Page 91 of The Good Duke
Good. Perhaps she thought he’d been forced to see to some other official ducal business.
Through the heavy oak panel came the faint, muffled hint of her dulcet tones and those belonging to…another.
My possible bride-to-be.
Sweat popped up on his brow, and he rubbed the back of his sleeve over that dampness. Bloody hell, this was all happening too fast.Too fast.
There came another knock. This time just one that landed more as an announcement. Then the door opened, and the person responsible for that boldness dipped her head through the crack she’d made.
He tensed.
“The footman stationed at the end of the hall said you’d not left,” she whispered.
What a chap.Simon gritted his teeth. If he were one of those mercurial masters, he’d have sacked the man. But he wasn’t.
Persephone cleared her throat. “May we come in, Your Grace?”
We. Not: I.
Because of course, she’d brought his maybe bride-to-be.
Simon gave his cravat a tug. “And this is…p-proper? For her to be h-here, and for us to meet this w-way?”
Persephone gave him a gentle smile. “Of course, it is, Your Grace.”
He hated his title on her lips and had to forcibly remind himself he’d been the one to insist on that formal wall between them.
“You needn’t be nervous.” She spoke in the same soothing way she had when she’d rescued an injured bird and attempted to repair its wing. “I am here to make this as smooth an introduction as possible, Your Grace. And it is perfectly proper,” she added for good measure.
With that, she turned and opened the door all the way.
Simon’s muscles all snapped tightly in a dreaded anticipation.
He waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
Absolutely no one appeared. And a giddy relief bubbled in his chest. She’d merely been jesting. She’d—
“Come.”
Simon’s relieved smile vanished, and he tensed.
A moment later, someone appeared. Nay, not someone. Something. A tiny, white ball of fur with a tuft of hair in the center of its head came trotting into the room.
Simon drew back. This was whom she’d brought him. Not a bride but a damned dog. “What in hell, Persephone?”
Persephone drew the door shut quickly behind her, laid her palms upon the panel, and leaned back. “I know wh-what you are thinking?” she stammered.
Good, she was the stuttering one now. Served her right.
“And just what is that, Persephone?” he asked silkily.
“Th-that I d-did this to g-get the upper hand on you.”
Persephone darted the tip of that tongue he’d kissed only just moments ago. She dampened those red, sensuous lips and instantly put him in mind of all manner of uses he had for that mouth in a caddish repayment for this latest exploit.
