Page 180 of The Good Duke
“This will not take but a moment,” he said before she could finish her sentence. “I’ve wanted to speak with you, Persephone.” Then Silas added, “For some time now.”
The last time she’d seen him alone, he’d been a grown man. Even so, time had deepened his voice, and experience had leant an almost cynical roughness to his tone.
“We’ve already spoken,” she said in the same tones she’d used with her youngest charges. “At this moment, however, I’m waiting to speak with Lady Isabelle.”
She made that appeal to his brotherly devotion.
“No.”
“No?” Persephone repeated.
Clasping his hands at his broad back, Silas rocked forward. “My sister will not be joining you.”
“She… isn’t…?” She furrowed her brow and looked from Silas to Lady Isabelle’s letter, and then back again to Silas.
A rogue’s smile graced his lips.
Then it hit her.
Persephone held up Lady Isabelle’s brief note. “You had your sister help coordinate a meeting between us.”
Her former sweetheart touched a palm to his broad chest. “Guilty.”
She pursed her mouth. “You sound anything but apologetic, my lord.”
His playful demeanor vanished in an instant. “That’s because I’m not.” With hooded lashes, Silas took a step nearer.
Persephone held her ground.
Outrage filled her. “Lady Isabelle is not coming, then.”
With a grand flourish, he swept his arms wide and dropped a deep bow. “Indeed, Miss Forsyth.”
Which meant it was just she and Silas alone out here.
This new, edgier version of him had her eying the path he blocked and the one behind her. This was the man she didn’t recognize.
Feeling his gaze upon her, she glanced up.
“You are displeased, love?”
His question emerged teasing, but the trace sadness contained within belied any efforts he made at flippancy and erased his rakish veneer. Some great emotion kindled in his eyes.
Silas took a step towards her.
“I am notpleased,” Persephone said tersely, as she retreated from his slow advance. “And neither am I your love.”
Silas stopped in his tracks. His features twisted in a spasm of unchecked grief. Some great emotion kindled in his eyes.
“Never tell me you are afraid of me, Miss Forsyth?”
He had schooled his features so quickly, she thought she may have imagined his response.
That combined with Silas’s use of her name erected a necessary wall between them and restored a balance to their exchange.
“Of course not, my lord.” At least, the former Silas she didn’t; this newer version was something of a shapeshifter: one instant teasing and flirtatious and the next wistful or cynical.
It was the roguish Marquess of Bute who answered her reassurances with a half-grin.
