Page 158 of The Good Duke
Startled, Persephone drew back.
“I know you’d rather set a dress afire than wear one. That you used to long to live in a world where women wear trousers, and I wager you still feel the same damned way.” A hoarse chuckle shook his chest. “And maybe even more now, given how bloody cruel the world has been to you.”
Hovering between a place of mirth and tears, he dragged a hand over his face. “You might notlikegowns, but damn it, at the very least you deserve to wear garments that don’t make you think of the hardest times in your life.”
Her breath caught.
In the end, a half-mad, panicked laugh spilled from his lips.
“Ah, God, Seph. It’s funny,” he said, his body shaking. “All I’ve thought about was how I wanted to show you and give you everything you desired. Even with a lifetime being away from you, somewhere inside, I knew the place you’d most love to explore was that museum, when what I should havereallyfocused on was what the hell I’d say to you about a visit to a modiste shop—the very last place on earth you’deverwant to be. I just…thought you might like to have new gowns,” he finished weakly.
All the energy left him.
Tugging the curtain back a fraction, Simon glanced out at the back entryway of Madam Colette’s.
“Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School,” Persephone murmured.
He let the velvet fabric go, so it danced slowly and gracefully until it settled back into place. Confused, he looked quizzically at Persephone.
She gave him a sheepish smile. “You said Madam Colette’s is probably the last place I’d care to be, but Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School is definitely the one.”
Persephone’s admission hit him square in the solar plexus, and the agony of learning there’d come to be a place she detested even more brought his eyes briefly closed.
The squabs dipped. “Simon,” she said gently, as she slid into the seat next to him, “I was jesting.”
“No, you weren’t,” he said hoarsely. “Mrs. Belden’s was clearly the worst hell you’ve had to endure.”Except…“Or maybe it is not. Maybe it’s where you had your heart broken, and goddamn it, Seph, I hate that you’ve known any p—”
She took Simon’s fingers in her own and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I amsohappy now, and so much of that is because ofyou, Simon.”
That was all he wanted. That is what he wished to dedicate the rest of his life to. A welcome warmth filled his chest.
Persephone sucked in a shuddery breath. “Oh, Simon,” she whispered, releasing his hands, “I am sorry I reacted so to your gi—”
“Mm-mm.” He pressed a finger against Persephone’s lips to stop the remainder of an undeserved apology. “As I’ve said, Seph, since you arrived in London, I’ve given you few—” He grimaced. “That is, ifanyreasons, to trust me or my intentions. Nor do I believe I can simply take you to a museum and a modiste and think that will erase all the wrongs I’ve done you because, Seph?”
Simon’s gaze locked with her wide-eyed one.
“There is no undoing past transgressions. There is only going forward with a commitment on my part to be better, todobetter, to be the man you deserved for me to be then…and now.”
“Simon,” she said entreatingly, “I will not have you trying to atone for wrongs you never committed. You were notresponsiblefor me.”
She’d try to absolve him of his sins and guilt. God, he didn’t deserve her selflessness. Maybe that’s why she’d never loved him. Maybe somewhere deep inside, she’d known he was unworthy of her.
“No, Seph, I committed the greatest wrong against you,” he said with a matter-of-factness born of their reality. “I wasn’t responsible for you. You wereneveran obligation. You were myfriend. The only true one I’ve ever known.”
There’d been Lord Kit, but that friendship had been forged of shared vices and a similar degree of cynicism, and never had it been what he and Persephone shared.
A charged silence descended over the carriage.
He and Persephone each angled their heads in opposite directions—a man and woman finally seeing each other. That thought may be nothing more than wishful thinking on Simon’s part, but frozen in this moment with Persephone, he was all too eager to embrace even the illusion.
As one, in a synchronic harmony, their bodies swayed toward one another.
“Simon,” she whispered, her lashes fluttering. “I l—”
Knock-knock-knock.
That tentative rapping jerked Persephone and Simon apart the same way a cannonball explosion might.
