Page 29 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

S ome thirty minutes after Persephone and Simon took their leave of his palatial townhouse, Persephone remained as clueless as to their destination as she had since they’d set out.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

For the dozenth time, she glanced over at the affable, light-hearted version of Simon. Seated on the opposite bench, Simon tapped his leather boot on the carriage floor in time to some quick-tempo ditty he was humming.

As if he felt her dubious stare, Simon glanced over and flashed a wink.

He wore the same easy, mysterious smile; one of those grins that suggested its wearer had in his possession a delicious secret.

Very much like Simon of old, who’d been rotten at dissembling, he’d also been rubbish with keeping anything from her.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re up to something.”

His smile widened. “Yes.”

When it became apparent he had no intention of saying anything further, she pressed. “You still don’t intend to tell me?”

Leaning over, he flicked her nose. “No.”

Persephone frowned. “No?”

“No.” With another one of those sexy little winks, he stole a glance out his window.

Persephone wrinkled her brow. It appeared Simon of new was a good deal more skilled at prevarication.

Then he began to… sing .

“Come all you bold heroes attend to mysong,

I’ll sing in the praise of good brandy andrum,

Here’s a clear crystal fountain over England shallroll,

Give to me the punch ladle, I’ll fathom thebowl.”

He’d gone from sly glances and winks to tapping and humming and now devolved into all-out singing. This was really enough.

Despite her best attempt at annoyance, Persephone failed and mightily. It was next to impossible to stay miffed at Simon when he sang in his out-of-tune way.

An answering grin formed on her lips. How many times had the two of them sung at the top of their lungs, with an exuberance that’d echoed over Simon’s vast land holdings? The only thing worse than Simon’s singing had been Persephone’s.

Invariably, they’d always leant their voices to one another’s buoyant melody.

The sparkle in his eyes indicated he knew precisely what she was thinking.

They’d always been that way though, reading one another’s silent musings. Finishing one another’s sentences. Anticipating one another’s worries and then each easing one another’s fears.

But this time? This time, Persephone didn’t know the particular song he sang, and even though he’d gathered the thoughts in her head, she was at a loss of what he was thinking or planning, or what brought about this easy smile he’d donned.

That easy smile dipped. An endearingly boy-like confusion sent his brow into a full furrow.

“What is it, Seph?”

“I don’t know where you’re taking me.”

“You’re not supposed to, Seph.” Simon dropped his voice to a whisper. “That’s why they call it a secret.”

“I don’t like secrets.”

“ Bah ,” he scoffed with only the absolute certainty a best friend could manage. “You love them.”

“Correction.” She shot a finger up. “I used to love them.”

As a child, she’d thrilled at the unknown. “I’ve come to appreciate secrets mean something all too different for grownup persons,” she murmured.

Persephone’s gaze fell to her lap, and she stared sightlessly at the brown wool fabric of her skirts.

For most women, any bit of information a man withheld was invariably a prevarication or lie—either outright or one of omission. Either led to a lady’s ruin, broken heart, or both. Persephone had been lucky to escape the former fate, but the longer Lord Bute remained part of her life now, the less likely it was her past would remain a secret. All secrets eventually surfaced.

“Seph?”

The sound of her name so solemnly spoken by Simon brought her head up.

He looked upon her with such tenderness she ached.

“Would it help if I told you this particular secret is the good kind? It won’t bring you any misery or trouble. I promise.” He crossed a finger at his well-muscled chest.

More of that earlier warmth settled around her heart.

“Or, that is, I believe it is the good kind of surprise,” he muttered to himself in a distracted way.

Then, as though suddenly possessed by self-doubt, Simon peered troubledly out the window.

It’d become increasingly clear the sudden deviation from her and Simon’s agenda for the day had to do with something he had planned for Persephone. Whatever it may be, he’d put a great deal of thought into it.

Suddenly, the need to reassure him proved even greater than her own insecurities and doubt.

Persephone gave him a smile.

“If you believe it’s a surprise of the good sort, Simon,” she said gently, “then I’m absolutely certain it isn’t something that’ll upset me or cause me problems.”

His smug, confident grin of before was restored in a flash. “We shall see. Er…that is, if it’s a good surprise. Not the other stuff.” Simon waggled his eyebrows. “Either way, we’ve arrived.”

We’ve arrived.

Lost in thoughts of Simon and the wonderful way just his tone could make her feel, it was a moment before she registered his words and the fact that, at some point, the carriage came to a stop.

They’d arrived at their mysterious destination.

Simon exited his black barouche and helped Persephone down. Wordlessly, he held his elbow out.

She placed her fingertips on his sleeve and allowed him to escort her along. All the while, Persephone looked ahead to the double-pile, hip-roofed Palladian structure with too many Venetian windows to count at first glance.

With its exquisitely carved stone renderings of ancient, cloaked figures and a Union Jack flying proudly atop the austere residence, there could be no doubting the importance of the place Simon presently escorted her.

Persephone’s stomach tightened and horror took the place of her earlier disquiet.

Oh, God, where is he bringing me?

When Simon brought her to a stop outside the oak, glass-paneled double doors, her panic spiraled.

Harried, Persephone glanced down at her out-of-fashion garments that’d recently begun showing signs of wear. She was suitably attired for an outing as a secretary or companion to Simon and Lady Isabelle. But that wasn’t the role he had in mind for Persephone this afternoon. Dressed as she was, Persephone couldn’t meet anyone of Simon’s station—not without being utterly humiliated.

Then, without knocking, Simon took the liberty of opening the door. He motioned for Persephone to enter ahead of him.

The unexpectedness of that managed to pierce Persephone’s alarm. Was this one of his newly inherited ducal properties?

Tentative, she ventured inside, finding comfort in Simon following close behind her.

No butler or, for that matter, any other servant rushed to greet them.

Trying to sort out where he’d brought them, Persephone surveyed their surroundings. The entryway of the residence was as stately on the inside as it was on the outside.

She climbed her gaze up the long, emerald-green carpet and marble steps that were flanked on either side by a pair of Doric pillars, and then her eyes caught on the mural overhead.

Awed, she took in the domed ceiling, which featured a masterful depiction of Air, floating atop a cloud and a rainbow. A winged putto waved drapery over the Element’s glorious, titian-haired head, while at her right side, two babes played with a peacock.

What was this place?

Confused, she looked at Simon.

“The Royal Academy of Arts,” he answered because he continued to possess the answers to her unspoken questions.

Persephone could manage only a perplexed shake of her head.

Clearing his throat, Simon gestured at the foyer. “The Royal Academy of the Arts,” he said again.

At her protracted stunned state, he faltered. “You’d always talked about wanting to visit.”

The force of Persephone’s emotions made it impossible to speak or swallow.

The light sparkle in Simon’s eyes went out.

He looked about with uncertainty. The furrow in his brow deepened. “Perhaps, you’ve been enough before? It’s been years; mayhap it’s just you’re no longer interested in visiting?”

Stunned into silence, she couldn’t keep up with Simon’s rapidly flying ruminations.

Suddenly, his expression darkened. “Or maybe it is that you’ve been here with Lord Bute and have painful memories, in which case I am so sorry, Seph, I didn’t think—”

“No!” she exclaimed, her heart beating hard against her chest. “No, it is not that.”

Tears blurred her vision and Simon’s beloved visage.

He growled. “I’ll kill him.”

As those drops slipped heedlessly down her cheeks, Simon yanked a kerchief from his pocket and wiped away that moisture. The gentleness of his touch belied the lethality of his vow.

“It’s not about him,” she insisted through her tears.

Not in the way Simon suspected, anyway.

The narrow-eyed gaze he leveled on Persephone indicated how little he believed that assertion.

Taking in a ragged breath, Persephone glanced about. She’d been so overwhelmed by learning where Simon brought her, she’d not thought about other museum visitors who might overhear their exchange.

She dropped her voice to a hush. “I spent months in the marquess’s employment, Simon. Not once , in all the time I was employed, did he take me here.” This place she’d spent her life longing to visit.

But Simon?

Persephone briefly closed her eyes. A lifetime apart, and he’d not only recalled all the times she’d spoken about this very museum, but he’d also arranged for her to visit.

When she opened her eyes, she found Simon’s beautiful blues wide in a display of abject horror.

“Oh, hell, Seph,” he whispered. “I’m so damned sorry.” Simon apologized for a second time.

Sorry?

“This was never my intention.” Simon dragged a shaky hand through his glorious golden hair. “I resurrected old hurts.”

“No!” she exclaimed.

That was the conclusion he’d drawn. God, she was making a mess of explaining her reaction.

Persephone took a deep breath. “No, that’s not what you’ve done.”

Rather, he’d done just the opposite.

Persephone tried again to communicate what his bringing her to this place meant.

“My response, Simon,” she said quietly, lest someone overhear. “It has absolutely nothing to do with Lord Bute and everything to do with…” How touched I am by the gift you’ve given me.

And how easy this tenderhearted Simon made it to love him…

Her words trailed off.

She discreetly touched her fingers to his. “It has everything to do with just how overjoyed I am being here and how grateful I am to you—”

He touched a long, lone digit to her lips, quelling the rest. “I do not want your thanks,” he murmured.

The brush of his finger against her mouth set her aquiver inside. Had Silas ever managed to rouse such a response from such a subtle caress?

Persephone couldn’t remember much anymore.

Simon alternated his focus from Persephone to the dozens of stairs between he and Persephone and the museum and then back again. “You are certain I’ve not made you sa—”

“ Quite certain.”

He contemplated her a moment. “Do you even sketch or paint anymore?”

“No,” she murmured. “I do not.”

Had Simon just discovered this marked his last day on earth, he couldn’t have appeared any sadder. Pain, the likes of which she’d only seen on the day of their fathers’ falling out, etched each chiseled plain of his face.

“Not because I don’t want to,” she explained on a rush, more in harmony with his ponderings than she’d previously credited. “It is just that when a woman is employed, there isn’t really time for frivolities like sketching.”

“It is not a frivolity,” he bit out.

Long ago, she hadn’t viewed her love of arts in that light.

“When one is a gentleman’s young daughter,” she carefully explained, “with no responsibilities and only long, lazy days to explore whatever sparks one’s interest, then, no, such endeavors are not frivolous and are entirely ladylike and approved by society.”

She held his fierce gaze.

“When you are a woman reliant upon employment, you appreciate sketching and painting will not feed you or ensure a home with a roof. And what had previously been a worthwhile pursuit for a young lady is now worthless.”

A sorrowful, animal-like groan rumbled in his chest.

Persephone responded with an answering calm. “Simon, I’m not telling you this to earn your pity—”

“I could never pity you.”

That tacit admission tore from Simon with such force, Persephone glanced around for voyeurs.

Wanting to bring him back to the place of his earlier lightness, she motioned to the vast stairway.

“Come,” she petitioned. “I have waited my whole life for this moment, and I’d rather share it with you than discuss unpleasant things.”

Anticipating he’d follow, Persephone made the long ascent.

As she’d thought, Simon fell into step beside her.

At last, they reached the summit, which opened to a grandiose room; from the floor all the way to the top of soaring, sweeping ceilings hung paintings.

Besieged by such profound reverence, she wandered into the middle of the empty, cavernous museum and stopped. Tipping her head back, Persephone took in those masterpieces high overhead. She gazed upon them so long the muscles of her neck ached.

It was more magnificent than she could have ever believed. Nothing could have prepared her for the majesty of this place.

“Breathtaking,” Simon murmured.

“Yes.” Her throat moved. “Isn’t it?”

She made herself tear her gaze from the beauty around her and looked at Simon. “I’ve never seen…” The rest of what she’d intended to say left her head.

Simon’s heated gaze pierced through Persephone.

Her breath quickened.

For there could be no doubting Simon’s gaze and words hadn’t been about their surroundings.

With sleek, languid strides, he wandered over to join Persephone.

When Simon reached her, he did a sweep of her face; as he did, he lingered upon each place his eyes touched.

“You’ve never seen a sight so magnificent?” he murmured in his low, sonorous baritone that would never not cause a fluttering in her belly…and lower.

God forgive her, Simon had just bestowed upon Persephone the most precious gift, and she stood before him reliving all the pleasure he’d brought her body to.

A slow, rogue’s smile turned his lips up in percipient tilt.

Disquieted and needing to get control of her thoughts, Persephone took a quick step away from Simon.

“It is funny…” The slightly strident timbre of her voice made a lie of Persephone’s attempt at casualness. “Whenever I imagined the Royal Museum, I also envisioned each room to be swarming with patrons, and worried that the din would be distracting, only to find no one here yet, except the two of us.”

Just Simon and I…

Persephone registered a quiescent stillness and cast a glance at a solemn-once-more Simon.

“That is because there is just the two of us here, Seph.”

That didn’t make any sense. How could there be only—

“In between my idea to bring you here and managing to track you down, Seph, I had a servant run ahead and coordinate an arrangement so you could have time here, alone, with no one about to bother you.”

Stunned silent, Persephone’s entire body jolted under the shock of Simon’s revelation.

He’d done all of this for her ?

Tears burned her throat and stung her eyes.

“Mm. Mm,” he said, giving his head a ducal shake. “Crying will merely ruin your ability to study the pieces.”

Persephone caught a sob with her fist before it could slip out. “Simon…” Words wouldn’t come.

“I know, Seph,” he said gently. “I know. Now, go.” He waved his hand. “Enjoy every moment. I’ll find a bench and stay out of your way so you can be alone.”

And with Simon settling himself into a corner of the hall, Persephone, here amidst the Royal Academy of Art in Piccadilly Square, discovered Simon had lied to her after all. He’d promised his change in the day’s plans wouldn’t bring Persephone any trouble—only to discover he’d done her the greatest harm.

For when she eventually left and Simon married Issy, Persephone’s heart, this time, would be utterly and irrevocably broken in ways not even Silas had or could have ever managed.