Page 147 of The Good Duke
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 hemaybe 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 anythingbuta 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, oneverypoint, 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.
