Page 80 of The Good Duke
Seated in the same place she’d left Simon yesterday—at the head of his desk—this current meeting between Persephone and Simon may as well have been a continuation of their last one. That was, with the exception of Lord Pruitt’s absence. Nor did Simon launch a sharp pencil at her person.
Otherwise…everything…was…exactly…
Persephone glanced about his tidy office.
She made the mistake of looking directly at Simon, and her mind went blank.
A dangerous fluttering unfurled in her belly.
His head bent over his ledger, Simon attended to whatever officious ducal business required his full concentration.
And God help her, she took advantage of his distracted state and took in the sight of him.
He wore a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and looked so hopelessly endearing in them.
At some point, he’d removed his navy tailcoat. The immaculately cut wool garment lay draped over the back of his chair.
Simon’s shirt sleeves, rolled up past his elbows, put his tanned, muscular forearms on beautiful display. His cravat had been tossed haphazardly to the edge of the desk like he’d tired of that constraining fabric, the absence of which left a gap, revealing a whorl of tight golden coils upon his chest.
Persephone fought the urge to sigh.
How she missed safe, uncomplicated Simon. The Simon who did not make her insides melt or cause her heart to race.
Which only brought her gaze dipping a fraction to the smooth surface of that very same desktop Simon had stretched her over.
Her heart pounded hard and fast; her mouth went dry.
She pressed her eyes closed and attempted to rein in her wicked, wayward musings.
When she trusted she’d composed her thoughts into a semblance of calm, Persephone opened her eyes.
Simon stared boldly back.
She gasped. “Your G-Grace.” She dipped a curtsy.
From behind those immaculate crystal lenses, a flirtatious glint sparkled in Simon’s celestial blue irises.
Oh, the lout. How smug. Howknowing. And if there’d been anything that could or would steady Persephone, it was the evidence of his masculine arrogance.
Then, with a panther-like grace, he unfurled all of his six-feet, four-inch frame.
“Well, well, well, Persephone,” he purred. “And here, I thought you were hiding from me.”
Persephone hid a smile. At this moment, Simon might believe himself fully in control of their latest meeting, but with his perfect lady due to arrive at any moment, the tables were about to be turned.
“Alas, Your Grace, you are bound to be disappointed. I do not hide from anyone.” She gave him a pert up and down look. “Especiallynot you,” she lied, and his widening grin said he knew it too.
In fairness, it wasn’t Simon that Persephone feared, but rather all these wicked feelings he stirred inside.
Chapter 14
Simon hid a grin.
Persephone Forsyth wasn’t one to hide fromanyone. He knew thatalltoo well.
No truer statement had ever been uttered than that one. She’d always been an intrepid firebrand—a girl and then young woman a person did not cross.
Simon had always found himself both grateful and relieved she’d been his ally and not his adversary. He’d also pitied the loons who’d earned themselves a place on her wrong side.
