Page 22 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

S he’d prayed for rain.

Nay, not just rain. Rather, a deluge, one so powerful it would have flooded the streets to the point of impassable and muddied gardens and grounds all over London.

It hadn’t even been a huge ask on Persephone’s part. Nor outside the realm of reasonable possibility or expectation. After all, this was England, land of rain, fog, and tea.

Instead, she’d gotten sunlight. Dazzling , fierce, glaring sunlight.

Seated on the carriage bench across from Simon on their way to Hyde Park, Persephone’s eyes actually hurt from the blinding rays that radiated through gleaming crystal windows.

She scowled.

Of course. A perfect late spring day.

It was decided—God hated Persephone.

Nay, Persephone was hardly important enough to merit the Lord’s attention—she’d learned that enough since her father’s death and the subsequent tumult her life became in the wake of his passing.

Simon. It was definitely Simon who hated her.

After all, only a perverse man bent on torment would have forced Persephone along on an outing with both the young lady he was courting and also Persephone’s former lover.

Though, in fairness, he doesn’t know about Silas , the voice of reason whispered in her head.

He didn’t. Did he?

He couldn’t.

Only…

Her stomach clenched.

What if he did?

She angled her head a hair and snuck a look at him.

He didn’t wear the taunting grin or cocksure arrogance that had greeted her upon their reunion. Rather, his attention remained outward at the opposite window, fixed on the streets out there.

Sighing softly, she returned her gaze to her window.

Of course, Simon wouldn’t have ever been so deliberately cruel to Persephone. For all the ways life and time had changed him, he’d retained the good, honorable parts of his heart and soul. It’d been disloyal of her to even consider he was forcing Persephone along on a walk to meet the man who’d betrayed her.

Simon wouldn’t force her to face her former lover like this. That she could say with absolute confidence.

The carriage hit a slight dip in the road and sent the conveyance jostling. A little whine split the quiet of her troubled thoughts and pulled Persephone’s self-preoccupied musings to an inordinately quiet Astrid.

“Forgive me,” she murmured. Reaching down, Persephone scooped her off the floor and placed the beautiful white pup upon her lap.

Astrid burrowed and nuzzled against Persephone’s belly before ultimately settling into a comfortable rest. Absently, Persephone stroked her back, and that motion proved soothing to both of them. One more than the other.

No, Simon wouldn’t deliberately hurt her.

Silas on the other hand? She’d like to think he’d not divulged his and Persephone’s love affair.

Why wouldn’t he? Silas had proven himself faithless and fickle and cruel. He’d never truly loved her. Everything had been a game to him. She’d been a servant and mere diversion for the master’s son and heir, and the moment he’d tired of her, and she’d become ardent in her professions of love, he’d had his father send her away.

Yes, he’d always cared about his own pleasures and own self-interests more than he had Persephone, but he’d not been deliberately cruel or malicious. Until he was.

One of the reasons she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with him had been because of the love and care he’d shown his siblings. A charming rogue, who also happened to be a devoted big brother? Persephone had been young and innocent, and that alone won her heart…at first.

Bracing her chin atop her hand, she stared blankly out at the quickly passing scene that was a mere blur before her.

In the immediate aftermath of Silas’s betrayal, Persephone assumed all his displays of brotherly affection had merely been another part of his facade to get closer to Persephone so he might easily seduce her.

She’d believed everything about Silas, now the Marquess of Bute, had been a lie. She’d been so very convinced of it. Until yesterday, when they again crossed paths, and she’d found him in the presence of his youngest sister, Lady Issy.

One fact, however, remained.

Whether he was a cruel former lover who’d taken a sinister delight in sharing the truth about Persephone with Simon, or a dedicated brother who’d protect his sister’s reputation at any cost, the outcome would invariably be the same.

Simon would sack her.

And Persephone, who was no longer na?ve and unworldly, could never blame him for that. Unmarried women who gave their virginity away to a dashing rake just couldn’t live in the home of a bachelor; at that, a bachelor who’d only returned to London so he might find a suitable—and more— respectable bride.

If the truth came out, no respectable household would hire her.

Dread knocked around Persephone’s chest and she bit the inside of her cheek hard until the metallic tinge of blood filled her mouth.

Silas wouldn’t say anything.

He couldn’t .

Not if he supported a match between Lady Isabelle and Simon—which, given the walk in Hyde Park and impending dinner party—he clearly did. After all, it was in Silas’s best interest to not spread Persephone’s sins around society.

That did nothing to ease her panic.

For Silas would, however, undoubtedly speak privately to Simon and insist on Persephone’s dismissal, if for absolutely no other reason than to ensure Lady Isabelle remained untainted by Persephone’s past.

The absolute best she could hope for, and it was not an at all unreasonable possibility, was that Silas would allow Simon to provide Persephone references and let her slink off with her past transgressions a secret between them.

That should bring Persephone some peace of mind.

Instead, an even more terrible, pressing, and unbearable ache settled upon her chest like the weight of a thousand bricks.

Simon would marry Lady Isabelle.

She’d be the Diamond he’d hungered for. And Lady Isabelle, stunning in her beauty where Persephone had always been plain, would have Simon—in her arms. In her bed. In her life, in every way.

Persephone knew so very clearly how all of it would play out.

She closed her eyes tightly. She didn’t want to think about any of this, but Persephone proved as powerless to control her thoughts as she was powerless in her actual life.

Simon, who’d vowed to leave the moment he’d settled his affairs in London, would linger. At first, he’d only do so to consummate his union and carefully instruct his duchess on her new responsibilities. He’d plan to do so quickly so he could be on his merry way.

But the more time spent with the vivacious beauty, and the longer he stayed in England, he’d fall deeper and deeper under the lady’s spell.

Simon would end up staying forever with his wife in England. They might travel together and see the world as he’d longed to do and only recently begun to do. He’d read his beloved wife The Great Bard’s works and pen poems of Lady Isabelle’s beauty. They’d have beautiful tow-headed babes and be a joy-filled, loving family in the way Persephone used to, herself, long for.

The unwelcome sting of jealousy pierced her veins and spread like a slow-moving venom through her being, and she was powerless to ebb its flow.

Persephone wanted those things for Simon. He deserved happiness and a happily-ever-after, the one usually only reserved for grand fairytales and otherwise rarely attainable to people outside of those fictional stories.

But horribly, selfishly, desperately, she wanted that future with Simon. And that he’d know it instead with another woman who was not Persephone cracked open a heart she’d already believed long broken, and by another.

Tears stung her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them back.

This is what she’d sit here weeping over and lamenting? Not her very uncertain future but rather the fact she and Simon were moments away from meeting his future bride.

For there could be no doubting the two would ultimately marry. She, Aphrodite. Simon, Adonis.

And me, Persephone, goddess of the underworld… the Greek queen, also farcically charged with looking after Apollo.

All dreams of a hopeful, secure future might be dead to Persephone, but irony was certainly alive, well, and thriving.

A small giggle, laced with bitterness, bubbled past her lips.

Persephone felt Simon look at her for the first time since they’d boarded the carriage, but he didn’t say anything. He just returned to his study of streets he’d undoubtedly traveled hundreds of times before, and she to her ruminations.

In the end, Aphrodite and Persephone had both fallen madly in love with Adonis, with the resolution reached that they’d share him and his affections, each woman receiving him for half of the year.

There’d not, however, be any sharing of Simon. He’d belong to another.

No.

In actuality, he’d belonged to another before Persephone had even arrived. Until now, however, that woman had just happened to be a faceless, nameless stranger.

Now, the one who’d possess him in body, name, and soul had a name—Isabelle.

Or, she will, unless the rumor gets out of your former relationship with the marquess, in which case your past sins will sully Simon’s future.

As focused as she’d been on her own woes and her own misery and keeping a secret from Simon, she’d not given proper thought to the fact that he deserved the truth.

Simon shouldn’t find out from Silas. Rather, he should have that information from his former best friend and current matchmaker’s lips. She owed him that. No, she owed him more than that. The least, however, she could do was inform him of her past scandal, which would have disastrous implications on his plans to find—and wed—a Diamond.

A pressure built at Persephone’s temples, and she pressed her palms to that place where her head throbbed and rubbed.

“We’re here.”

Startled, Persephone’s hands fell to her lap.

With a little yelp, Astrid hopped onto the floor.

From under his thick, lustrous, golden lashes, Simon stared at Persephone with an opaque gaze. At her silence, he quirked an eyebrow and tipped his head left.

Befuddled, she blinked slowly and followed that gesture to the window.

Her stomach sank, and her heart fell along with it, which was for the best. Hearts were horrid organs that only brought pain far greater than any physical hurt one might suffer.

“I see,” she said, her voice flat and emotionless to her own ears.

“Do you? Because we’ve been sitting here for five minutes?” Simon’s query contained a teasing note that, any other time, would have raised a smile.

He moved his gaze over her face. His grin faded, and his expression grew serious. “Persephone, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she said tightly.

“Because if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be silent and angry.”

“I’m not angry,” she snapped.

“Of course, you aren’t,” he said and made another futile attempt at making her smile.

That’d always been his way. He’d never allowed her to be sad. It’d always been as if he couldn’t exist unless she was happy.

“This is about more than the dinner party,” he ventured with a gratingly gentle knowingness.

Of course. When all boys and men were emptyheaded, Simon had always been clever. Could he not let her be though? Couldn’t he leave her to her misery and just focus on how gloriously perfect his life and future were?

“Simon,” she said tiredly, “it is rude to keep a lady, and at that, a lady you are seriously considering marrying, waiting for you.”

And for a sliver of a moment, there existed within Persephone, a fragile hope that he’d refute her words. That he’d say it was only a walk in Hyde Park and hardly an offer of marriage.

But he didn’t.

Because it wasn’t just an afternoon stroll.

It was a walk that indicated far more and would lead to far more between Simon and Lady Isabelle.

For a second time, tears threatened, and desperate to hide them, she made a show of bending down to retrieve Astrid’s leash. The moment she collected the cord, Simon’s hand, warm and strong and always assuring, covered hers.

Through blurred eyes, she stared at them, how easily they fit together; it was as if they’d been perfectly designed for one another.

Persephone blinked furiously to keep those blasted drops from falling.

“Persephone,” he murmured, and as she couldn’t remain staring at the top of Astrid’s head forever, she straightened.

“This change over you. It has been since Covent Garden,” he spoke haltingly.

Persephone waited for him to finish. She nodded her head slightly, urging him to speak.

And then wished she hadn’t.

“ And ,” he continued, “I was wondering if, perhaps, it had s-something to d-do with…”

She stared patiently at him, offering him the space with which to speak. Given the emergence of his stutter, whatever it was he sought he struggled to say.

“I-I was wondering…or r-rather, I f-fear,” he continued, still tripping over his words. Simon took a deep breath and spoke on a rush. “I worry with what we’ve sh-shared—” He grimaced. “D-Done together these past weeks, that y-your f-feelings have become inadvertently involved.”

What was he saying? Persephone stared blankly at him.

And then it hit her.

He knew she’d developed feelings for him.

I’m going to die. Nay, I want to die. The Lord, however, would never prove so merciful.

Persephone blanched and recoiled to her core. “No!” she exclaimed. “Never. I would never do something so ridiculous…” She trilled a laugh that sounded shrill to her own ears. “You and me? Me and you? Never! ”

Concern radiated from the gaze Simon moved searchingly over her face.

She curled her toes so tightly in the soles of her slippers both feet ached.

He sought the veracity of her assurances. And given how intimately they knew one another, he could easily find it too.

Persephone reined in her panic, smoothed her features into a placid mask, and moved to the edge of her seat.

She took both Simon’s hands in hers. “Simon, I will always love you for having been the dearest of friends,” she said gently, lying all the way through her teeth. “But I do not care for you in that way.”

“T-Truly?”

She gave his hands a light squeeze. “Truly.”

Relief so profound smoothed the tensed lines of his gloriously chiseled face, and he couldn’t have hurt her more had he punched her square in the solar plexus.

“Friends?” he asked quietly.

Persephone made herself smile. “Forever.”

Simon’s gaze lingered on her mouth, and a flash of something very close to desire sparked in their mesmerizing blue depths.

No. You’re just seeing what you want to see, Persephone. Where gentlemen were concerned, she’d always seen what she’d wished to.

First, Silas.

Now, Simon.

“Now, come, silly,” she managed to tease from a place she knew not where. “Let us go meet your Lady Issy-belle.” She briefly tripped over that name.

Before he could say anything more that might break her heart, Persephone pressed the door handle, turned Astrid over to the waiting servant, and exited the carriage.

And Persephone, with Simon following at a slower pace behind her, moved on from one misery and braced for the next, impending one.