Page 184 of The Good Duke
With an even more impressive right hook than she’d dealt the village boys who’d bullied Simon, she punched Bute in the face. The other man’s head went flying back with such force, the tall, powerful lord stumbled before catching himself.
Simon forced himself to stop. As badly as he wanted to bloody the marquess senseless, Persephone deserved to be the one to take Lord Bute to task for his crimes—first.
When she was done, however, Simon would have his turn with the cad.
“How dare you?” Persephone railed, breathtaking in all her proud, bold fury and strength. “In one breath you profess to love me and the next you’d make light ofruining me?”
She skewered Bute with a glower so black, if looks could kill, Bute would be lying in a pool of his own blood. “You are no different than your cold, heartless father, my lord.”
As much as Simon loved Persephone, he’d never loved her more than he did now, as she assailed the marquess for the two unforgivable transgressions he’d committed against her.
“We are finished here and forever, my lord,” she said icily. “Do not think to approach me ever again.”
With one last, disgusted glance for the marquess, Persephone started to leave.
Lord Bute called after her. “Persephone, despite your low opinion and the conclusions you’ve come to about me, I’m not acompletecad. Iwillmarry you.”
Persephone stopped in her tracks.
Simon tensed.
From the moment Simon discovered Persephone’s connection to Lady Isabelle’s brother, he’d feared she’d choose the marquess over Simon.
Now, however, Simon knew the same insecurities he’d carried at having his feelings go unreciprocated when they’d been children also accounted for his same insecurities all these years later.
With this new self-awareness, he could also finally see Persephone was too strong, too proud, and too clever to ever again fall for a cad like Bute.
And so, even before Persephone slowly turned and faced Bute, Simon knew what reply she’d give the fucking dastard.
She marched back over and faced the marquess head on.
“You claim you loved me and love me still, and yet you have never really known the meaning of love, my lord,” she said solemnly. “You tell me you heeded the late marquess’s wishes and cast me off, tosaveme. Maybe you even think in doing so, you made some grand sacrifice and paid the ultimate price.”
Persephone gave her head a rueful shake. “But with everything you’ve done…or not done…I cannot hate you, my lord. In betraying me, you did me the greatest favor. Though your past actions once devastated me, now I am grateful for them. In doing what you did, you proved our relationship would never be one where you both see me as and value me as a partner.”
At last, Persephone slid her gaze from Bute to Simon.
Her eyes locked with Simon’s and hers radiated such love, his heart swelled.
She briefly returned her attention to Bute. “If you believe I wouldevermarry you, my lord, you are bloody mad,” she said so matter of fact that even Bute, society’s most notorious rake, flinched at the insult.
“You see, my lord,” she continued, “with your inability to trust our love was strong enough to weather whatever threats your father leveled, you actually set me free. You allowed my heart to find its way back to where it belonged, and where it alwayswas…” Her stare moved back to Simon. “With the Duke of Greystoke.”
“I love you,” Simon mouthed.
“I love you too,” she silently returned.
Up until that moment, while Persephone spoke, the marquess remained expressionless.
At that soundless exchange between Persephone and Simon, Lord Bute’s face twisted in a paroxysm of anguish so keen, Simon might have almost felt bad for his suffering—almost.
Bute, however, deserved that misery—and more.
Persephone shifted her focus back to the marquess. “After thinking I’d been betrayed by you, I became a shell of the proud, confident, strong woman I’d once been. Out of fear of Society discovering my past relationship with you, I forced myself to live in the shadows. I carried myself above reproach and worried about everyone else, and their opinions.” She shook her head. “Not any longer.”
Persephone brought her shoulders back and stared Lord Bute down with all the regal grace and elegance of a queen. “A scandal was born in these gardens, in a scheme hatched by you, and I will marry…but as I said, it will not be you. I’ve finally realized”—she thumped a fist against her chest—“Imatter.Myhappiness matters.”
She gave all her focus back to Simon. A beatific smile teased her lips. “And that is why I’ll marry the Duke of Greystoke.”
