Page 14 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

T he following morning, Persephone—who’d attained little meaningful rest—found herself doing the same thing she’d done the moment she’d left Simon’s office—pacing.

In fact, with the number of steps she’d taken, it was a wonder she’d not worn a hole straight through the Axminster rug and right on down to the elm floorboards.

The spring wind filtered through the opening Persephone made when she’d lifted the window a few hours ago in the dead of night. Now, the celestial blue gossamer curtains billowed lightly.

Just like last evening, however, that gentle breeze did little to cool anything: not her thoughts, her body, her annoyance.

A still-fresh humiliation lent a greater speed to Persephone’s already quick strides.

What did I do?

What did Simon do?

What had they done together?

Oh, you know. You. Know.

I should have fled the moment Simon vowed he’d kiss me.

Only, Persephone hadn’t heeded his warning.

You fled , a far kinder than she deserved voice reminded. You just…fled too late.

Persephone stopped abruptly and slapped her hands over her face.

Against all better judgment, she’d…remained, and he’d done just as he’d promised—he’d laid her across his desk and devoured her mouth like she was the sugar-glazed, decadent croquembouche creation of Marie-Antonin Carême.

She let her arms fall useless at her sides.

The moment he’d pulled away, however, he’d done so with the same zeal of one who’d been presented a plate of jellied eels and all the aplomb of a bewigged lord in Parliament.

From across the room, the giltwood and gesso mirror reflected back her still-burning cheeks.

All the while, Persephone laid there, sprawled as he’d left her: dazed, befuddled, and aching for more . For Simon’s kiss—that particular kiss—had been nothing like the chaste, awkward, sloppy one they’d shared as children.

And here she’d believed there couldn’t be any humiliation more keen and more excruciating than when she’d been sent packing by her former lover’s father.

She’d been wrong.

The sight of a dispassionate Simon towering over Persephone had shouldered out a mindless desire, to be replaced with a toe-curling mortification.

Stop!

Persephone gave her head a firm, steadying shake and set her jaw at a firm, unbending angle.

Get a hold of yourself.

So, he’d kissed her?

She fixed a hard gaze on her reflection, staring back.

It was just a kiss. She was a grown woman. She’d been kissed many times before.

Why…why, it wasn’t even the first one she and Simon had shared.

Yes, there’d been an urgency to his passionate embrace that had melted her inside and out—but she was not one to run and hide in her rooms like a scared child.

With each reminder, her shoulders drew further and further back, until her eyes glinted with their usual strength and determination, and her cheeks returned to their usual color.

As if on cue, there came a perfunctory knock at the door.

“Just a moment, please.” Persephone hastened across the room and drew the panel open.

Kindly Mrs. Trowbridge, wearing her usual deep-dimpled smile, stood in wait.

Eager, Persephone spoke before the other woman could. “Mrs. Trowbridge! Dare I hope—?”

“Your… His Grace’s guest just arrived, Miss Forsyth.”

She brightened. “Splendid news. Splendid.” Persephone ducked her head farther out into the hall and stole a glance up and down the corridor.

Even empty as the hall was, when she spoke, she lowered her voice a notch. “Is she as lovely as—”

“Even more so, Miss Forsyth.” Mrs. Trowbridge beamed as if she herself was the proud mama to the one who would soon find herself the new lady of the household. “Even more so. Such a sweet temperament too. His Grace will be hopelessly besotted.”

Persephone grinned.

Oh, he’d be something all right.

Just like that, all her earlier reservations, horror, and humiliation at her and Simon’s embrace melted clear away.

“Is she—?”

Efficient Mrs. Trowbridge anticipated the rest of that question before Persephone even needed to finish it. “Being attended to in the drawing room.”

“Splendid. Just splendid. If you would be so good as to see she is escorted to His Grace’s office, Mrs. Trowbridge, I’ll be along shortly.”

Mrs. Trowbridge dipped a curtsy. “It will be my pleasure, Miss Forsyth.”

They exchanged sly smiles, and then Mrs. Trowbridge hurried off.

The moment she’d gone, a gleeful Persephone rubbed her hands together.

It was all coming together.

Despite Mrs. Trowbridge’s confidence that Simon would fall instantly head over heels for the lady Persephone had brought into his life, Persephone didn’t delude herself.

He’d fight it. They all did. In terms of young bachelors? They were the worst .

Eventually, however, Simon would come around—all men did. They fought it valiantly, denying themselves that most special of relationships, and then once they experienced the joy of it, they were forever changed.

Oh, he’d been stone-cold and straightforward when he’d described the attributes he sought in a partner.

But just wait until he met her .

Persephone consulted her appearance once more in the mirror. Several flyaway strands hung like curly dark curtains on either side of her face. As she tucked them back behind her ears, she sang in the loud, off-key tones she used to during church, to Simon’s amusement and the vicar’s chagrin.

“I, believe me, if all those endearing youngcharms,

Which I gaze on so fondlyto-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and flee from myarms

Like fairy-gifts, fading away!”

Enlivened as she’d not been in longer than she could remember, Persephone went in search of Simon. This time, she knew not to arrive alone. This time, she’d come with the very lady she’d handpicked for him.

As Persephone made her way, she continued singing, but did so more quietly.

“Thou wouldst still be ador’d as this moment thouart,

Let thy loveliness fade as itwill;

And, around the dear ruin, each wish of myheart

Would entwine itself verdantlystill!”

She passed a young parlor maid with a duster, cap, and apron. The two women exchanged smiles and waves before sailing on in their opposite directions.

With every step that carried Persephone closer to her upcoming meeting with Simon, the embarrassment of yesterday faded further and further away, until she arrived outside his office door without a single consideration of what transpired a day prior.

Persephone lifted her hand to knock.

When he’d laid her down across his desk—

Her fist wavered before the pretty carved panel.

And kissed the thoughts clear out of her head.

Warmth swarmed her belly.

Her brow dipped.

Do not think about that .

Think about sloppy, awkward childhood kisses and tiny pups! Why, yes! Think of…adorable, gloriously affectionate, clever dogs!

Armed with those far more steadying, sobering reminders, Persephone rapped hard on the panel.

“Enter.”

Simon’s booming voice called out as immediate as if he’d been awaiting her arrival.

His deep, commanding baritone caused Persephone to waver.

Stop. Tiny dogs. The very cutest ones. Think of them.

Donning a smile, Persephone let herself inside.

She took care to keep her gaze fixed to the point just above Simon’s golden-blond head.

Seated in the same place she’d left Simon yesterday—at the head of his desk—this current meeting between Persephone and Simon may as well have been a continuation of their last one. That was, with the exception of Lord Pruitt’s absence. Nor did Simon launch a sharp pencil at her person.

Otherwise…everything…was…exactly…

Persephone glanced about his tidy office.

She made the mistake of looking directly at Simon, and her mind went blank.

A dangerous fluttering unfurled in her belly.

His head bent over his ledger, Simon attended to whatever officious ducal business required his full concentration.

And God help her, she took advantage of his distracted state and took in the sight of him.

He wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and looked so hopelessly endearing in them.

At some point, he’d removed his navy tailcoat. The immaculately cut wool garment lay draped over the back of his chair.

Simon’s shirt sleeves, rolled up past his elbows, put his tanned, muscular forearms on beautiful display. His cravat had been tossed haphazardly to the edge of the desk like he’d tired of that constraining fabric, the absence of which left a gap, revealing a whorl of tight golden coils upon his chest.

Persephone fought the urge to sigh.

How she missed safe, uncomplicated Simon. The Simon who did not make her insides melt or cause her heart to race.

Which only brought her gaze dipping a fraction to the smooth surface of that very same desktop Simon had stretched her over.

Her heart pounded hard and fast; her mouth went dry.

She pressed her eyes closed and attempted to rein in her wicked, wayward musings.

When she trusted she’d composed her thoughts into a semblance of calm, Persephone opened her eyes.

Simon stared boldly back.

She gasped. “Your G-Grace.” She dipped a curtsy.

From behind those immaculate crystal lenses, a flirtatious glint sparkled in Simon’s celestial blue irises.

Oh, the lout. How smug. How knowing . And if there’d been anything that could or would steady Persephone, it was the evidence of his masculine arrogance.

Then, with a panther-like grace, he unfurled all of his six-feet, four-inch frame.

“Well, well, well, Persephone,” he purred. “And here, I thought you were hiding from me.”

Persephone hid a smile. At this moment, Simon might believe himself fully in control of their latest meeting, but with his perfect lady due to arrive at any moment, the tables were about to be turned.

“Alas, Your Grace, you are bound to be disappointed. I do not hide from anyone.” She gave him a pert up and down look. “ Especially not you,” she lied, and his widening grin said he knew it too.

In fairness, it wasn’t Simon that Persephone feared, but rather all these wicked feelings he stirred inside.