Page 28 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

T he moment Persephone reentered Simon’s life, he’d existed in a state of abject confusion. He’d alternately hungered for her, yearned for her friendship, and been driven out of his bloody mind.

At last, everything was so much clearer.

It’s why he’d awakened as early as he did and gone to the breakfast room, where he sat in eagerness waiting for Persephone. The lady unfailingly broke her fast at eight seventeen precisely.

As the minutes ticked by into hours, and his arse had gone stiff from his lengthy sit on the mahogany dining chair, one thing became apparent—she wasn’t coming.

Simon consulted his timepiece and frowned.

Twenty-five minutes past ten.

He’d arrived more than an hour early in anticipation of her avoiding him and thought maybe she intended to dine later than usual, also with that same hope motivating her. But this?

With a growl, Simon grabbed a piece of cold toast, and yanked off an angry bite. All the while he chewed, he glared at Seph’s empty seat.

This was too bloody much.

He didn’t like the idea of his proud, courageous, fearless Seph hiding from him. Nay, he fucking loathed it to his very core.

You should fucking loathe even more that you are the one who’s driven her to it …a voice of reason taunted.

That reminder hit Simon with a kick to the core, and the latest bite he’d taken grew suddenly impossible to swallow. Struggling to choke it down, he grabbed his glass of water and took a long sip. Only, even after he’d managed to clear the food from his gullet, that tight sensation in his throat remained.

And he well knew the reason why. When Seph had arrived, cloaked in secrets, he’d had an obligation as a friend to find out all the details of her life since they’d been apart…so that he could help her, so that he could understand. If he’d but opened his eyes, he’d have noticed the protective walls she’d built.

In the great chasm that’d grown over the years, Simon forgot how to speak with Persephone. If he’d remembered how, no , if he hadn’t been such a bloody self-absorbed arse, he’d have known a woman whom he’d always loved was suffering an old heartbreak, wrongful firings, and deplorable treatment from her past employers.

His eyes slid shut as guilt, shame, and regret swirled inside him.

What an absolute dolt I’ve been.

But now he knew, and he could make it right—that is, as much as it was possible to do so.

Simon dropped the remainder of his uneaten toast, clambered to his feet, and went in search of Seph. He knew her so well; he knew precisely where she might be.

Only, more than an hour later, after visiting the gardens, the library, the greenhouse, and eventually her tidy bedchambers, Simon came up empty.

Standing on the threshold of Persephone’s rooms, Simon stared unblinkingly at the neatly made bed, the absence of anything indicating she’d been here. The guest suite may as well have been the same way it had been before Seph arrived, and that turned his world upside down.

Simon’s heart thudded dully against his ribcage, and a sick sensation roiled in his belly.

His eyes slid shut. I’m going to be ill.

“Your Grace?” That timid query brought his eyes flying open.

He spun and found Persephone’s maid staring worriedly back.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” the girl said quickly and dropped into a deep curtsy. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Miss Forsyth.” Seph’s name ripped from him in the form of a harsh, raspy command.

The maid backed away. “Your Grace?”

“Miss Forsyth?” he repeated, madness setting in.

“Arose early, she—”

“What time?” he demanded before she’d even finished her sentence.

Like she desperately wished she’d avoided this hall, Persephone’s maid darted her gaze about. “Five o’clock or so, Your Grace.”

Simon’s stomach plummeted.

“She broke her fast in the kitchens, Your Grace.”

“In the kitchens,” he repeated woodenly.

The young woman nodded.

That’s where she’d gone. Instead of in the breakfast room, she’d been in the kitchens with his staff. Something in knowing she’d taken her meal as any common servant gutted him.

Simon rubbed his chest, but it did nothing to alleviate the dull ache.

What kind of lead did she have? Either way, wherever she’d gone, he’d find her. He’d find Persephone and bring her back, so they could begin again…so he could do it right this time.

“How did she leave?” he asked, his voice hollow to his ears.

Several little lines furrowed the maid’s wide brow. “Your Grace?” she ventured hesitantly.

“When did she depart? How did she depart?”

Persephone’s maid shook her head. “Depart, Your Grace?” she sounded one more question on his part away from dissolving into tears.

Simon forced himself to temper his voice. “Tilly, is it not?”

At his knowledge of her given name, the maid’s eyes flared. She nodded.

Splendid. Surprise was far better than the disquiet which previously paralyzed her.

“Can you tell me,” he continued, “when did Se— Miss Forsyth leave the house?” How did he manage to ask that question so calmly?

Deepening confusion leant several new lines to Tilly’s still creased brow. “I was not aware she did leave?” A slight uptilt turned the maid’s words from a pronouncement to a question.

Simon frowned. “You packed for her, did you not?”

“I…” Tilly offered only another confused little shake of her head. “I did not.”

Tamping down a curse, Simon stormed deeper into Persephone’s chambers. The suddenness of his flight seemed to break the maid from her stupor. She hurried into the room behind him.

“There’s nothing here,” he snapped, sweeping his arms wide to display the state of Seph’s former chambers.

How could she not see the barren room for the abandoned state it now sat in?

With a little frown, Tilly took in the space. Her gaze landed on the pretty painted soft green armoire, and she cleared her throat. “If I may?” she asked hesitantly.

The maid took his silence for acquiescence. With sprightly steps, she flitted over to that piece of furniture and then drew both doors wide.

Four very serviceable dresses hung neatly, with a pair of equally serviceable boots and two pairs of slippers. Beside those shoes sat an ancient floral valise.

“See, Your Grace?” Tilly asked happily. “The miss has not gone.”

Simon stared dumbly. “These are her things?” he asked, unable to look away from that heartbreaking display of Persephone’s belongings.

With a wide smile, Tilly nodded. “All of them, Your Grace.”

All of them…

If it’d been Tilly’s intention to wound Simon, she couldn’t have chosen many more words than those she’d just spoken.

He briefly closed his eyes. He’d thrown accusations at Persephone’s maid that’d been better self-directed. How the hell had he failed to see how little she had to her name?

There’d been any number of times in Simon’s life when self-loathing besieged him. Nevermore, however, had he hated himself more than he did this moment, and for how he’d treated—and not treated—Persephone.

Tilly spoke into his tumult. “Well, not all of them,” she noted, breaking the madness that gripped Simon.

He stared hopefully at the girl.

“There is the lady’s work satchel,” she said, making to close those double doors. “Which I know stores her notebook, Your Grace.”

Her work satchel.

Tilly went about shutting those double doors, but even with those panels shut, the sight of Persephone’s sparse existence still lived on in his brain.

Simon nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “That will be all, Tilly.”

After the girl had dipped a curtsy and left, Simon remained rooted to the floor; he stared sightlessly at the armoire.

Persephone, she adored books, and adored sketching and drawing, and adored painting, and she had not a single one of those items in her personal possessions.

Of course, she doesn’t, you arse. Her father died. She lost all her worldly possessions to some rotted distant cousin who’d failed to provide for her. She’d since spent more than a decade scuttling between employers, moving from household to household. Such a life certainly didn’t allow a woman those luxuries Simon himself had forever taken for granted—and would have continued doing so, if it hadn’t been for Persephone’s empty armoire.

Beloved items had become extraneous ones to her.

Everything hurt inside: his heart, his lungs, every muscle, his very soul. Hell, even parts of him he’d not known could suffer pain did. That self-inflicted misery, however, didn’t undo the wrongs and never would. He could only set the future to right. His…and hers.

He’d fought it so long, so much so that he no longer even knew why the hell he had.

Yes, you do. It was a bruised ego, which only took a further beating when he’d discovered Persephone had loved another and been as unaffected by Simon as she’d always been.

The knowledge that he’d loved her long before their first, awkward kiss and that she’d gone on to love another threatened to destroy Simon.

Even worse, that “other man,” had an actual identity. Now , Simon knew that same man was, in fact, Lord Bute—a marquess whom society touted as charming, dashing, roguish, and a whole host of other wonderful things. In short, the Marquess of Bute was the very man Seph described…

That was, with one exception, of course. Lord Bute may have championed Simon when they were boys, and he may be the heroic, loving brother Persephone tenderly painted him to be. But only one fact remained and mattered to Simon—the marquess had betrayed Persephone. He’d wronged her. He’d taken her love and abused that gift. As such, nothing else the bastard did or had done marked him as anything but a villain, unworthy of Persephone.

Simon hardened his jaw.

Throughout most of Simon’s life, he’d sought to make himself as invisible as possible to avoid the humiliation and cruelty and beatings inflicted by more boys and men than he could count. His gaze slid to the vanity mirror, and he caught the granite-hard visage of the person he’d become.

Persephone had loved—and very likely still did—the Marquess of Bute.

That knowledge would never not hit like a fist to the heart.

Simon had always loved Persephone, and instead of fighting for her love, he’d silently pined for her. Not anymore. Unfortunately for Lord Bute, Simon wasn’t the weak boy he’d been. He had every intention of going to war for Persephone’s love, and, this time, winning .

With a grim smile, he went to find Seph.

As long as Persephone had known Simon, he’d always been a creature of habit. No matter the hour of the day, she’d always know where to find him and when.

Today, however, proved the exception.

Unable to sleep after she broke her fast with the staff, Persephone remained in the kitchens and then went to meet Simon in his offices. When he hadn’t immediately appeared, she’d gone ahead and let herself inside the room to wait for him.

Except he never came.

Not for the first time this morning—now almost afternoon—Persephone got to her feet and went to consult the gilded ormolu clock.

Where in blazes was—?

“Here you were all along, hiding right under my nose.” The deep, teasing voice came from over her shoulder.

Persephone gasped. “Simon!” Her heart picked up a frantic beat that she desperately wished had more to do with fear at being startled and not what it was—the happy thrill his presence wrought.

With a grin, he strolled over to where she stood at the hearth.

Then what he’d said registered.

Persephone bristled. “I was not hiding.”

“Very well,” he allowed. “I will take blame for overthinking your whereabouts.”

She blinked slowly. “Oh.” She’d expected to debate him on the point as he’d done, on every point, since she came to London.

“You have been quite hard to find, Seph,” he drawled. “I’ve searched the greenhouse, the gardens…”

Warmth settled in her heart.

Simon gave a playful tweak of her nose. “And that isn’t even half of where I’ve looked for you, Seph.”

There it was again— Seph —and it fell so easily and tenderly from his lips, she went soft inside.

He leaned close. “This is where you might ask where else I’ve been,” he whispered.

The sough of his breath, a delicate hint of mint, brushed her skin and wreaked havoc on her senses. “Where else have you s-searched?”

“The breakfast room.” He grew serious, lost in contemplative thought. “Though, at that point, I wasn’t really searching for you as much as waiting for you to arrive. Which you didn’t.”

“I broke my fast with the servants,” she murmured.

Displeasure filled the beautifully sharp, chiseled planes of his face. “Yes, I learned as much. There’s more.”

“There’s more?” she repeated. “You know, Your Grace,” she said gently, “you employ a team of servants, and, as such, I expect any one of them could have pointed you to me.”

“Oh, yes.” Simon inclined his head, and a glorious golden loose curl tumbled over his brow and covered his eye. “I, of course, knew as much. However, I believed I knew you well enough that I didn’t need anyone’s help locating you, Seph. When it became apparent I did not, well, then it became a challenge to myself to find you. Which brought me to your bedchambers.”

Persephone gasped. “You went to my bedchambers ?” she whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he said as casually as if he’d mentioned he’d been to Sunday Mass. “Ultimately, I needed my butler to direct me here .” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the room.

Confused by his lengthy cataloguing, Persephone cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, well, now you have found me,” she said and beat a path over to the chair she’d occupied for most of the morning. “I trust you are eager to discuss the day’s business.”

“Oh, most eager,” he said happily.

She’d thought herself resolved to the fact of Simon’s impending betrothal and marriage, only to find how much the idea still hurt.

Making a show of removing her notebook from her worn satchel, she’d just grabbed her pencil when Simon spoke.

“You won’t be needing that, Seph.”

Frowning, Persephone looked from the book in her hand to Simon. “This contains my detailed notes with the final preparations for the dinner party.”

“I trust your work is detailed and given your capabilities and skill, it hardly requires any discussion.”

Her capabilities and skills?

Concern filling her, Persephone studied Simon carefully. “Are you ill , Simon?”

He laughed. “I’ve been a bit, but I expect to survive.”

Simon wrinkled his nose in an adorable way at odds with the strong, formidable man he’d become.

“Or I hope that is the outcome, anyway.” He added that last part as if to himself.

“Bit?” she asked, her confusion deepening.

“I’ll explain, love. All in due time. All in due time.”

Love.

During Persephone’s time in Simon’s employ, he’d referred to her by all manner of endearments, but never had they been tender and uttered with genuine affection.

Must he choose now , with Persephone likely just weeks away from leaving and him marrying, to reveal this side of him she’d missed and loved?

Fighting back tears, she blinked wildly.

Simon chucked her under the chin. That unexpected and gentle bump managed to distract her from her sadness.

“Only you, Seph, would look about to cry at not being able to see to your work.”

She flashed a weak smile. “You know me,” she murmured.

For the first time since he’d come into his office, his happy demeanor dipped. A troubled glint darkened his eyes.

It was gone so quick, she may as well have imagined it.

“Worry not!” Simon’s grin was fully restored. “You will have some business to see to this day, however, it does not involve the dinner party.”

Safe. This was safe. Work grounded her; it gave her purpose and focus.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter!” Simon called out in jovial tones she recognized and had missed so very much.

The butler drew both doors open and bowed. “Your Grace, the carriage is readied.”

Simon clapped his hands. “Splendid!” he boomed with more of his newfound cheer. “We’ll be along shortly.”

We’ll be along shortly…? What was going on?

Simon gestured to the now empty doorway.

Persephone glanced about for the person he summoned, but only herself remained.

An endearing half-grin formed on his lips. “Yes, you, Seph.”

“Simon,” she said calmly. “Where are we going?”

“We’re seeing to different business today.”

“Yes,” Persephone said calmly. “You’ve said as much.”

Simon stared at her for a long while. The glimmer in his eyes indicated he sought something from her.

“Would you please clarify, Your Grace?” she elaborated.

His widening grin indicated she’d suspected right.

He winked, a seductive up and down sweep of his lashes that unleashed a thousand butterflies in her belly. “It’s a surprise, love.”

Under ordinary circumstances, she’d gently chastise him for addressing her so scandalously. But she was already off-kilter. Persephone didn’t like surprises, especially ones surrounding this man. It left her unbalanced and at sea. The only way she could survive without having her heart completely destroyed for a second time was by having her feet firmly on the ground.

“Well?” he asked, motioning again for her to follow.

She tried once more. “Simon, can we please just remain inside and see to the day’s agenda?” At this point, she wasn’t too proud to beg.

“Bah, you hate agendas.”

Yes, she did. He remembered that.

When it came to working for Simon, however, Persephone required everything spelled out. Otherwise, she found herself lusting after him and doing all manner of naughty things with him that left her secretly longing for scraps of his affection.

“Agendas are essential,” she began slowly, about to deliver a very succinct explanation as to why.

Simon held a hand out. “May I?”

She followed his gaze to her notebook.

Every employer prior to Simon had regularly asked for and read through Persephone’s notes. This, however, marked the first time Simon put that request to her.

Wordlessly, she handed it over.

Humming to himself, Simon crossed behind his desk, opened the top drawer, and tossed it inside.

“There,” he said, closing the door with a click . “We can return to this later. Now, if you will.” For a third time, he stretched a hand toward her.

He was dug in, and whenever Simon dug in, he could outwait the Lord.

Persephone sighed. “Very well, Your— Simon ,” she corrected at his pointed look. “We shall deviate from the day’s agenda.”

He grinned like the mouse who’d fallen into the cream. “Perfect.”

“Yes, perfect ,” she muttered as he fell into step beside her.

Even while she lifted her chin in a display of annoyance, secretly, in a place she would never, ever admit to him existed, Persephone followed, excited by the unexpected change in plans for the day.

But by the big smile Simon wore, she needn’t have bothered because he already knew it.