Page 35 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)
T he thing about truly knowing someone is that even with the length of a darkened garden between them and not a single word spoken, one could tell that other person’s thoughts.
Simon’s initial shock of finding Persephone in Bute’s arms faded the moment he truly clapped eyes upon her, and he identified the horror, fury, and anguish etched in each plane of Persephone’s flushed cheeks.
Simon seethed.
Bute, having proved a bastard to Persephone long before this, had set out tonight with intentions of ruining her.
I’ll kill him…
Simon was going to kill him, and he didn’t care who was watching…and there were absolutely people watching—an entire audience stared at Bute and Persephone.
As if sensing the very thin thread Simon hung onto, Lord Kit exercised the self-control Simon couldn’t. Perhaps the other man’s lifetime career with the Home Office accounted for his restraint. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that Simon loved Persephone with all his soul, for he proved incapable of the same aplomb.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I suggest we adjourn so I can regale you with delicious secrets that will really quite shock you,” Lord Kit said with a booming joviality that even Simon almost took as real.
Lady Jersey cast a dubious eye on Persephone and Bute.
“Shock us more than this ?” Lady Jersey drawled. She gave her head a disbelieving shake. “That remains doubtful, boy.”
“Ah, but you have witnessed nothing out here at all. Not really.” Lord Kit gave a waggle of his eyebrows and spoke in a loud whisper to the guests around him. “Now, the stories I will share will absolutely shock even cynics and those with the stoutest of hearts.”
Simon detected the flash of interest in the older woman’s eyes before she directed all her attention to Lord Kit, who could command a stage if he so wished.
“Indeed?” Lady Jersey asked.
The urbane gentleman extended his elbow. “Would I be so foolish as to lie to the fierce Lady Jersey?” He scoffed. “Never. Though it bears pointing out, my lady, that you would never be accused of being a cynic. All the world knows you possess a tender heart, which is just one of the reasons you are a beloved, gracious hostess and leader of the ton .”
Like a girl of eighteen and not a matron of forty-eight, Lady Jersey preened under Lord Kit’s praise.
“Come then, you outrageous charmer, let our little group out here retire. We’ll decide for ourselves whether your claims are real or just the boasts of one with a glib tongue.” With that, she looped her arm through Lord Kit’s and allowed him to escort her off.
After everyone had disappeared inside, Lady Isabelle continued to linger in the gardens.
The young woman’s eyes glittered with tears and her features formed a perfect mask of sorrow.
“Miss F-Forsyth,” Lady Isabelle said, her voice cracking, “I am… I am so sorry I didn’t think…I didn’t believe…”
Persephone remained silent.
Then bowing her head, Lady Isabelle took herself off until Simon and Persephone…and Bute were alone.
Simon was immediately heading toward Persephone. She would be gutted at being caught this way. He’d come to find the woman she’d become worried too much about people’s opinions and put herself and her own feelings last. While he wanted to kill Bute, Simon wanted to protect Persephone even more.
“Persephone,” Simon said gruffly, quickening his stride to get to her.
Persephone, however, appeared oblivious to both Simon speaking to her or his presence.
As he continued his quick approach, Persephone spoke to the marquess.
Her words reached Simon.
“Did you do that on purpose, my lord?” Shock, disgust, and horror filled her husky contralto.
The marquess flashed a tight, empty smile. “I’m not disappointed by the outcome, if that is what you mean, Persephone.”
Simon saw red—as rage briefly blinded him.
Persephone reeled.
She managed to right her emotions before Simon. “And the outcome you speak of being your sloppy, shameful embrace or me being compromised by you?”
The marquess drew back, but then his smug, icy grin was firmly back in place.
“Both.” He paused. “With the exception, of course, of it being a sloppy, shameful embrace.”
“Bastard,” Persephone hissed and then brought her arm back.
With an even more impressive right hook than she’d dealt the village boys who’d bullied Simon, she punched Bute in the face. The other man’s head went flying back with such force, the tall, powerful lord stumbled before catching himself.
Simon forced himself to stop. As badly as he wanted to bloody the marquess senseless, Persephone deserved to be the one to take Lord Bute to task for his crimes— first .
When she was done, however, Simon would have his turn with the cad.
“How dare you?” Persephone railed, breathtaking in all her proud, bold fury and strength. “In one breath you profess to love me and the next you’d make light of ruining me ?”
She skewered Bute with a glower so black, if looks could kill, Bute would be lying in a pool of his own blood. “You are no different than your cold, heartless father, my lord.”
As much as Simon loved Persephone, he’d never loved her more than he did now, as she assailed the marquess for the two unforgivable transgressions he’d committed against her.
“We are finished here and forever, my lord,” she said icily. “Do not think to approach me ever again.”
With one last, disgusted glance for the marquess, Persephone started to leave.
Lord Bute called after her. “Persephone, despite your low opinion and the conclusions you’ve come to about me, I’m not a complete cad. I will marry you.”
Persephone stopped in her tracks.
Simon tensed.
From the moment Simon discovered Persephone’s connection to Lady Isabelle’s brother, he’d feared she’d choose the marquess over Simon.
Now, however, Simon knew the same insecurities he’d carried at having his feelings go unreciprocated when they’d been children also accounted for his same insecurities all these years later.
With this new self-awareness, he could also finally see Persephone was too strong, too proud, and too clever to ever again fall for a cad like Bute.
And so, even before Persephone slowly turned and faced Bute, Simon knew what reply she’d give the fucking dastard.
She marched back over and faced the marquess head on.
“You claim you loved me and love me still, and yet you have never really known the meaning of love, my lord,” she said solemnly. “You tell me you heeded the late marquess’s wishes and cast me off, to save me. Maybe you even think in doing so, you made some grand sacrifice and paid the ultimate price.”
Persephone gave her head a rueful shake. “But with everything you’ve done…or not done…I cannot hate you, my lord. In betraying me, you did me the greatest favor. Though your past actions once devastated me, now I am grateful for them. In doing what you did, you proved our relationship would never be one where you both see me as and value me as a partner.”
At last, Persephone slid her gaze from Bute to Simon.
Her eyes locked with Simon’s and hers radiated such love, his heart swelled.
She briefly returned her attention to Bute. “If you believe I would ever marry you, my lord, you are bloody mad,” she said so matter of fact that even Bute, society’s most notorious rake, flinched at the insult.
“You see, my lord,” she continued, “with your inability to trust our love was strong enough to weather whatever threats your father leveled, you actually set me free. You allowed my heart to find its way back to where it belonged, and where it always was …” Her stare moved back to Simon. “With the Duke of Greystoke.”
“I love you,” Simon mouthed.
“I love you too,” she silently returned.
Up until that moment, while Persephone spoke, the marquess remained expressionless.
At that soundless exchange between Persephone and Simon, Lord Bute’s face twisted in a paroxysm of anguish so keen, Simon might have almost felt bad for his suffering— almost .
Bute, however, deserved that misery—and more.
Persephone shifted her focus back to the marquess. “After thinking I’d been betrayed by you, I became a shell of the proud, confident, strong woman I’d once been. Out of fear of Society discovering my past relationship with you, I forced myself to live in the shadows. I carried myself above reproach and worried about everyone else, and their opinions.” She shook her head. “Not any longer.”
Persephone brought her shoulders back and stared Lord Bute down with all the regal grace and elegance of a queen. “A scandal was born in these gardens, in a scheme hatched by you, and I will marry…but as I said, it will not be you. I’ve finally realized”—she thumped a fist against her chest—“ I matter. My happiness matters.”
She gave all her focus back to Simon. A beatific smile teased her lips. “And that is why I’ll marry the Duke of Greystoke.”
Raw emotion filled Simon’s throat. He swallowed several times.
He’d been wrong before. He’d never loved Persephone more than he did right now.
No, he was just realizing, he loved her more each and every day spent with Persephone.
Holding a palm out, she looked for Simon to join her.
Simon caught and bowed over her fingers and drew them close to his mouth. He placed a lingering kiss upon the top of her hand.
“I love you, Persephone Forsyth,” he breathed against her skin. “However, if you’d permit, I’d like to have a…discussion with Lord Bute.”
Hesitating, Persephone glanced back and forth between the two men.
Bute curled his lips in another one of those infuriating, sly grins. “Worry not, Miss Forsyth,” he drawled, all his attention on Simon as he spoke. “You have my assurance, I will not hurt him.”
He couldn’t if he tried.
Oh, God, Simon bloody itched for a private one-on-one with Bute.
Persephone matched that smug smile with an even more impressive one of her own. “It’s not the duke I’m worried about.”
Giving Simon’s hands a light squeeze, Persephone quit the gardens and, at last, Simon got the very thing he’d wanted from the moment he’d stepped into the gardens—time alone with the rakish Marquess of Bute.