Page 43 of The Good Duke
Stiffly, he drew his hands from hers.
Persephone’s quaked and she swiftly tucked them behind her, clasping them at the back so as to hide that tremble and steady her fingers.
She cleared her throat. “I promise you willnotregret this, Simon.”
Simon inclined his head.
With that, he turned and headed for the door. “I already do,” he muttered.
Persephone scrunched her nose up.
The lout.
Given his generosity, she should ignore that. Alas, she’d never been able to be silent where Simon was concerned.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “What was that, Your Grace?”
“I saidI already do,” he called without even breaking stride.
Her lips twitched. “Good night, Simon.”
“Persephone,” he returned, not even glancing back.
The moment he’d gone, her smile faded, and she brought her arms out from behind her.
Persephone studied her upturned palms that still tingled from his touch. How…peculiar to have butterflies in her belly and still feel the weight of his hand in hers, even after he’d gone.
This was Simon.
Her childhood friend.
The first boy she’d kissed.
There’d not even been tingles and butterflies when he’d kissed her.
But you weren’t a grown woman, and he certainly wasn’t a grown, confident, self-assured man.
“And arrogant,” she said under her breath. “Do not forget he’s now not only a duke, but an arrogant one, at that.”
She issued that much-needed reminder to herself because the last thing she could afford was to be distracted with thoughts about Simon Broadbent, Duke of Some-Title-She-Still-Did-Not-Know.
She’d promised Simonhewould not have any regrets.
She, however, hoped, when all was said and done, she could say the same.
Chapter 8
Persephone Forsyth hadalwayshated rising early. As a young girl, the only reason the lady had forced herself up before daybreak was so she and Simon could watch the sunrise.
It was why the following morning, before Persephone found him, Simon rose at an ungodly hour, got the hell out of his townhouse, and headed for one of London’s more disreputable clubs.
Simon gave his horse, Dobbin, a nudge, urging more speed from him as they made their way through the still dark, empty London streets. No doubt Persephone had planned accordingly; he likely was a hairsbreadth away from her corning him.
And corner him, she would.
After even just a brief meeting some almost twenty years later, he’d ascertained beyond a doubt that Persephone Forsyth remained unchanged. She still delighted in teasing him, taking him by surprise.
As a young boy who’d been ridiculed by all, Persephone had been like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise bleak life.
