Page 63 of The Good Duke
The sound of his name spoken from those lips he’d been lusting after jolted Simon out of his erotic haze; a flush climbed his neck and burned a path all the way up to his cheeks.
“Hmm?” he said quickly, shifting in his seat in a bid to ease the massive erection wrought by nothing more than the thought of this woman’s mouth.
Persephone eyed him peculiarly. “Are you attending me?”
“Of course.” He hadn’t been. At least, not in the way she meant.
“Let us see, then. How far apart and how close together are we on the expectations, hopes, and dreams of your future bride?”
His expectations, hopes, and dreams.
She suspected he’d been toiling over his marital prospects and prospective bride.
Just ashe’dexpected earlier.
There was absolutely no harmony between their thoughts.
Persephone stared expectantly at him. “Well?”
And before he knew what she was about, she slid her notebook across his desk and helped herself to his.
Oh, hell.
Simon made a grab for his—too late.
She’d always been a quick thing. She’d beat him in foot races and horse races and apple-eating contests.
Persephone skimmed the handful of lines; she mouthed them aloud as she did.
An old friend, resurrected,
From the ashes of oldmemories,
With every silent word she uttered, Simon sank further and further into his leather winged chair.
Old laughter, an echo in themind,
It kindles—
Persephone whipped her head up. “Simon.” Shock filled her always-revealing eyes. “What is this?” she whispered.
Oh, bloody hell.Simon fought the urge to yank at his cravat.
Here he’d thought himself incapable of the level of mortification and shame he’d known prior to leaving London.
Wrong. He’d been wrong.
Persephone had caught Simon not only ruminating but also penning a verse about her reappearance in his life.
Let me sink straight into the folds of my seat, melt onto the floor, and disappear forever through the mahogany slats.Anything to avoidthishumiliating exchange.
Persephone slapped Simon’s book down, jolting him back. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Simon thought a moment and then chose the coward’s path—he opted to take her query as a rhetorical one.
At his silence, she glared blackly at him.
Simon squirmed in his chair. He’d expected Persephone’s ageless curiosity and questions. But heranger? That was most decidedly a peculiar and unexpected reaction.
