The Duke and I (14 page)

 "The sins are almost certainly exaggerated."

 "And the faults?"

 "Probably true," Simon admitted sheepishly.

 That remark earned him another smile from Daphne. "Well, true or not," she said, "he thinks you're up to something."

 "I
am
up to something."

 Her head tilted sarcastically as her eyes rolled upward. "He thinks you're up to something nefarious."

 "I'd like to be up to something nefarious," he muttered.

 "What was that?"

 "Nothing."

 She frowned. "I think we should tell Anthony about our plan."

 "And what could possibly be the benefit to that?"

 Daphne remembered the full-hour grilling she'd endured the previous night, and just said, "Oh, I think I'll let you figure that out for yourself."

 Simon merely raised his brows. "My dear Daphne..."

 Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

 "Surely you're not going to force me to call you Miss Bridgerton." He sighed dramatically. "After all that we've been through."

 "We've been through nothing, you ridiculous man, but I suppose you may call me Daphne nonetheless."

 "Excellent." He nodded in a condescending manner. "You may call me 'your grace.'"

 She swatted him.

 "Very well," he replied, his lips twitching at the corners. "Simon, if you must."

 "Oh I must," Daphne said, rolling her eyes, "clearly, I must."

 He leaned toward her, something odd and slightly hot sparking in the depths of his pale eyes. "Must you?" he murmured. "I should be very excited to hear it."

 Daphne had the sudden sense that he was talking about something far more intimate than the mere mention of his given name. A strange, tingling sort of heat shot down her arms, and without thinking, she jumped back a step. "Those flowers are quite lovely," she blurted out.

 He regarded them lazily, rotating the bouquet with his wrist. "Yes, they are, aren't they?"

 "I adore them."

 'They're not for you."Daphne choked on air.Simon grinned. "They're for your mother."

 Her mouth slowly opened in surprise, a short little gasp of air passing through her lips before she said, "Oh, you clever clever man. She will positively melt at your feet. But this will come back to haunt you, you know."

 He gave her an arch look. "Oh really?"

 "Really. She will be more determined than ever to drag you to the altar. You shall be just as beleaguered at parties as if we hadn't concocted this scheme."

 "Nonsense," he scoffed. "Before I would have had to endure the attentions of dozens of Ambitious Mamas. Now I must deal with only one."

 "Her tenacity might surprise you," Daphne muttered. Then she twisted her head to look out the partially open door. "She must truly like you," she added. "She's left us alone far longer than is proper."

 Simon pondered that and leaned forward to whisper, "Could she be listening at the door?"

 Daphne shook her head. "No, we would have heard her shoes clicking down the hall."

 Something about that statement made him smile, and Daphne found herself smiling right along with him. "I really should thank you, though," she said, "before she returns."

 "Oh? Why is that?"

 "Your plan is a brilliant success. At least for me. Did you notice how many suitors came to call this morning?"

 He crossed his arms, the tulips dangling upside down. "I noticed."

 "It's brilliant, really. I've never had so many callers in a single afternoon before. Mother was beside herself with pride. Even Humboldt—he's our butler—was beaming, and I've never seen him so much as smile before. Ooops! Look, you're dripping." She leaned down and righted the flowers, her forearm grazingthe front of his coat. She immediately jumped back, startled by both the heat and power of him.

 Good God, if she could sense all that through his shirt and coat, what must he be like—

 Daphne colored red. Deep, dark red.

 "I should give my entire fortune for those thoughts," Simon said, his brows rising in question.

 Thankfully, Violet chose that moment to sail into the room. "I'm terribly sorry for abandoning you for so long," she said, "but Mr. Crane's horse threw a shoe, so naturally I had to accompany him to the stables and find a groom to repair the damage."

 In all their years together—which, Daphne thought acerbically, naturally constituted her entire life—Daphne had never known her mother to step foot in the stables.

 "You are truly an exceptional hostess," Simon said, holding out the flowers. "Here, these are for you."

 "For me?" Violet's mouth fell open in surprise, and a strange little breathy sound escaped her lips. "Are you certain? Because I—" She looked over at Daphne, and then at Simon, and then finally back at her daughter. "Are you certain?"

 "Absolutely."

 Violet blinked rapidly, and Daphne noticed that there were actually tears in her mother's eyes. No one ever gave her flowers, she realized. At least not since her father had died ten years earlier. Violet was such a mother—Daphne had forgotten that she was a woman as well.

 "I don't know what to say," Violet sniffled.

 "Try 'thank you,' " Daphne whispered in her ear, her grin lending warmth to her voice.

 "Oh, Daff, you are the
worst."
Violet swatted her in the arm, looking more like a young woman than Daphne had ever seen her. "But thank you, your grace.These are beautiful blooms, but more importantly, it was a most thoughtful gesture. I shall treasure this moment always."

 Simon looked as if he were about to say something, but in the end he just smiled and inclined his head.

 Daphne looked at her mother, saw the unmistakable joy in her cornflower blue eyes, and realized with a touch of shame

that none of her own children had ever acted in such a thoughtful manner as this man standing beside her.

 The Duke of Hastings. Daphne decided then and there that she'd be a fool if she didn't fall in love with him. Of course it would be nice if he returned the sentiment.

 "Mother," Daphne said, "would you like me to fetch you a vase?"

 "What?" Violet was still too busy sniffing blissfully at her flowers to pay attention to her daughter's words. "Oh. Yes, of course. Ask Humboldt for the cut crystal from my grandmother."

 Daphne flashed a grateful smile at Simon and headed for the door, but before she could take more than two steps, the large and forbidding form of her eldest brother materialized in the doorway.

 "Daphne," Anthony growled. "Just the person I needed to see."

 Daphne decided the best strategy was simply to ignore his churlish mood. "In just a moment, Anthony," she said sweetly. "Mother has asked me to fetch a vase. Hastings has brought her flowers."

 "Hastings is here?" Anthony looked past her to the duo further in the room. "What are you doing here, Hastings?"

 "Calling on your sister." Anthony pushed past Daphne and strode into theroom, looking rather like a thundercloud on legs.

 "I did not give you leave to court my sister," he bellowed.

 "I did," Violet said. She shoved the flowers in Anthony's face, wiggling them so as to deposit the greatest amount of pollen on his nose. "Aren't these lovely?"

 Anthony sneezed and pushed them aside. "Mother, I am trying to have a conversation with the duke."

 Violet looked at Simon. "Do you want to have this conversation with my son?"

 "Not particularly."

 "Fine, then. Anthony, be quiet."

 Daphne clapped her hand over her mouth, but a snuffly-giggly sound escaped nonetheless.

 "You!" Anthony jabbed a finger in her direction. "Be quiet!"

 "Perhaps I should fetch that vase," Daphne mused.

 "And leave me to the tender mercies of your brother?" Simon said in a mild voice. "I think not."

 Daphne raised a brow. "Do you imply that you are not man enough to deal with him?"

 "Nothing of the sort. Merely that he ought to be your problem, not mine, and—"

 "What the
hell
is going on here?" Anthony roared.

 "Anthony!" Violet exclaimed. "I will not tolerate such unbecoming language in my drawing room."

 Daphne smirked.

 Simon did nothing more than cock his head, regarding Anthony with a curious stare.

 Anthony threw a dark scowl at both of them before turning his attention to his mother. "He is not to be trusted. Do you

have any idea what is happening here?" he demanded.

 "Of course I do," Violet replied. "The duke is paying a call upon your sister."

 "And I brought flowers for your mother," Simon said helpfully.

 Anthony gazed longingly at Simon's nose. Simon had the distinct impression that Anthony was imagining smashing it in.

 Anthony whipped his head around to face his mother. "Do you understand the extent of his reputation?"

 "Reformed rakes make the best husbands," Violet said.

 "Rubbish and you know it."

 "He's not a true rake, anyway," Daphne added.

 The look Anthony shot at his sister was so comically malevolent Simon nearly laughed. He managed to restrain himself, but mostly just because he was fairly certain that any show of humor would cause Anthony's fist to lose its battle with his brain, with Simon's face emerging as the conflict's primary casualty.

 "You don't know," Anthony said, his voice low and nearly shaking with rage. "You don't know what he has done."

 "No more than what you have done, I'm sure," Violet said slyly.

 "Precisely!" Anthony roared. "Good God, I know
exactly
what is going on in his brain right now, and it has nothing to do with poetry and roses."

 Simon pictured laying Daphne down on a bed of rose petals. "Well, maybe roses," he murmured.

 "I'm going to kill him," Anthony announced.

 "These are tulips, anyway," Violet said primly, "from Holland. And Anthony, you really must summon control of your

emotions. This is most unseemly."

 "He is not fit to lick Daphne's boots."

 Simon's head filled with more erotic images, this time of himself licking her toes. He decided not to comment.Besides, he had already decided that he wasn't going to allow his thoughts to wander in such directions. Daphne was

Anthony's sister, for God's sake. He couldn't seduce her.

 "I refuse to listen to another disparaging word about his grace," Violet stated emphatically, "and that is the end of the subject."

 "But—"

 "I don't like your tone, Anthony Bridgerton!"

 Simon thought he heard Daphne choke on a chuckle, and he wondered what that was all about.

 "If it would please Your Motherhood," Anthony said in excruciatingly even tones, "I would like a private word with his grace."

 "This time I'm really going to get that vase," Daphne announced, and dashed from the room.

 Violet crossed her arms, and said to Anthony, "I will not have you mistreat a guest in my home."

 "I shan't lay so much as a hand on him," Anthony replied. "I give you my word."

 Having never had a mother, Simon was finding this exchange fascinating. Bridgerton House was, after all, technically

Anthony's house, not his mother's, and Simon was impressed that Anthony had refrained from pointing this out. "It's

quite all right, Lady Bridgerton," he interjected. "I'm sure Anthony and I have much to discuss."

 Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Much."

 "Very well," Violet said. "You're going to do what you want no matter what I say, anyway. But I'm not leaving." She

plopped down onto the sofa. "This is my drawing room, and I'm comfortable here. If the two of you want to engage in

that asinine interchange that passes for conversation among the males of our species, you may do so elsewhere."

 Simon blinked in surprise. Clearly there was more to Daphne's mother than met the eye.

 Anthony jerked his head toward the door, and Simon followed him into the hall.

 "My study is this way," Anthony said.

 "You have a study here?"

 "I
am
the head of the family."

 "Of course," Simon allowed, "but you do reside elsewhere."

 Anthony paused and turned an assessing stare on Simon. "It cannot have escaped your notice that my position as head

of the Bridgerton family carries with it serious responsibilities."

 Simon looked him evenly in the eye. "Meaning Daphne?"

 "Precisely."

 "If I recall," Simon said, "earlier this week you told me you wanted to introduce us."

 "That was before I thought you'd be interested in her!"

 Simon held his tongue as he preceded Anthony into his study, remaining silent until Anthony shut the door. "Why," he asked softly, "would you assume I would not be interested in your sister?"