Page 129 of The Good Duke
Persephone took a deep breath to steady herself and once in full control, resumed. “Because of you, I have no prospects, no references.”
Silas spoke in an equal quiet. “What of Greystoke?”
Greystoke? “Simon?” she asked dumbly.
The marquess sharpened his gaze on her face.
This man deserved no explanation, but she gave him one anyway. “He is a friend, my lord.”
Her former sweetheart’s eyes darkened. “Afriend?” he repeated with all the knowing of a cynic and rogue.
Despite her best attempt, heat spilled onto her cheeks.
“Are you his mistress?” Silas balled his hands into fists as if her answer of the affirmative would unleash them.
Persephone took an angry step toward him. “I am no man’s mistress,” she hissed.
Something akin to relief washed over his face. Which didn’t make sense. He’d have to care about her, which he never had.
“I deserve more,” she continued. “I deserve better.” Persephone held his gaze. “And I deserved more from you, Silas.”
“You did.” His features tightened. “I know that. I wronged you, Persephone.”
Persephone drew back. That concession, she’d not been expecting. At all.
The anger left her.
“What do you want, Silas?”
He fiddled with the brim of his hat. “I told you, I would like to speak with you about…everything.”
“Are you looking for forgiveness? Fine, you are forgiven,” she said. If he’d just leave her alone, she’d promise him anything.
The hint of a grin played about his lips. Persephone recalled that smile and how it once made her feel inside, and she didn’t want to remember.
“That isn’t sincere, Phee.”
She didn’t want to recall there’d been a time when she’d so desperately loved him.
“No, it isn’t, my lord.”
Her use of his title erased his smile.
“There is nothing more to say,” she said quietly and attempted to leave it at that.
Silas caught her lightly by the arm.
She gasped at the familiarity. Without the benefit of gloves, she felt calluses upon palms that’d once been unblemished. Bewildered, she stared at the faint scars that now marred the top of his hands, hands that better suited a man who labored than an indolent rake.
Then Silas lightly stroked the coarse pads of his fingertips along her arm in a forbidden caress that would ruin her.
“There is everything to say, Persephone,” he said quietly. “Everything.”
“Siiiiilas!” That sunny calling broke them apart.
Persephone and Silas glanced some twenty yards away where Simon and Lady Isabelle had, at some point, doubled back.
Lady Isabelle waved wildly. “Come, Silas! We are going to skip stones. Bring Miss Forsyth,” the girl added before returning her attention to Simon.
