The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(92)

"The thing is, Daphrey—" He shook his head in much the same manner a dog shakes off water.

"DaphNe," he said carefully. "DaphNeDaphNe."

Daphne couldn't quite stop a smile at that. "What, Simon?"

"The problem, y'see"—he scratched his head—"you just don'tunderstand."

"What don't I understand?" she said softly.

"Why I can't do it," he said. He raised his face until it was level with hers, and she nearly flinched at the haunted misery

in his eyes.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Daff," he said hoarsely. "You know that, don't you?"

She nodded. "I know that, Simon."

"Good, because the thing is—" He drew a long breath that seemed to shake his entire body. "I can't do what you want."

She said nothing.

"All my life," Simon said sadly, "all my life he won.Didjou know that? He always won. This time I get to win." In a long, awkward movement he swung his arm in a horizontal arc and jabbed his thumb against his chest. "Me. I want to win for once."

"Oh, Simon," she whispered. "You won long ago. The moment you exceeded his expectations you won. Every time you beat the odds, made a friend, or traveled to a new land you won. You did all the things he never wanted for you." Her breath caught, and she gave his shoulders a squeeze. "You beat him. You won. Why can't you see that?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to become what he wanted," he said. "Even though—" He hiccupped. "Even though he never expected it of m-me, what he w-wanted was a perfect son, someone who'd be the perfect d-duke, who'd then m-marry the perfect duchess, and have p-perfect children."

Daphne's lower lip caught between her teeth. He was stuttering again. He must be truly upset.

She felt her heart breaking for him, for the little boy who'd wanted nothing other than his father's approval.

Simon cocked his head to the side and regarded her with a surprisingly steady gaze. "He would have approved of you."





"Oh," Daphne said, not sure how to interpret that.

"But"—he shrugged and gave her a secret, mischievous smile—"I married you anyway."

He looked so earnest, so boyishly serious, that it was a hard battle not to throw her arms around him and attempt to comfort him. But no matter how deep his pain, or how wounded his soul, he was going about this all wrong. The best revenge against his father would simply be to live a full and happy life, to achieve all those heights and glories his father had been so determined to deny him.

Daphne swallowed a heavy sob of frustration. She didn't see how he could possibly lead a happy life if all of his choices were based on thwarting the wishes of a dead man.

But she didn't want to get into all of that just then. She was tired and he was drunk and this just wasn't the right time. "Let's get you to bed," she finally said.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes filling with an ages-old need for comfort. "Don't leave me," he whispered.

"Simon," she choked out.

"Please don't. He left. Everyone left. Then I left." He squeezed her hand. "You stay."

She nodded shakily and rose to her feet. "You can sleep it off in my bed," she said. "I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

"But you'll stay with me?"

It was a mistake. She knew it was a mistake, but still she said, "I'll stay with you."

"Good." He wobbled himself upright. "Because I couldn't—I really—" He sighed and turned anguished eyes to her. "I need you."

She led him to her bed, nearly falling over with him when he tumbled onto the mattress. "Hold still," she ordered, kneeling to pull off his boots. She'd done this for her brothers before, so she knew to grab the heel, not the toe, but they were a snug fit, and she went sprawling on the ground when his foot finally slipped out.

"Good gracious," she muttered, getting up to repeat the aggravating procedure. "And they say women are slaves to fashion."

Simon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snore.

"Are you asleep?" Daphne asked incredulously. She yanked at the other boot, which came off with a bit more ease, then lifted his legs—which felt like deadweights—up onto the bed.





He looked young and peaceful with his dark lashes resting against his cheeks. Daphne reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead. "Sleep well, my sweet," she whispered.

But when she started to move, one of his arms shot out and wrapped around her. "You said you would stay," he said accusingly.

"I thought you were asleep!"

"Doesn't give you the right to break your promise." He tugged her at her arm, and Daphne finally gave up resisting and settled down next to him. He was warm, and he was hers, and even if she had grave fears for their future, at that moment she couldn't resist his gentle embrace.





*



Daphne awoke an hour or so later, surprised that she'd fallen asleep at all. Simon still lay next to her, snoring softly. They were both dressed, he in his whiskey-scented clothes, and she in her nightrobe.