Page 112 of The Good Duke
…S-S-Stuttering S-S-Simon…S-stupid, s-stammering S-S-Simon…
The echo of Lord Lysander’s harsh laugh pealed around his mind.
“You knew him well?” she asked gently, drawing Simon back from the brink of those abhorrent memories.
“I did.” A muscle rippled along his jawline. “He’s a year or so younger than me. He was a hateful boy—”
“Given to mischief.”
A harsh laugh ripped from Simon. “Tortureis more like.”
“The family,” she said, with a curiously imploring quality to her tone, “did not appear on your original list.”
“I’d focused on the noblemen who’d wronged me.” He firmed his jaw. “I’d not given thought to the lesser ones who were mere younger sons.”
Persephone recoiled. She looked at him like he was a monster come to life before her.
The corner of his right eye ticked with annoyance.She’s angry withme?Where was her loyalty?
“Say what it is you’d say, Miss Forsyth,” he said coolly.
Anyone else would have balked at those frosty ducal tones.
Persephone, on the other hand, spoke without hesitation. “Lesser ones who were mere younger sons?” she repeated. “You wereneverlike this, Simon.” Her tone ached like she hurt.
He’d not let her disappointment knot him up inside.
“What would you have me say, Seph?” He scoffed. “The man was a bastard.”
And that he had to defend himself in this to Persephone grated. She, of all people, should be on his side in this.
“Lord Lysander may have been a bastard—”
“He was one,” he snapped. The smug knave had been that and some.
“But the shameful manner in which he treated you is what makes him lesser. Not the fact that he was born second behind Lord Silas, Simon.”
“He shoved my head in a dirty chamber pot.”
She winced.
Good. Let her defend Lord Lysander now.
“Simon,” she entreated.
His frayed patience snapped. “Enough, Seph. I’ve no need for some lecture on morals and honor from you. You’re not my goddamned governess. You’re my blasted matchmaker, so…be matchmaking,” he finished.
Pale, she inclined her head. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
That was another thing. “And I command you to refer to me as Simon when we are alone with one another.”
“You cannot compel me to do anything, Your Grace,” she seethed, her eyes sparking fire.
Instead of repulsion, a feverish hunger blazed to life in her eyes. That unbridled passion put him in mind of Persephone when he’d had her pinned to the wall and his hand between her legs.
His body hardened.
“We know that is untrue, Persephone,” he whispered. “I can and, if I so wish it, I will.”
