The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(67)

Yet another awkward silence.

He coughed, then said, "I thought you might like something of your own. All of the Hastings jewelry was chosen for someone else. This I chose for you."

Daphne thought it a wonder she didn't melt on the spot. "That's so sweet," she said, just barely



managing to stifle a sentimental sniffle.

Simon squirmed in his seat, which didn't surprise her. Men did so hate to be called sweet.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he grunted.

"Oh, yes, of course." Daphne shook her head slightly as she snapped back to attention. "How silly of me." Her eyes had glazed over slightly as she stared at the jeweler's box. Blinking a few times to clear her vision, she carefully released the box's clasp and opened it.

And couldn't possibly say anything besides, "Oh, my goodness," and even that came out with more breath than voice.

Nestled in the box was a stunning band of white gold, adorned with a large marquis-cut emerald, flanked on either side by a single, perfect diamond. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry Daphne had ever seen, brilliant but elegant, obviously precious but not overly showy.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "I love it."

"Are you certain?" Simon removed his gloves, then leaned forward and took the ring out of the box. "Because it is your ring. You shall be the one to wear it, and it should reflect your tastes, not mine."

Daphne's voice shook slightly as she said, "Clearly, our tastes coincide."

Simon breathed a small sigh of relief and picked up her hand. He hadn't realized how much it meant to him that she liked the ring until that very moment. He hated that he felt so nervous around her when they'd been such easy friends for the past few weeks. He hated that there were silences in their conversations, when before she'd been the only person with whom he never felt the need to pause and take stock of his words.

Not that he was having any trouble speaking now. It was just that he didn't seem to know what to say.

"May I put it on?" he asked softly.

She nodded and started to remove her glove.

But Simon stilled her fingers with his own, then took over the task. He gave the tip of each finger a tug, then slowly slid the glove from her hand. The motion was unabashedly erotic, clearly an abbreviated version of what he wanted to do: remove every stitch from her body.

Daphne gasped as the edge of the glove trailed past the tips of her fingers. The sound of her breath rushing across her lips made him want her all the more.

With tremulous hands, he slid the ring on her finger, easing it over her knuckle until it rested in



place.

"It fits perfectly," she said, moving her hand this way and that so that she could see how it reflected the light.

Simon, however, didn't let go of her hand. As she moved, her skin slid along his, creating a warmth that was oddly soothing. Then he lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "I'm glad," he murmured. "It suits you."

Her lips curved—a hint of that wide smile he'd come to adore. Maybe a hint that all would be well between them.

"How did you know I like emeralds?" she asked.

"I didn't," he admitted. "They reminded me of your eyes."

"Of my—" Her head cocked slightly as her mouth twisted into what could only be described as a scolding grin. "Simon, my eyes are brown."

"They're mostly brown," he corrected.

She twisted until she was facing the gilt mirror he'd used earlier to inspect his bruises and blinked a few times. "No," she said slowly, as if she were speaking to a person of considerably small intellect, "they're brown."

He reached out and brushed one gentle finger along the bottom edge of her eye, her delicate lashes tickling his skin like a butterfly kiss. "Not around the edge."

She gave him a look that was mostly dubious, but a little bit hopeful, then let out a funny little breath and stood. "I'm going to look for myself."

Simon watched with amusement as she stood and marched over to the mirror and put her face close to the glass. She blinked several times, then held her eyes open wide, then blinked some more.

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I've never seen that!"

Simon stood and moved to her side, leaning with her against the mahogany table that stood in front of the mirror. "You'll soon learn that I am always right."

She shot him a sarcastic look. "But how did you notice that?"

He shrugged. "I looked very closely."

"You..." She seemed to decide against finishing her statement, and leaned back against the table, opening her eyes wide to inspect them again. "Fancy that," she murmured. "I have green eyes."



"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say—"

"For today," she interrupted, "I refuse to believe they are anything but green."

Simon grinned. "As you wish."

She sighed. "I was always so jealous of Colin. Such beautiful eyes wasted on a man."

"I'm sure the young ladies who fancy themselves in love with him would disagree."

Daphne gave him a smirky glance. "Yes, but they don't signify, do they?"