Page 169 of The Good Duke
Those words he’d spoken had stunned her.
“…whatever Greystoke is or isn’t to you? It doesn’t matter, because I intend to woo you and marry you and bring you all the happiness you deserve…”
His vow had shocked her.
What had stunned Persephone more, however, was how…unmoved she’d been by Silas’s avowal.
She’d stood before her former lover, who’d vowed to woo her and declared his love, all these years after his betrayal, and Persephone had felt absolutely nothing.
Not resentment. Not hurt.
Not…anything.
Not for him.
Not for what they’d shared.
Because face to face with Silas in the courtyard at Madam Colette’s, Persephone hadn’t thought about what’d happened between her and Silas in the past. She hadn’t even cared about a scandal and the very likely possibility society would discover Persephone’s past.
No, in that minute, all she’d cared about was preserving the match Simon had wanted from the start. Lady Isabelle represented everything he desired in a wife, and Persephone loved Simon so much that his happiness mattered much more than even Persephone’s own, and she’d suffer a broken heart for Simon to have the woman he truly wished.
Oh, he’d insisted enough that he didn’t wish to proceed with his courtship of Lady Isabelle. The problem was Simon only began expressing reservationsafterhe’d learned about how Lord Silas had hurt Persephone.
She knew Simon better than she knew herself.
Where every other gentleman only thought of their own desires, Simon possessed an unwavering devotion to those he called friend. For him, his loyalty to another superseded his greatest wants and needs.
In this case, the greatest want being Lady Isabelle.
Tears burned Persephone’s eyes, and here, in the privacy of the gardens and away from the world waiting on the other side of the crystal paneled doors, she let them fall.
A low, sonorous murmuring cut across her sorrow. “I’ve been looking for you, Seph.”
Oh, bloody hell. Can’t a lady have but one minute to wallow in her misery?
Persephone made a show of stealing a peek over her shoulder.
“Simon!” she greeted with false cheer, relieved when her voice didn’t quaver.
She climbed slowly to her feet. Persephone discreetly dabbed at her eyes, and, praying the night sky offered enough cover to conceal the tears, she faced Simon.
The sight of him, however, brought her up short and stole all the breath from her lungs and the prepared jovial words about the dinner party from her lips.
Persephone didn’t even try to stop herself from drinking in the sight of him. For when she left, and that day was coming soon, she wanted to commit Simon to her memory as he was now and carry the remembrance of him with her always.
Attired in black, from his finely-cut wool evening coat to his cravat, and the fitted trousers that hugged his magnificently formed thighs, and on down to his buckled shoes, Simon had the look of Adonis resurrected by the gods to live in the now.
With his hands clasped behind him, Simon flashed a bemused half-grin that sent warmth throughout her entire being.
“A pound for your thoughts?” he murmured.
“Penny,” she automatically corrected.
“Ah.” He moved his gaze slowly over her face. “But your thoughts are worth so much more to me than that, Seph.” He locked his eyes with hers. “They always were.”
Her heart, that organ which would always beat for him, trembled.
His heart, however, belonged with another.
