Page 45 of The Good Duke
At that reminder, that forlorn whisper of Persephone Forsyth echoed in his mind.
“It has been many years… Though I didn’t think you’d forget me altogether…”
Forcibly thrusting aside that sad thought of her, the moment he reached Pruitt, Simon grabbed the curved top of the vacant red-leather upholstered button-back chair and seated himself.
“Greyst—”
“I have a problem.” Simon cut off the other man’s greeting.
More specifically, he had a conundrum wrapped in the delicately curved, womanly form of a former friend, Miss Persephone Forsyth.
Pruitt pushed his untouched snifter Simon’s way. “I told you,” his friend said, “I have the ideal person to help you with your books. My sis—”
“It isnotmy books.” While he drank the offered brandy down in one slow, burning swallow, Pruitt watched him with a bemused look.
Setting his glass aside, Simon dropped his elbows on the smooth mahogany table and leaned over. “There’s been a development… Anewone.”
Taking care to avoid the audacious specifics of his recent meeting with Persephone, Simon went on to explain their past—also avoidingthosemore ignominious details.
When he’d finished, Pruitt didn’t say anything for a long while.
“Let me get this right,” the other man finally drawled. “You had your household broken into…by a woman, no less. One whom you knew some twenty or so years ago?” With a quiet laugh, Pruitt kicked back on the legs of his chair. “And here I thought you were talking about your stuffy, condescending solicitor.”
A serving girl came over with a second glass. The moment she set it down, Simon reached into the front of his jacket, but Pruitt proved quicker.
The other man handed over a small purse and then waved the girl off.
After he’d poured two brandies—with a healthier amount more for Simon—Pruitt spoke.
“What do you intend to do with her?”
Simon scowled. He was glad one of them found this amusing.
“I’m not keeping her if that’s what you’re suggesting,” he muttered and took another swallow. “She is here in search of employment.”
Pruitt dropped an elbow on the table and leaned in. “Ohh?” he replied, managing to sneak an extra syllable into that suggestive question.
The other man would be right to the likely assumption he’d arrived at. After all, he’d witnessed Simon’s pursuits in Italy and France. There’d never been a night he’d sought sleep without having a woman in his bed.
“She’s notthatkind of woman,” he said brusquely.
Pruitt brought his chair back onto all four legs. “Aren’t they all that kind of women?”
“This one is not.”
Understanding dawned in Pruitt’s eyes, and then, tossing his head back, Simon’s friend howled with amusement.
“I swear, Greystoke. O-Only y-you.” Pruitt only laughed all the harder, until tears streamed down his cheeks. “Y-you are the o-only man who should find his bedchambers invaded by a straightlaced, bracket-faced governess.”
Except Persephone wasn’t the prim, proper finishing school instructor that came to mind when a person thought of finishing school instructors. Nor was she the long-in-the-tooth-faced woman Pruitt took her for.
Knowing, however, to correct the man of his wrongly drawn conclusion, he’d only deal with more questions and amusement, Simon opted to let him to that assumption.
“All women have their uses.” Pruitt waggled his brow. “Some greater uses than others. Which begs the question, what service could she provide foryou?”
Unbidden, thoughts of Persephone slid in. As defiant as the lady herself, raven-black tresses had snuck free from Persephone’s serviceable plait. It was as if time had loosened her once-tight curls and leant them a softer, more carefree bounce.
Persephone, with pillowy-soft-looking, sultry lips with the slightest of a cupid’s bow. Persephone, whose eyes were shades of the richest cognac, was even bolder and more confident than when she’d been a mere girl of sixteen.
