Page 23 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

P ersephone entered Hyde Park at such a clip, Simon was forced to lengthen his already long strides to come anywhere near reaching her.

The moment the lady exited his carriage, she’d bolted so fast, Simon thought she intended to take flight, keep running, and never look back.

And for a very, very long moment, Simon , moments away from meeting and accompanying Lady Isabelle on an afternoon walk, wanted to fly off after Seph. Nor did this jittery urgency to bolt have anything to do with nerves or now—for the most part—buried insecurities. Or even unease at the public scrutiny he’d receive courting London’s most coveted Diamond of the Season. Or, for that matter, the sense of inferiority he’d always suffered during the courtship process.

He stared regretfully after Persephone. These past weeks, it’d been just the two of them in the world, and it’d felt so very good to be with the one person who’d always managed to make him laugh and insist he see his own self-worth.

Now with him set to meet Lady Isabelle and her brother, the Marquess of Bute, finality hung in the warm, fragrant spring air—a hint of something ending and something beginning.

Simon’s hands balled reflexively at his sides.

Just then his turbulent thoughts were interrupted.

Persephone stumbled a step.

Simon broke out into a run to get to her, but in an instant, an ever-graceful Persephone righted herself and resumed walking.

Several passersby cast curious looks his way, and Simon forced himself to slow his frantic pace. He kept his icy gaze on a vague point in the distance.

Give the gawking pedestrians something to talk about, and they’d swarm like sharks on an injured dolphin. An attitude of indifference, however, sent those mercenary predators swimming elsewhere for a taste of blood.

Simon flexed his jaw.

Not that he gave two shites what anyone said or had to say about him. He’d weathered it all. For that matter, now that Simon found himself in possession of a dukedom, he could duel a fellow in the middle of Mayfair, and his title was enough to protect him.

No, it wasn’t himself he worried about. Rather, he’d not bring any attention to Persephone that might be detrimental to her aspirations here in London.

He’d courted more women than he cared to admit, and not one amongst that ridiculously large number had been capable of all Persephone had managed to do as a young woman. She’d found respectable employment, supported herself, and faced any number of threats, but had become stronger for all she’d done in their time apart.

Simon looked upon her with a new, deeper, and greater appreciation.

Sunlight streamed from the hot sun overhead and cast an otherworldly glow about her, one that held him entranced. Attired in a pale cream walking dress embroidered with pink and red roses, as she was, Persephone had the look of a woman who, with the power of Helios’s light, had sprung from the soil.

And that same earth teetered under Simon’s feet and knocked him off-balance. For in this moment, Persephone Forsyth held him… spellbound .

The laughter and chatter of other visitors to Hyde Park and the echo of horse’s hooves grew distant and muffled in his mind so that the world around him tunneled away, and only he and Persephone dwelled in this luminous plain.

As if she’d sensed this monumental shift herself, Persephone’s steps slowed. Then, ever so gracefully, she turned back.

His breath caught and held, and a welcome warmth suffused his chest as he waited to meet that smile he’d so very badly missed these past days.

Only, when Persephone at last faced him, his own grin—a grin that’d started out as an answering one—froze on his lips at the absence of her smile. Overhead, the clouds chose that most fitting of times to drift by the sun and cast Hyde Park in a dreary darkness to match the grimness radiating in her eyes.

Even with all the distance between them, Simon caught a desolate glimmer sparkling in the tortured depths of her dark brown irises. And that sight of her misery hit him like a prized fighter had landed a solid blow to Simon’s solar plexus.

As a young man, he’d hated her rare moments of sadness more than any of the hell he’d endured at the hands of nasty lads.

As a grown man, he discovered her misery had an even greater impact. What accounted for that cloak of pain she wore about her? And who was the man Simon needed to kill for hurting Persephone?

You. It’s probably you, you great dunderhead. From the start, it couldn’t have been clearer had the lady shouted it herself from the top of her lungs in Trafalgar Square—she had absolutely no desire to accompany Simon on his first outing with Lady Isabelle.

He’d initially been horrified by the prospect that, along the way, she’d developed a tendre for him. He’d sooner have chewed his own leg off than do anything to cause her pain.

And when he’d put his question to Persephone, how had she reacted to his worry that she might have romantic feelings for him?

She’d laughed in Simon’s face.

He should have been relieved. Instead, bastard that he was, Persephone’s adamancy had left Simon a little resentful and a whole lot hurt.

God, what was happening to him? When had the lines become so blurred between them?

Oh, you know. Maybe when you had your fingers in her hot quim? Or after she fisted you and rung the most exquisite climax from you.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, instead of continuing her forward march, Persephone stopped and wheeled about.

Simon quickly jammed his hat back into place.

With still determined steps, the minx who’d set up residence inside both his household and his head made her way back to Simon.

And just like that, the gloom lifted.

Maybe that’s what it’d been.

She’d not deliberately gone ahead. She’d just been preoccupied and failed to realize she’d left him behind.

Why, it was the most Persephone thing ever. This moment harkened back to so many other ones during their childhood years, where she’d been lost in her thoughts or eager to reach the lake for a cooling dip in the heart of summer.

Revived by those happy memories of simpler times together, the moment Persephone reached his side, Simon felt a silly grin fully restored to his lips.

He gave a waggle of his eyebrows. “I trust you realize you were forgetting someone—”

“Some thing ,” she explained.

He stared at her blankly.

Something.

Not someone.

Not him.

But…some thing ?

“What the hell are you missing?” Simon snapped, all the while knowing he sounded like a petulant, whiny child.

“My bonnet, Your Grace.”

As if he didn’t have a goddamn clue about what exactly a blasted bonnet was, Persephone pointed at her head for good measure.

Your Grace. “This again,” he said between gritted teeth. In the moment, it was harder to say whether he was more perturbed with her further elucidating about the article in question or her grating Your Grace -ing him.

Persephone angled her head at what would have been an endearing befuddlement if he weren’t so bloody irate. “I’ve not lost my bonnet before now, Your Grace.”

That slight tilt of her neck sent several lustrous curls slipping free of her pins and cascading over her shoulder. Simon drank in the delectable portrait she made and conjured images of those beautiful strands draped across his bedroom pillow.

As if she’d noted his unseemly attention, Persephone tucked those recalcitrant curls back behind her ear.

“For that matter, my bonnet is not lost, Your Grace. I know precisely its location.” She nodded once.

Simon could only stare at her.

What the hell was she talking about? Why was she nodding?

Then it hit him! Persephone was still going on about that damned—

“Aren’t you going to ask me where—”

“Where is your bloody bonnet?” he exclaimed.

A pair of young ladies chose that inopportune moment to pass beside them.

Persephone smiled and dipped a curtsy as they went.

At least she’ll smile for someone.

That knowledge didn’t improve Simon’s mood one bit.

When the women had gone, sure as rain, Persephone scowled at Simon the same way she might an errant charge. “You are going to cause a scene.”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, feeling very much like one of her far-younger-than-him students.

“That much is clear.” She clapped her hands once. “Now, do not pout, Your Grace.” Apparently, Persephone intended to continue her scolding. “Ladies do not enjoy a grown gentleman with a pout on his lips.”

“Women of all stations and ages enjoy a brooding fellow,” he said, digging in.

Persephone bowed her head. “I’ll allow that.”

“How gracious of you,” he said wryly.

“ Brooding , however, is what irresistible grown men do. Pouting , on the other hand, is what little boys do.”

Which meant Persephone didn’t find him in the former category. His ire spiraled.

Persephone dipped a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

With that, she headed down the exact path they’d just traveled to get to this very point in the park.

He let her get as far as five steps before he found his voice. “Where the hell are you going, Miss Forsyth?” he snapped.

She whipped back around to again meet his gaze. “And we most certainly do not curse in public, Your Grace,” Persephone schooled, all the while doing a search of their surroundings. “We are fortunate no one heard you, but do be more careful in the future. In addition to pouting, ladies also do not entertain uncouth gentlemen.”

A disapproving frown marred her delicate features.

“Uncouth gentlemen?” Simon drawled. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“I would say it is redundant , more than anything else.”

It took him a moment to process what she’d said.

He gave his head a wry shake. “You don’t have a very favorable opinion of men, do you, Persephone?”

“They’ve not given many reasons to be held in high esteem.”

Simon went motionless, and he recalled too late the grounds by which she denounced men. “You speak from your own experiences,” he said quietly.

Persephone shook her head. “I’d venture I speak for the majority of women everywhere.”

He gave his head an exasperated shake.

“Your Grace, I will be all too happy to provide you a thorough lecture on traits ladies admire…and spurn in prospective husbands. Later. At the moment, Lady Isabelle is no doubt waiting for you, and, as I said earlier, it is unpardonably rude to keep her waiting. Her brother will not take that offense lightly.”

As if horrified by the words she’d spoken, Persephone recoiled. Her eyes grew stricken.

Simon sharpened his gaze on her face. “What is it?”

“N-Nothing,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “I…will be along shortly.”

Again, he stopped her, this time placing himself between her and the way back to the carriage.

He grunted. “You aren’t going alone.”

Persephone looked at him as if waiting for more. As if it didn’t make perfectly good sense.

“And why not ?” she finally asked.

Apparently to her, it did not make perfectly good sense. “Because…you’re…you’re…”

Persephone stared patiently at him. “Yes?”

“A lady .” The word exploded from him.

Persephone laughed.

He lowered his eyebrows. “You find this amusing, Miss Forsyth?” Simon tacked a warning onto that question.

Persephone gave another little bob of her head. “I do.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m a governess, finishing school instructor, and matchmaker.”

Red descended over his vision at her flippant view of herself and the world for seeing her in that role.

“You are still a lady,” he growled.

“I’m an employed lady. That is different. If—”

“Never tell me, you will offer a lesson on just how they differ when we conclude here?”

A mischievous grin lifted the corners of her lips. “Actually, I was going to say, ‘if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be along shortly.’”

And this time, without allowing him a word in edgewise, Persephone adroitly stepped around him. Any moment that was not this one, Simon would have felt a buoyancy at the return of the teasing side of Persephone he’d always adored.

Frowning, Simon easily overtook her now more measured strides and fell into step beside her.

It was a moment before Persephone noted his presence, and when she did, she looked at him askance.

“What are you doing, Your Grace?” she whispered from the side of her mouth.

“I thought it should be clear, I’m accompanying you, Miss Forsyth .”

“You are being ridiculous.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Because I would ensure you do not come to any harm?” he drawled. “Yes, how foolish of me to worry after you.”

Persephone stopped so quickly that Simon sailed right past her.

He doubled back.

“I do not need looking after, Simon,” she said, faintly entreating. “I’ve been on my own longer than my father was alive to care for me. And I’ll be on my own long after that. Now, if you’ll please”—she implored with her eyes—“allow me to fetch my belongings and go about your meeting with Lady Isabelle.”

This time, he let her go.

But he waited and followed Persephone with his gaze until she became a speck on the horizon and then disappeared altogether. The whisper of her words, however, remained.

“ …I do not need looking after, Simon…I’ve been on my own longer than my father was alive to care for me. And I’ll be on my own long after that…. ”

Of their own volition, Simon’s eyes slid shut.

How many times before this one had Persephone needed to catch herself when she fell because there’d been no one else there for her? In all the years they’d been apart, what real perils had she faced?

His stomach muscles contracted.

Only, you know , that castigatory voice rightfully chided. You know.

She’d spoken plainly about the threats posed by scurrilous masters. And what a bastard Simon had been that he’d not pressed her for the names of the handsy employers so he could rip their heads from their torsos and destroy those cads for ever having dared dishonor her.

No. That isn’t what made Simon a bastard of the first order. Rather, it was the fact that, over the years, he’d not once thought to find out how Persephone fared. He’d known her father had been the only man there to look over her and that when Mr. Forsyth passed, she’d be alone.

Simon should have been the one to step in after her father’s death and seen her properly settled.

He opened his eyes. The clouds, previously concealing the sun, chose that moment to part. Those same streams of light that, a short while ago, had illuminated Persephone now left a light upon the earth and Simon himself.

How could he have been so blind?

He’d let her down before. Simon set his jaw. He’d not, however, fail her this time .

Even when they were done here, he’d see she was established, not at the whim and mercy of some mercurial employer, but rather in full control of her future.

His heart thumped.

Of course, why hadn’t he thought of it before now?

He’d agreed to references she sought at the end of their time together and intended to pay her a small fortune. All the while knowing she’d never have accepted a pence more as she was too proud to accept charity.

What he could do, however, was help Persephone establish a matchmaking or governess business—or whatever business she wanted. As long as when their time was finished here, she’d be in a place to rely only on herself and hire like-minded, strong, spirited women.

The more he thought about the possibility, the more energized he became.

Not only would she—and Simon himself—no longer have to worry about Persephone’s future, it would also mean she would remain in London where…

Don’t you recall, old chap? You aren’t staying in London. After you tie up your estate business and get yourself married, you’re off to renew your travels and see the world.

His early gladness faded.

For he wouldn’t be here.

And where before Persephone’s arrival, there’d only been an eagerness and urgency to leave England, now he felt strangely…hollow in thinking about the day he left… her .

The day he left her?

His brain stalled.

Panic set his stomach to roiling.

That would mean he missed Persephone .

Sweat beaded at his brow.

Stop!

There was nothing horrifying about that; she happened to be Simon’s long-lost friend, finally found. It was only natural that after their reunion and the bonding they’d done these weeks that he’d miss her when he—or she—left.

You’ll also miss the unabandoned way she came undone in your arms… Or the feel of her skilled fingers wrapped around your aching cock , the devil on Simon’s shoulder taunted.

Simon, like he was some untried youth, sprung hard in his trousers. He shifted in a bid to ease the discomfort and, worse, the tell-tale signs of his desire.

Despite himself, a wry laugh escaped him.

Here he stood, but moments away from meeting his potential future duchess, while sporting a cockstand that wouldn’t quit for another. His body’s reaction hardly hinted at friendship. At least not one that was purely platonic in nature anyway.

Simon briefly closed his eyes and sought to rein in his salacious thoughts about Persephone.

When he opened them, he caught the approach of a young lady buried under a parasol and, from under there, buried under an enormous bonnet.

He tipped his head sideways. Not just any lady.

The moment she reached him, a grin pulled at his lips. “Seph, is that you under there?” he teased.