Page 25 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

D espite Lady Isabelle’s far younger years and recent debut, she’d proven witty and clever. She didn’t giggle or fawn or remain silent and wait for Simon to lead any discussions. She read—and had an impressively solid grasp—on Shakespeare’s works.

She wasn’t stuffy or so primly proper as to be dull. They’d traded jokes, hers the manner that made a person think.

Hell, she’d even tested him with Diophantus’s riddle, a mathematical problem that’d taken him several goes, and for it, Lady Isabelle hadn’t been ingratiating. The lady hadn’t gone out of her way to soothe a potentially bruised ego and instead teased him for his struggle with the riddle.

Yes, by the ease with which Simon and Lady Isabelle had gotten on, Simon’s afternoon outing with the lady could only be described as a great success.

So why sat he broodingly across from Persephone Forsyth…a silent Persephone, who’d been that way with Simon from the moment they’d taken their leave of Lord Bute and Lady Isabelle.

Just like before, in the carriage ride earlier, Persephone didn’t have one word for Simon.

A muscle rippled along his jawline. The same, however, could not be said of Persephone and Lord Bute. While Simon squired Lady Isabelle around the Serpentine, Persephone and the roguish marquess had been completely preoccupied with one another.

Every time Simon had stolen a glance the pairing’s way, they’d been so engrossed, Persephone had never spared Simon so much as a look.

Now, she stared intently at the passing London landscape while he scowled like a schoolboy.

Simon looked at the slumbering pup at her feet. Though, in fairness, neither had Persephone paid a jot of attention to Astrid.

I’m in the same company as a bloody dog.

It’d only been Lord Bute who’d commanded all Persephone’s notice this day.

Simon studied her reflection in the windowpane. Did the lady, in fact, even now daydream about the dashing marquess?

Simon balled his hands into tight fists in gleeful thought of pummeling the marquess who since boyhood had been graced with elegance, self-confidence, and charm. Unlike Simon, who’d not truly become comfortable in his skin until just a handful of years ago. Then it occurred to him— that and only that accounted for his annoyance at Persephone woolgathering over the affable rake.

“You are lost in thought, Miss Persephone,” Simon drawled, looping his right ankle over his opposite knee. “Nothing to say after my first outing with Lady Isabelle?”

For the confusion that creased Persephone’s brow, Simon may as well have spoken in tongues.

Finally, she looked at him. “I…yes,” she said so woodenly Simon believed he could have just asked her to step out of the moving carriage and she’d have given compliance.

“The lady is lovely,” he continued.

“She is most beautiful.” Persephone spoke like a proud mama.

He frowned. “She’s quite skilled at math.”

Surprise lit Persephone’s eyes, offering the first glimmer of anything where Simon was concerned that morning. “Indeed?”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “Very adept. She put mathematical problems to me that took me several tries.”

Persephone’s expression grew wistful. “That makes me so happy, Simon.”

And goddamned if she wasn’t, and all because of the woman who’d likely be his duchess.

They arrived at Simon’s residence.

The minute the door opened, a footman collected Astrid, while another strapping fellow helped Persephone down. Without so much as a glance back, she continued down the paved walkway.

A low growl formed in Simon’s throat and the servant who’d helped her down hurriedly stepped out of his way.

Simon caught up to Persephone when she entered the foyer.

“You seemed to have a lovely time with Lord Bute, Miss Forsyth,” he noted out the corner of his mouth as he fell into step beside her.

Crimson color fanned across her cheeks; Persephone abruptly stopped. “I would ask to speak with you in your offices, Your Grace,” she said quietly.

Simon sketched a mocking bow. “My pleasure, Miss Forsyth .”

Nearby servants exchanged nervous looks, and then wisely took themselves elsewhere.

The minute Simon and Persephone reached his office, and had the door shut behind them, Persephone lit into him. “What are you doing, Simon?” she hissed. “Carrying on like that in front of servants ?”

“And what of the way you were carrying on with Lord Bute?” For when Simon got down to it, that was really at the heart of his upset.

She gasped. “ You were the one who invited me along and your bride-to-be who insisted I walk with the marquess. What should I have done? Gone counter to the lady’s request?”

He flattened his lips and started over to his desk. God, how he despised Persephone for being correct.

Persephone stormed over and placed herself in his path. “What do you want of me, Simon?” she demanded, fire in her eyes and her chest heaving. “What would you have me say?”

“Nothing,” he said harshly.

“Then what do you want from me?”

Her. He wanted her.

They stared at one another a moment, and then, as one, Simon and Persephone met in an explosive embrace.

All the suppressed longing, all the frustration at denying himself that which he wanted leant a frenzied, near violence to Simon’s every action—which Persephone met with equal ardor.

“You love when I’m rough with you, Persephone,” he rasped between kisses, running his hands all over her.

He filled his hands with Persephone’s plump arse and dug his fingers into the lush globes in a way he’d wager hurt, but only a soft, hungry moan escaped her.

“You loved that time I spanked you and wanted me to keep bringing my palm down over your luscious buttocks until you were numb from the pleasure and pain of it,” he said harshly.

Persephone released a long, throaty moan and gyrated her hips against his hard cock.

“You’ve been remiss in your duties, Miss Forsyth,” he tempted and taunted, guiding her skirts slowly up, inch by inch.

“H-have I?” she whispered, out of breath with want, and the evidence of her desire for him and not that fucking pompous Lord Bute sent another rush of blood to Simon’s already aching cock.

“Oh, yes.” Simon continued to lift her dress, exposing more and more of her skin. “You’ve not asked me once about my time with Lady Isabelle,” he murmured, placing a kiss upon her neck.

“H-haven’t I?” she asked, breathless.

“No.”

“I’m sure I dii—” Persephone’s argument ended on a sharp hiss as he slipped his hand between her legs and cupped her womanhood.

Her eyes slid shut.

A grin of male satisfaction formed on his lips. “You didn’t.”

Simon teased her drenched entryway with a lone digit and then suddenly slipped that finger deep inside Persephone’s sodden channel.

She gasped and bucked and arched against him.

Simon withdrew that gift as soon as he bestowed it.

Persephone cried out.

He donned a contemplative look. “Is it bad form to make love to your employer only just after accompanying him on an outing with his potential bride?”

Persephone bit her lower lip. “I t-trust it is in general bad form to make love with one’s employer.”

Simon sighed. “My thoughts exactly.” He hardened his expression. “You’ve been very naughty…which is why you must be punished, Miss Forsyth.”

Her eyes flared with fear and lust.

And then, in one fluid movement, Simon bent her over his desk, so she lay on her stomach with bare buttocks on full display for his viewing pleasure. Without hesitating, he brought his palm down hard over that creamy white flash.

Persephone moaned and squirmed her hips.

“Do you like that, Persephone?” he purred.

She made a little mewling sound. Shifting her hips, Persephone canted her sweet arse up, begging with her body and without words for more.

Simon made a tsking sound and smoothed his palm over that heated flesh. “I’m afraid that is not an answer, Miss Forsyth. I’m certain ignoring a question posed by your employer is a punishable offense.”

He brought his hand down and gave Persephone another hard slap across that reddened flesh.

Persephone cried out and arched backward. “Please,” she keened.

“Please what, Miss Forsyth? Please stop?” He slipped two fingers into the crevice of her buttocks, and she wept. “Or please punish you?”

He made to take his hand away.

“Please don’t stop,” she implored between tears.

“Please,” he purred. “How very lovely it is to hear you beg, sweet Seph.”

Rewarding her obedience, Simon gave her two solid smacks in rapid succession.

Persephone cursed and bucked her hips wildly, slamming them against his aching cock and then forward into the front of his desk.

“You deserve the rod, Persephone,” he said gutturally, and then he released himself from his front falls and turned Persephone over quickly, so she lay on her back before him.

Simon entered her in one deep thrust.

She cried out and then, twining her fingers in his hair, she forced Simon’s head down and claimed his lips as her own. All the while, he eased in and then out of her wetness, sliding in and out of her slowly, and then with more and more speed.

The sounds of her plaintive keening blended with Simon’s animalistic grunts and filled the office—and Simon’s head.

He needed to see her as she reached for her pleasure and then ultimately found his.

Simon tore his mouth away and then palming her right breast, he raised the satiny soft flesh and claimed the swollen tip between his lips.

“Simon,” Persephone panted, turning his name into a plea.

This time, she tangled her fingers in Simon’s hair to keep him where she wanted him.

Simon and Persephone’s bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm; him sinking deep into her, and Persephone lifting to meet each powerful thrust in a carnal dance as old as Adam and Eve.

Simon ran his eyes over her beautiful features, now tightened with desire; a gleam of perspiration left a delicate sheen upon her rosy cheeks.

He’d never wanted a woman more in his life than he did Persephone.

He cupped the side of her face with his palm, and her eyes fluttered open. She peered back through those thick, dark, silky lashes. For all the ways in which her eyes these past days had contained a mystery Simon couldn’t make sense of, now, reflected within their depths was desire and some other type of longing…

A longing for… him ?

He knew what he wanted that answer to be, and the realization didn’t bring the fear it ought.

Then, with the tenderest of touches, Persephone caressed her palm along the side of his face as he’d just done hers.

Hungry as he’d never been for another and never would be again, Simon increased his strokes. Frenziedly, she moved her lower body to match his fervor.

Simon’s breaths grew more labored, and his restraint suddenly fragile.

“I want you to come for me, Persephone,” he whispered as he pounded into her. She rose up to meet his urgent thrusts.

Persephone’s swollen mouth quivered; her gaze grew more intent, her eyes unblinking. She whimpered, “Please, do not stop.”

“Never.” He delivered that vow through tightly gritted teeth. “You feel so bloody good, Persephone.”

Simon angled her hips and leveraged himself higher and deeper inside her. Her body tensed and, screaming her rapture to the ceilings, Persephone came in great shuddering, clenching spasms that squeezed his cock.

And then it was too much.

With a low, feral groan, Simon flooded himself inside her.

He continued to ride her hard, wringing another climax from Persephone until all the life and energy drained from him.

With a gasp, he collapsed atop Persephone’s limp form. He managed to catch himself on his elbows to keep from crushing her, then drew her against his side.

Simon’s pulse pounded, and he stared dazedly up at his office ceiling. God, it’d never been so good as it just was now with Persephone. He’d made love to her as he’d longed to since she’d reentered his life, but instead of it being enough, his shaft stirred from a hungering to take her again.

He stole a glance at Persephone, and his erection swiftly withered.

Her features were a study in horror.

Horror. No doubt at having made love to a man who’d moments ago been courting another woman.

Simon made to speak, to tell Persephone that she was the woman, the only woman, he wanted as his duchess. And not just to leave behind in London, but to travel with him the same way they’d spoken of doing as na?ve children who’d not realized the world didn’t permit men and women to become friends.

Persephone popped up from the makeshift bed they’d made of his desk. She attempted to rise.

“Wait, love,” he murmured, keeping her firmly but gently at his side.

Fishing out a kerchief from his jacket, he gently cleaned the remnants of his seed from between her legs. The moment he’d finished, Persephone jumped out of his arms so quick she nearly upended Simon.

A tense, awkward silence descended over the room. As Simon and Persephone proceeded to straighten their garments, neither of them spoke.

Persephone kept her gaze averted. Simon, however, stared at his former best friend turned lover. She deserved his reassurances. She needed to know he’d make her his wife, his lover, and partner in life.

When they’d finished, they faced one another.

They spoke at the same time.

“Persephone—”

“Simon—”

He motioned for her to go first.

“Given how well you and Lady Isabelle have gotten on,” she murmured, “I believe it is time for you and I to…”

Simon stared intently at her.

“Part ways.” Persephone found the words she’d been looking for. “As you’ve pointed out, today went stunningly between you and the lady. You are compatible. She is clever…and a Diamond.” She added that last part as a quiet afterthought.

The unexpectedness of Persephone’s words sent him rocking back on his heels. He found his way through the shock.

Of course! She’d assume Simon felt some sense of obligation now that they’d made love.

Persephone took a deep breath, which pulled him from his thoughts. “We can both agree that…” She waved a hand between them and then gestured over to the desk. “ This is unfair to Lady Isabelle, and it is wrong for me to be here—”

“Persephone,” he interrupted, “do you truly believe I—”

“Won’t do right by me?” she cut him off, her voice remarkably equanimous. “No, I believe you would. You mustn’t worry. I don’t expect you to marry me, Simon.”

But did she want him to marry her was the question.

“That isn’t what I’d been about to say, Seph,” he murmured. Simon gave her a gentle look and tried again. “Persephone,” he began in even gentler tones, “I have always cared about you, and if you’ll allow me, I’ll marry you because—”

Persephone blanched. “Simon, I am not a virgin,” she said flatly. “I’ve told you before. I’ve had a lover.”

A lover. There’d been only one, then. One nameless man who Simon had a sudden urge to hunt, maim, and then kill. For a single lover hinted at love, whereas multiple lovers would have suggested a normal, healthy urge to assuage her body’s longings.

Small and hypocritical though Simon knew it to be, he couldn’t suppress the frisson of fury and jealousy that threatened to consume him.

“I’ll not have you make more out of what we did here, Simon,” she said with a note of finality. “At this time, I would also ask for references.”

“References?” he asked dumbly.

Persephone nodded. “So that I might find employment elsewhere.”

She told him not to make more out of what they’d done? What they’d done here had been earth-shattering. She’d ruined him thoroughly and completely for all women, and then following that massive blow to his pride and self-confidence, she’d dare ask Simon for references so she might hightail it off to some other nob’s residence?

He sharpened his eyes on her.

“References,” he repeated mockingly.

This time, Persephone hesitated and then gave one of those little bobs of her head.

“And what exactly should this reference say, Miss Forsyth? What a skilled matchmaker you are?” Simon curled his lips up in a sneer. “How good a fuck you are? Or both?”

She winced.

And Simon didn’t care that he was crude and cruel. Goddamn her for making love with him one moment and planning to leave the next.

“Don’t do this, Simon,” she murmured.

“Do what?” he laughed. “Ask a very reasonable question?”

“You are hurt,” she murmured. “You know I possess none of the qualities you seek in your duchess. If you married me, eventually, you would come to regret it.”

A bitter-sounding laugh exploded from his lips. “It seems you have my mind made up for me.”

Persephone didn’t take the bait.

She headed for the door.

“So that is all you wanted from me, then?” he called out, staying her halfway across the room. “Hmm? To have your itch scratched?”

Regal as a queen, Persephone faced him and arched a finely shaped eyebrow. “Isn’t that all you wanted?”

It had been. That’d changed just a short while ago when he’d allowed himself to see that which he’d been fighting. He wanted Persephone Forsyth in every way possible. He’d fought the truth for so long…and maybe this was why.

For as much as he loved her—and he suspected he always had—Persephone would never see him in that light.

Simon steeled his jaw.

They stood locked in a silent battle; the two of them had reached an impasse.

As she made a slow, dignified march to the front of his office, he glared at her retreating figure.

Persephone paused and took a moment to tuck back the strands that’d come loose from her serviceable chignon. If he were a gentleman, he’d have offered his assistance and set that messy coif to rights.

He did not.

For in that minute, he hated her. He hated her for having kissed him all those years ago and for being unmoved by that embrace when he’d fallen more than half in love with her that day. He hated her for reappearing in his life and stirring remembrances of a friendship he’d missed so much.

With a calm he did not feel, Simon perched on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms at his chest.

“Seph?” he called when she made to reach for the handle.

Persephone hesitated a moment and then turned back, slowly facing him. She stared at him with a question in her eyes.

“You made an already enjoyable afternoon all the more diverting.” He curled his lips in a cool grin. “Thank you for that, Seph.”

Some of the color slid from her cheeks. “Of c-course,” she said softly.

Of course. God, did nothing get a rise out of this infuriating woman?

She started to go.

“Seph, from a friend to a friend,” he began.

Persephone stared at him with a hopeful expression. “Yes, Simon?”

Ah, her mind was on those bloody references.

“Do you think Lady Isabelle will enjoy a violent spanking like the one I gave you?” he asked, catching his chin in his hand. “Or do you believe that roughness is reserved for lovers, not ladies?”

Persephone flinched more than she had from any of the slaps he’d landed on her beautiful buttocks. “I—I…” She bit her lower lip.

At least he’d rung some response out of her.

“Given I’m not a lady, nor have I ever been one, I cannot speak to what is appropriate—if anything—between you and your future duchess, Simon.”

“Persephone?” he said. “There’s one last thing.” He narrowed his eyes. “You will remain in my employ until the terms of our arrangement are complete. On the day I wed, you are free to go wherever it is you’ll go next. Is that clear?”

A shadow fell across her eyes, and she gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, Your Grace. Very clear.” Persephone sank into a curtsy.

As she quietly took her leave, Simon, staring after her, had never felt like a bigger bastard or hated himself more than he did in that instant. He wanted to call her back. He wanted to beg her forgiveness and duel himself for having spoken as he had to her.

But he’d be damned if he humbled himself. He’d spent nearly his entire life a humiliated, pathetic fellow and he’d not be that man again.

Not even for Seph.