Page 24 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

A s Persephone and Simon approached Lady Isabelle, Persephone walked several steps ahead of Simon. He appeared both content to keep a distance from Persephone and in no hurry to meet the young lady awaiting him.

And truth be told, Persephone was not eager to meet Lord Silas .

From behind her big bonnet and from under her parasol, Persephone examined Lady Isabelle and Lord Silas, the Marquess of Bute, in Hyde Park. In the distance, some sixty yards away, brother and sister stood in wait.

Seemingly unbothered by the duke’s tardiness—and disrespect—Lady Isabelle, like the carefree child she’d once been, and still apparently was, happily tossed scraps of bread into the lake for the vibrant pink pelicans of Hyde Park.

The same, however, could not be said for the gentleman pacing the shore beside the young debutante.

Persephone’s former sweetheart still had the face and physique of a fallen angel. Between his masculine beauty and effortless charm, Persephone hadn’t stood a chance against the allure of such a charismatic man.

After a broken heart and years of waiting for that organ to heal, which it eventually had, Persephone was but moments from coming face to face with the man who’d been responsible for both her finding herself unemployed and brokenhearted.

Time had since leant a hardness to his already chiseled features, but then betrayal had that effect on a man. She found some solace in discovering he’d been altered too.

She angled her head.

The franticness of the marquess’s movements, however, were at odds with the cool impassivity of his granite-hard jaw and steely expression.

Her stomach churned.

All hopes of finding him the genial, easygoing man who’d never have borne a grudge faded. The gallant, good-natured Silas of old had been replaced by someone she no longer recognized.

But then he’d never really possessed any of the traits that made you fall in love with him , a voice of reason reminded.

And Persephone had come to a place where she just wanted to get this moment over and done with—whatever the outcome may be.

She’d given Silas too much power over her, but along the way, she’d managed to reclaim it from him.

She cast a glance over her shoulder and looked for Simon.

He’d walked at such a snail’s pace before; Persephone had hoped he’d catch up.

He hadn’t.

Simon appeared not only all too content to maintain his leisurely pace but to also keep his future bride and her all-powerful brother waiting.

Good Lord on Sunday. It was official. He sought to drive her mad.

“Would you walk quicker?” Persephone said between gritted teeth.

When no reply was forthcoming, instead of using her parasol and bonnet as objects to hide around, she used them as a shield so she and Simon could enjoy some level of privacy.

Simon—who appeared entirely too amused, given the situation and his impending outing with a bridal candidate—cupped his hands around his mouth. “What was that?” he called. “I’m afraid I cannot hear you.”

“ I’m afraid I’m going to kill you,” she muttered under her breath.

Simon laughed. That rich, deep rumble she felt all the way to her belly and set a thousand butterflies free. “That isn’t what you said.”

Persephone edged her parasol and bonnet just enough to send Simon an arch look. “You are infuriating,” she whispered. “Furthermore, you find the thought of me ending you somehow amusing, Your Grace?”

“Oh, absolutely, I do,” he said, entirely too cheerily. “Given you don’t have a bad bone in your body.”

She frowned. “I most certainly do . A lot of them.” If he only knew.

“You sound offended,” Simon remarked, bringing her out of a rapidly spiraling panic.

“I…am.” Persephone passed a somber gaze over his beloved face. “I’m not some do-gooder, Simon,” she said tiredly.

“Ah, but neither are you a murderer, Seph.”

He winked.

A handsome couple nearby looked curiously in Simon and Persephone’s direction, and she shifted the parasol, effectively cutting off those stares.

After the young lord and lady continued by, she returned her focus to Simon.

“I’ve not lived my life above reproach,” Persephone confessed.

She’d done any number of naughty, shameful, scandalous things. Instinctively, she glanced back at the familiar figure, still pacing.

The greatest of which, just then, lifted his watch for a third time.

“Hey,” Simon murmured, drawing Persephone’s attention away from her former lover.

It hurt to meet Simon’s gaze.

“Seph,” he said with a tenderness that threatened to shatter her, “which one of us has lived a blameless life?”

“You,” she said automatically.

His chest shook with laughter. “Me?”

She may as well have put forth Satan’s name and not Simon’s for the amusement he found in her suggestion.

She bit down on her lower lip. This was different.

“Ah, yes,” he drawled. “I’m so above reproach that since we’ve been together, I’ve done all number of lewd things to you,” he put forth on a whisper that had the exact effect on her center and senses that he no doubt intended. “Need I remind you, Persephone?”

She shook her head so quick, he chuckled.

Alas, he’d already found a place inside her head.

Her breath caught, and she was powerless to the sordid memories that demanded to be remembered—of her sprawled across his desk. Or Simon expertly working her with his fingers and bringing her to a beautiful climax as she’d wrapped her hand around his long, thick shaft and given him a release at the same time.

Her eyes slid shut, and her entire body went flush, and not for the first time that morn, she gave thanks for the cover provided by her bonnet and parasol.

When Persephone forced her eyes open, her gaze collided with the beautiful young woman in the distance—a virtuous young lady with her maidenhead intact, who’d never dared allow a man to kiss her, let alone taken two lovers in her respectable, honorable life.

Simon’s wife. I am but a short distance away from the woman he’ll marry.

And, Persephone, like some horrid strumpet, stood lusting after the same woman’s future husband, while Persephone’s first lover completed their company.

For the first time, she let herself wonder how her life might have been different had she not succumbed to Silas’s seduction.

Tears pricked her lashes and shame threatened to swallow her up. Without so much as another glance at Simon, Persephone made herself keep walking.

Whatever happened from here on out, she’d face it head-on. With that resolve, Persephone brought her parasol back on her shoulder, pushed her bonnet, and made herself look squarely at the pair in the distance.

“I told you so,” Persephone said when Simon at last fell into step. Her voice sounded thick to her own ears. “Lady Iss-Isabelle is waiting.”

He rejoined with a slight clap. “ There it is.”

Persephone frowned. “There what —?”

“You know, it is a wonder you can see as much given you’re buried under the world’s largest bonnet and even more sizeable parasol,” he drawled.

“I told you—”

“ So ,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know.”

“I was going to say it is rude and disrespectful to keep a lady waiting.”

“That bonnet and parasol are ridiculous, Seph,” Simon casually noted.

“My bonnet?” she repeated. Her hand-me-down hat that a former student left behind at Mrs. Belden’s.

He nodded. “And your parasol,” he added.

This is what he’d say? This was really what they were discussing now? She opened her mouth to chastise Simon when she caught the mischievous sparkle in his ocean-blue eyes.

When in blazes had he become so flippant ? Particularly about something so important as finding his duchess, a celebrated Diamond of the First Water.

“This is not a game, Simon,” she whispered.

The levity faded from his eyes, and his smile slipped, ushering in a solemn mask. “Seph?”

“Can’t we please just do this?” she implored, broken enough to beg.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

How many noblemen, let alone a duke, apologized to women in their employ…or for that matter, to anyone. But Simon had never been like the other noblemen. He’d actually been the only noble one among them.

And it was killing her that their time approached its finite conclusion.

“Will you please go on ahead?” she asked when he still did not move, just continued to stare at her in that unhappy way.

He’s unhappy? He is?

“I cannot walk beside you, Simon,” she explained, unable to keep that beseechingness from every word she spoke. “You know that. And you doing so puts me in jeopardy. You’re behaving as if we are friends—”

“We are friends, Seph,” he said, more insistently.

She shook her head. It was time to put an end to this—all of it.

Persephone held his gaze. “No, Simon. We are not,” she said bluntly. “We were friends. Society does not permit friendship between men and women for reasons you and I already both discovered.”

“I’m…” Simon grimaced. “I understand.”

Persephone averted her gaze, and only after he’d continued ahead without her did she again look his way. Yet, as she moved at a slower pace behind him, Persephone looked not at Simon. Nor her former lover who’d ruined her and all hopes of a respectable future.

Persephone considered Simon’s prospective duchess and the only reason Persephone was here in London with him in the first place.

She wanted to hate Lady Isabelle. She wanted to find every kind of fault with the young lady that made her unworthy of Simon. Then maybe Simon would not marry the girl, and Persephone would not have her heart broken for a second time.

At that moment, Lady Isabelle wandered over to a nearby girl, who sat alongside the shore, dragging the tip of a stick along the grass like one tracing letters. A preoccupied nursemaid sat near the child, but all the servant’s attention was reserved for the embroidery in her hands.

Lady Isabelle sank onto her haunches and spoke words to the young girl.

A moment later, the forlorn child’s lips formed a joy-filled smile.

Lady Isabelle shared some of her offering for the pelicans with the girl and, together, they fed the birds.

At the sight of that kindness, tears formed a ball in Persephone’s throat. And a feeling so bittersweet permeated every pore in her body and wound its way through her entire being.

The same kindness Lady Isabelle possessed as a girl radiated from her person all these years later. Her status as a Diamond had not made her mean or unaware of people around her. Even the slight upon Astrid’s—and Persephone’s—name at the hothouse had merely been a forthright outburst from one unguarded and unjaded by life.

Persephone sucked in a shuddery breath. No, she could not hate Simon’s likely future duchess. She could only admire her.

It didn’t mean Persephone didn’t envy her, just that Persephone now knew the young woman would not only make Simon a splendid duchess, but also a caring, loving mother and wife and—

She briefly closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Simon had reached the sister-brother pair.

Silas abruptly stopped his pacing and did a sweep of the area. He searched for her. She knew it but did not know for what purpose and did not care.

Persephone remained fixed on the man she’d loved from the beginning and would until her end.

Simon bowed over Lady Isabelle’s hand and placed a kiss upon her gloved fingers.

Persephone wanted to break that handsome couple, happily conversing, apart. She wanted to seethe and hiss like an angry cat.

I am going to die. I will not survive the heartbreak of losing Simon.

Simon was never yours to lose , a sad voice in her head pointed out. He’d always been her dearest friend and always would be, and as one she loved with her whole soul, she wanted him to marry a loving woman, worthy of him—even as it would kill Persephone.

The sooner Persephone did her work here, the sooner she could leave and work at assembling the pieces of her broken heart into something that resembled a functioning organ. She’d had it broken before and recovered. She could do so again. It was why she somehow found the resolve to head over and join the trio.

The moment she reached them, all eyes went to her.

Persephone dropped a curtsy.

Simon wore a smile.

Not because of Persephone, but because of Lady Isabelle, who glittered and shone like the Diamond society professed her to be.

“Lady Isabelle, may I again present my…my…” Simon stumbled. “Father’s goddaughter,” he smoothed over, and the tension eased from her…some. “Miss F—”

“Yes! I now recall Miss Forsyth,” Lady Isabelle exclaimed.

I now recall…

Not: we’ve been introduced.

Persephone’s stomach turned.

Oh, God. I’m a dolt. I should have taken another name.

“It is so very good to see you again, Miss Forsyth,” Lady Isabelle said with both warmth and sincerity.

Persephone’s feet twitched with the need to flee.

“Likewise, my lady,” Persephone managed to choke out.

The young woman let out a sound of protest. “ Please , none of that, Miss Forsyth,” she chided. “We are practically fam—”

Persephone tensed.

“Isabelle,” Silas said sharply, cutting into the rest of his sister’s pronouncement.

Stricken by that admonishment, Lady Isabelle’s eyes grew sad. “I d-didn’t mean about H-His Grace,” she stammered. “But rather because we—”

“Isabelle,” the marquess barked, and an awkward silence fell over the group.

Simon looked confusedly among Persephone, Silas, and Lady Isabelle. The furrowed place between his eyes and creased brow indicated he’d sensed something amiss among the trio.

Then Simon settled a frosty stare upon Lord Bute.

An honorable, good man such as Simon would never take to having any man speak to a lady the way the marquess had just done his sister.

Persephone, however, understood why Silas had urged the young woman to silence.

The marquess intended to keep private Persephone’s connection to his family, which meant he didn’t intend to ruin her. That should bring more than the minor solace it did.

“Perhaps you’d care for a walk, Lady Isabelle,” Simon extended his elbow, “and to find some place on the shore where there are pelicans and birds still in need of an afternoon meal.”

How was it possible to both love Simon for that goodness and want to weep at his championing another woman?

Beaming, Lady Isabelle held aloft the little satchel containing her scraps for the birds. “I would so dearly love that,” she cried with all the exuberance and innocence of the child she still nearly was.

Lady Isabelle placed her delicate fingers upon Simon’s sleeve, and Persephone’s eyes remained locked on the sight of the exquisitely golden couple joined so.

“Miss Forsyth?”

Simon’s query cut through the agony. “Hmm?”

“Join us.”

His was a ducal command that expected Persephone’s acquiescence. He directed it not at Persephone, however, but rather the grim man beside her.

Why, given the marquess’s outburst, Simon feared leaving her alone with the other man.

“Yes, please join us, Miss Forsyth!” Lady Isabelle urged. “We have so very much to talk about.”

No, they didn’t, and no, they wouldn’t.

Persephone managed to smile for the girl’s benefit. “Two is company but three is not,” she said in a gentle declination of Lady Isabelle’s gracious invitation.

The young lady waggled a finger Persephone’s way. “Ah, yes, but four makes two couples.”

Persephone tensed, already knowing what the other woman intended, even before she turned a radiant smile upon her brother. “You must simply accompany Miss Forsyth and join us on our walk.”

Desperate for an out, Persephone looked to Simon.

Simon remained expressionless, giving no indication he cared one way or another whether Persephone joined or declined.

Reluctantly, she slid her gaze over to the Marquess of Bute.

Silas’s inky black lashes swept low, and he held out an arm. “Miss Forsyth,” he murmured, his deep baritone more gravelly than she recalled. “Will you do me the honor?”

Would she do him the honor?

She gritted her teeth. Did she have a choice was the better of questions.

The ghost of a smile played at his hard, firm lips.

The all too familiar roguish glimmer in his eyes indicated he knew Persephone enough to have guessed the question she’d not spoken aloud.

“Miss Forsyth?” Simon called over, his voice laced with a question of his own and now laden with concern.

Persephone forced another smile, and avoiding Simon’s gaze, she placed her fingertips upon Silas’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her at a sedate pace behind. All the while, Persephone kept her gaze on the giggling lady and gentleman who now charmed her.

Persephone’s throat worked. Simon. Simon was that man.

But I? I find myself with a different gentleman.

They walked so long in silence, she began to believe he didn’t intend to force a conversation between them after all.

“You look good, Persephone,” Silas said quietly.

Ah, the futility of hope.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “A broken heart, good firing, and lack of funds and security must have that effect on a woman.”

His skin paled and he flinched like she’d punched him. Which for years, she’d yearned to do. She’d been angry and filled with hate and sorrow. Curious she should feel such apathy now.

He forced them to a stop, and she quickly retreated several steps.

Persephone frowned and looked off in the distance.

Simon and Lady Isabelle remained enrapt with one another’s company and wouldn’t have noticed if Persephone had disappeared in the Serpentine. The echo of Simon’s deep laugh and Lady Isabelle’s lilting, girlish one danced on the spring breeze.

No help there, then.

Hadn’t she already learned the lesson long ago that she had but herself to rely upon? That there was no one there to save her.

“What do you want, my lord?”

“I…” Yanking off his black top hat, Silas raked a hand through his thick, black hair. Unfashionably long where it’d always previously been close-cropped, he bore the look of a rogue more now than he had then. “I need to speak with you.”

A bitter laugh bubbled past her lips. “You, the all-powerful Marquess of Bute, with vast land and even vaster wealth, need something?”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “That is rich, my lord. Because I have lost employment because of you, not once, but twice now. I’ve no home. No family to which I may turn. F-Few funds.”

She despised the quiver in her voice and hated the way his features tensed as if her sorrow caused him sorrow.

Persephone took a deep breath to steady herself and once in full control, resumed. “Because of you, I have no prospects, no references.”

Silas spoke in an equal quiet. “What of Greystoke?”

Greystoke? “Simon?” she asked dumbly.

The marquess sharpened his gaze on her face.

This man deserved no explanation, but she gave him one anyway. “He is a friend, my lord.”

Her former sweetheart’s eyes darkened. “A friend ?” he repeated with all the knowing of a cynic and rogue.

Despite her best attempt, heat spilled onto her cheeks.

“Are you his mistress?” Silas balled his hands into fists as if her answer of the affirmative would unleash them.

Persephone took an angry step toward him. “I am no man’s mistress,” she hissed.

Something akin to relief washed over his face. Which didn’t make sense. He’d have to care about her, which he never had.

“I deserve more,” she continued. “I deserve better.” Persephone held his gaze. “And I deserved more from you, Silas.”

“You did.” His features tightened. “I know that. I wronged you, Persephone.”

Persephone drew back. That concession, she’d not been expecting. At all.

The anger left her.

“What do you want, Silas?”

He fiddled with the brim of his hat. “I told you, I would like to speak with you about…everything.”

“Are you looking for forgiveness? Fine, you are forgiven,” she said. If he’d just leave her alone, she’d promise him anything.

The hint of a grin played about his lips. Persephone recalled that smile and how it once made her feel inside, and she didn’t want to remember.

“That isn’t sincere, Phee.”

She didn’t want to recall there’d been a time when she’d so desperately loved him.

“No, it isn’t, my lord.”

Her use of his title erased his smile.

“There is nothing more to say,” she said quietly and attempted to leave it at that.

Silas caught her lightly by the arm.

She gasped at the familiarity. Without the benefit of gloves, she felt calluses upon palms that’d once been unblemished. Bewildered, she stared at the faint scars that now marred the top of his hands, hands that better suited a man who labored than an indolent rake.

Then Silas lightly stroked the coarse pads of his fingertips along her arm in a forbidden caress that would ruin her.

“There is everything to say, Persephone,” he said quietly. “ Everything. ”

“Siiiiilas!” That sunny calling broke them apart.

Persephone and Silas glanced some twenty yards away where Simon and Lady Isabelle had, at some point, doubled back.

Lady Isabelle waved wildly. “Come, Silas! We are going to skip stones. Bring Miss Forsyth,” the girl added before returning her attention to Simon.

Simon, whose devout focus had been on Lady Issy, shifted to Persephone. Even with all the many feet between them, she caught the glint in his eyes that had gone hard.

She bit her lower lip. He was upset? Him? A duke with the world at his feet and his future bride at his side.

“Silas!” Lady Isabelle’s cry rang out once more. “Miss Forrrsyth!”

The marquess offered Persephone an elbow. “Come, Phee, you know she will not quit until we join her.”

No, the willful, wonderful girl would not, and that was why Persephone placed her fingertips upon her former lover’s sleeve and allowed him to guide them over to his sister and the man who would forever hold Persephone’s heart.