgerton!

This Author must take this opportunity to remind you, dear reader, that the forthcoming nuptials were predicted in this very column. It has not escaped the note of This Author that when this newspaper reports a new attachment between an eligible gentleman and an unmarried lady, the odds in the betting books at gentleman's clubs change within hours, and always in favor of marriage .

Although This Author is not allowed in White's, she has reason to believe that the official odds concerning the marriage of the duke and Miss Bridgerton were 2-1 for.