Page 188 of The Good Duke
“Iwantedto,” he confessed. “And badly.” His gorgeous blue eyes darkened. “Verybadly,” Simon amended. “I wanted to rip his throat out and bloody him senseless and—”
She gently interjected. “Yes, Simon, I believe you’ve come to the point.”
His cheeks flushed with color, and he stared back with the same sheepish expression he’d worn when Persephone beat up their bullies for both of them.
Simon made a clearing sound with his throat. “Uh…yes, so Bute will live to see another day. The thing of it is, Seph?” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair once more.
She waited as he gathered his thoughts.
A muscle pulsed at the corner of his right eye. “I hate myself for not beating the everlasting life out of him.” He paused. “I almost did,” he confessed with a reluctance that bespoke shame at his admission.
And yet there was no shame in his restraint.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, more curious than anything.
He started over to her with slow, measured steps.
When only a handful of steps separated them, Simon stopped his approach. “I love you with my entire heart and soul and with every fiber of my being, Persephone,” he said somberly. “Youdeservedto be avenged and I realize—”
“Simon,” Persephone spoke earnestly over him. “Please.” How could he know so very much about her and not realize the self-control he’d displayed during his confrontation with the marquess made her love Simon all the more? “I wouldn’t want—” Nay, that wasn’t the whole truth. “I didn’t want—”
He touched a fingertip to her lips and gently silenced her. “What I was going to say, love,” he said solemnly, “is that I realized anything I could have said or done to Bute in the gardens would have been irrelevant. For you already handled him. I didn’t defeat him, Seph. You did that all on your own. And, yes, I still yearn to bury my fist in the bastard’s smug face,” he admitted. “But that would have been about satisfying my own bloodlust.”
Another wave of emotion swelled in her throat and she pressed a hand to her heart.
Where any other gentleman would have let his rage rule and surrendered to the raw urge to pulverize Lord Bute, Simon had shown restraint. He’d allowed Persephone to own her exchange with the marquess and, at last, avenge her own honor.
Persephone twined her hands about his nape, leaned up, and kissed Simon.
“Thank you, Simon,” she said thickly.
Simon flashed a lazy, crooked smile. “Of course, if you either ask or allow it, I’d be all too happy to pay him a—”
“No,” she breathed after that all too-fleeting meeting of their mouths.
Simon folded his arms loosely about Persephone’s waist and drew her closer. “No?” he repeated.
She tweaked his nose. “No.”
His lips formed a grim line. “Because I could—”
This time, Persephone claimed Simon’s lips in a full, open-mouthed kiss that effectively silenced him. “I love you, Simon Broadbent,” she whispered when they parted once more.
His brow furrowed. “Because I didn’t thrash the bastard who hurt you within an inch of his life?”
Simon sounded so endearingly befuddled; a watery laugh spilled past her lips.
“Because you allowedmeto avengemyself, Simon,” she said, willing him to understand. “You trusted me to handle Lord Bute, and even though I saw how it pained you to stand to the side, you stood close enough throughout that confrontation.” Tears blurred her vision. “With your presence, you let me know you supported me, but that I should require assistance, you were all too ready and eager to i-intervene.”
Her voice caught. “You weren’t some puffed-up man whose desire to do violence superseded all else. Andthat, Simon? That is everything to m-me.”
Anguish filled his eyes. Simon dragged a hand through his long, blond locks. “God, Seph, I hate your tears.”
A laugh, this time mingled with a sob, escaped her. “They arehappyones.”
Simon palmed her cheek. “Are you, Seph?” he asked quietly. “Happy?”
Persephone nodded. A lone drop, followed in rapid succession by another and another, slipped down her cheeks. “M-More than you can ever know,” she said thickly.
