Page 35 of The Good Duke
“Whichroom—?”
For the love of God.“Any damned room, Seph. I’ll find you.”
At last, and with only the veryslightestbit of urgency, she let herself out.
Chapter 7
In the end, a short while after her run-in with Simon, Persephone settled on the library as the place for their impending reunion.
After all, the library proved to be the room in this household most familiar to her. In her long-ago visit, she and Simon had spent hours ensconced in the vast, high-ceilinged sanctuary built of leather books and big-paneled windows.
And given the way this night had played out? She desperately neededsomethingrecognizable.
Persephone paced a path over the French Aubusson tapestry rug situated entirely too close to the fireplace.
Reunion?
Orsecondreunion?
Or, mayhap, after their discussion in his rooms, their next exchange qualified as a meeting.
A panicky giggle bubbled past her lips.
Either way, that previousvisithadn’t gone as planned.
But then nothing had these past days since Mrs. Belden’s. In fairness, nothing had gone as planned these pastyears. There’d been the sudden, unexpected death of her father. The loss of the only home she’d ever known. Teaching at a finishing school. Getting sacked from a finishing school.
Beingsomewhatreunited with Simon.
And given the nature of their meeting just moments ago, why, it was as though they’d come full circle: him naked and with his manhood on full display.
Her face heated all over again.
“You’ve grown, Simon?” She pulled her lips in a grimace. “You’ve grown?” she repeated. “Really?”
Persephone increased the speed of her restless strides.
Had she actually uttered that—again?
The last time she’d spoken those words, she’d been an innocent girl on the cusp of womanhood. But now? Well, there was absolutely no excuse for that same, mortifying exclamation.
Granted, hehadgrown.
But it certainly didn’t merit mentioning.
Nay, it didn’t take a master instructor at Mrs. Belden’s Finishing School to deduce what should be done the moment a lady accidentally invaded a gentleman’s private bedchambers—she left. A lady absolutely left.
She didnotstay and discuss a single thought, idea, or, for that matter, anything else.
But that particular room had belonged to Simon, and the man in that large tub had been Simon.
Only, not Simon of old, but new Simon.
New Simon was taller, more muscular, more handsome, moreeverything.
She’d always been the unruffled one of their pair and, well, now not even that held true. His speech was steady and his commands crisp.
And when he’d unfurled from that tub, a veritable Poseidon, unabashedly proud in his nakedness and larger than life—larger than even the gods—those three words had just slipped out unchecked.
