Page 98 of The Good Duke
Her earlier smile had fled; in its place was a disapproving frown that he so very much wished to chase away.
Simon lifted an eyebrow. “What? Wagering?”
“Stop making jests, Simon.”
He stilled. She’d called him by his given name. It’d only been the morning since she’d stopped, but he’d missed hearing her call him Simon. When she did, he felt connected to someone in a way he hadn’t since…her.
Simon cleared his throat. “I wasn’t jesting,” he said. In fact, he’d been deadly serious.
Persephone pinched his arm, and he frowned.
“What was that for?”
“Now, you’re lying.”
Actually, he hadn’t been.
Not yet able to meet Persephone’s long, clear-eyed stare, Simon glanced down and immediately frowned. His faithful companion sat with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Simon’s pup was a veritable Twin of Silent—the ironical nickname given Lady Jersey, who never missed a morsel of gossip. The dog moved her head back and forth between Simon and Persephone.
He made a show of petting Persephone’s canine gift to him and murmured some kindly words to the small, furry girl. Only when Simon trusted Persephone had eventually given up this cringeworthy discourse, he straightened and, at last, met her eyes.
She moved a stricken gaze over his face.
Oh, hell.
“I know what you are thinking,” she whispered.
“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he mumbled.
“You think those previous disappointments had something to do with you,” she whispered.
So, shehadknown his thoughts.
Of course, she had. Persephone could read him as well as when they’d been mere children. Just as he could discern precisely what wild thoughts were whirring in her head. It hadn’t unnerved the hell out of him. Until now.
“Disappointments,” he said wryly. “Is that what we are referring to failures and rejections as?”
“They all mean the same thing. Just…one is slightly less…less…”
He arced an eyebrow. “Accurate?”
“Harsh,” she supplied instead.
She opened her mouth to say something else when a young mother, holding her toddler’s hand, came nearer. Persephone stopped herself.
The small boy, no more than two or three, brought his pudgy palms together in an uneven clap. “P-Pup!” he squealed. “Pup-pup.”
Persephone immediately trained her focus on the lad with his big brown curls and even bigger dimples; she dropped to her knees.
Oh, thank God for children everywhere. This one had saved the proverbial day for Simon. The last thing he’d needed was for Persephone to continue pressing him—
“My, what a sweet boy, you are,” she crooned. “Do you have a name, good sir?”
“Hoooo.” The small babe clapped again.
Persephone cast a glance up at the slender, well-dressed, kind-eyed lady taking in the exchange.
“Hew,” the young mother whispered. “His name is Hew.”
