Page 41 of The Good Duke
She may be in dire straits, and he may be a duke who bore no resemblance to her former friend, but she’d enough pride and self-respect, especially after Lord Nicholas Woodhaven’s shameful offer, to tolerate that effrontery again.
“Are you making me an indecent proposal, Simon?” she asked flatly. “Because I assure you, the last thing I came here seeking was a place in your bed.”
Only, that wasn’t entirely true. “At least not in a bed with you in it.” She was, after all, in need of a bed in which to sleep.
He stared at her like she’d gone mad.
Her? He thoughtshewas the one off her head, and not him who’d made her an indecent proposal?
Suddenly, he choked.
Again, she stepped forward to give him a thwack between the shoulder blades, when she registered…he wasn’t choking.
He…was laughing.
“I’m not offering you a place in my bed,” he said through his hilarity.
She paused. “You aren’t?”
He laughed again. “God, no.”
She bristled at that overly emphasized “God, no,” coupled with his hearty bellow of laughter. “Well, it…appeared as though you were,” she mumbled.
“Italsoappears your observation skills need a bit improving, love,” he said dryly.
“Yes, well, then mayhap you want to drop that slow, husky form of speech that sounds like you’re bent on seduction.”
“Sometimes I am.”
“This was not one of those times?”
“This was decidedly not one of those times,” he confirmed.
Simon caught his hard, angular jaw between a thumb and a forefinger and contemplated her—or contemplated helping her.
He had to.
Well, he didn’t have to. He’d no obligations to her or reason to do so—except for the brief friendship they’d had so very long ago, a friendship that didn’t even seem so very important to him. At least, not any longer.
She, on the other hand, needed him to help. She’d no family. Aside from Millie and Gracie, who she’d been forced to leave behind at Mrs. Belden’s, there wasn’t a friend in the world.
Fighting back panic, Persephone made herself stay still.
No, the world was a cruel place for women. They were beholden to men and denied even the opportunity to perform the same work that would afford one security. It was why, even now, Persephone found herself appealing to a man she’d used to know for charity—charity he didn’t appear very keen to give.
Panic snapped the frayed thin of her patience. “If you allow me to stay, I won’t be much trouble,” she said quickly.
“Much trouble?” he asked with more of his newfound sardonicism.
“Any trouble,” she corrected. “I won’t be any trouble.”
“Persephone, the very origin of your name is the bringer of destruction.”
Any other time, she would have opted for being offended at that unfavorable opinion—but not now. One detail kept her from annoyance and calling him out.
Persephone.
He’d called her by her given name.
