The Duke and I (42 page)

 When she looked at him her eyes looked old. "Why do you care?" she asked flatly. "You didn't want this baby."

 "No, I didn't, but now that it's here I don't want you to
kill
it."

 "Well, don't worry." She bit her lip."It's not here."

 Simon's breath caught. "What do you mean?"

 Her eyes flitted to the side of his face. "I'm not pregnant."

 "You're—" He couldn't finish the sentence. The strangest feeling sank into his body. He didn't think it was disappointment, but he wasn't quite sure. "You lied to me?" he whispered.

 She shook her head fiercely as she sat up to face him. "No!" she cried. "No, I never lied. I swear. I thought I'd conceived. I truly thought I had. But—" She choked on a sob, and squeezed her eyes shut against an onslaught of tears. She hugged

her legs to her body and pressed her face against her knees.

 Simon had never seen her like this, so utterly stricken with grief. He stared at her, feeling agonizingly helpless. All he wanted was to make her feel better, and it didn't much help to know that
he
was the cause of her pain. "But what, Daff?" he asked.

 When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were huge, and full of grief. "I don't know. Maybe I wanted a child so badly that I somehow willed my courses away. I was so happy last month." She let out a shaky breath, one that teetered precariously on the edge of a sob. "I waited and waited, even got my woman's padding ready, and nothing happened."

 "Nothing?" Simon had never heard of such a thing.

 "Nothing." Her lips trembled into a faintly self-mocking smile. "I've never been so happy in my life to have nothing happen."

 "Did you feel queasy?"

 She shook her head. "I felt no different. Except that I didn't bleed. But then two days ago ..."

 Simon laid his hand on hers. "I'm sorry, Daphne."

 "No you're not," she said bitterly, yanking her hand away. "Don't pretend something you don't feel. And for God's sake,

don't lie to me again. You never wanted this baby." She let out a hollow, brittle laugh.
"This
baby? Good God, I talk as

if it ever actually existed. As if it were ever more than a product of my imagination." She looked down, and when she

spoke again, her voice was achingly sad. "And my dreams."

 Simon's lips moved several times before he managed to say, "I don't like to see you so upset."

 She looked at him with a combination of disbelief and regret. "I don't see how you could expect anything else."

 "I—I—I—" He swallowed, trying to relax his throat, and finally he just said the only thing in his heart. "I want you back."

 She didn't say anything. Simon silently begged her to say something, but she didn't. And he cursed at the gods for her

silence, because it meant that he would have to say more.

 "When we argued," he said slowly, "I lost control. I— I couldn't speak." He closed his eyes in agony as he felt his jaw

tighten. Finally, after a long and shaky exhale, he said, "I hate myself likethat."

 Daphne's head tilted slightly as furrows formed in her brow. "Is that why you left?"

 He nodded once.

 "It wasn't about—what I did?"

 His eyes met hers evenly."I didn't like what you did."

 "But that wasn't why you left?"she persisted.

 There was a beat of silence, and then he said,"It wasn't why I left."

 Daphne hugged her knees to her chest, pondering his words. All this time she'd thought he'd abandoned her because

he hated her, hated what she'd done, but in truth, the only thing he hated was himself.

 She said softly, "You know I don't think less of you when you stammer."

 "I think less of myself."

 She nodded slowly. Of course he would. He was proud and stubborn, and all the
ton
looked up to him. Men curried his

favor, women flirted like mad. And all the while he'd been terrified every time he'd opened his mouth.

 Well, maybe not every time, Daphne thought as she gazed into his face. When they were together, he usually spoke so

freely, answered her so quickly that she knew he couldn't possibly be concentrating on every word.

 She put her hand on his. "You're not the boy your father thought you were."

 "I know that," he said, but his eyes didn't meet hers.

 "Simon, look at me," she gently ordered. When he did, she repeated her words. "You're not the boy your father thought

you were."

 "I know that," he said again, looking puzzled and maybe just a bitannoyed.

 "Are you sure?" she askedsoftly.

 "Damn it, Daphne, I know—" His words tumbled into silence as his body began to shake. For one startling moment,

Daphne thought he was going to cry. But the tears that pooled in his eyes never fell, and when he looked up at her, his

body shuddering, all he said was, "I hate him, Daphne. I h-h-h—"

 She moved her hands to his cheeks and turned his face to hers, forcing him to meet her steady gaze. "That's all right," she said. "It sounds as if he was a horrid man. But you have to let it go."

 "I can't."

 "You
can.
It's all right to have anger, but you can't let that be the ruling factor in your life. Even now, you'reletting him

dictate your choices."

 Simon looked away.

 Daphne's hands dropped from his face, but she made sure they rested on his knees. She needed this connection. In a strange way she feared that if she let go of him right now she'd lose him forever. "Did you ever stop to wonder if
you
wanted a family? If you wanted a child of your own? You'd be such a wonderful father, Simon, and yet you won't even let yourself consider the notion. You think you're getting your revenge, but you're really just letting him control you from the grave."

 "If I give him a child, he wins," Simonwhispered.

 "No, if you give
yourself a
child,
you
win." She swallowed convulsively. "We all win."

 Simon said nothing, but she could see his body shaking.

 "If you don't want a child because
you
don't want one, that's one thing. But if you deny yourself the joy of fatherhood

because of a dead man, then you're a coward."

 Daphne winced as the insult crossed her lips, but it had to be said. "At some point you've got to leave him behind and live your own life.You've got to let go of the anger and—"

 Simon shook his head, and his eyes looked lost and hopeless. "Don't ask me to do that. It's all I had. Don't you see, it's

 all I had?"

 "I don't understand."

 His voice rose in volume. "Why do you think I learned to speak properly? What do you think drove me? It was anger.

It was always anger, always to show him."

 "Simon—"

 A bubble of mocking laughter erupted from his throat. "Isn't that just too amusing? I hate him. I hate him so much, and yet he's the one reason I've managed to succeed."

 Daphne shook her head. "That's not true," she said fervently, "you would have succeeded no matter what. You're stubborn and brilliant, and I
know you.
You learned to speak because of
you,
not because of him." When he said nothing, she added in a soft voice, "If he'd shown you love, it would have made it all the easier."

 Simon started to shake his head, but she cut him off by taking his hand and squeezing it. "I was shown love," she whispered. "I knew nothing but love and devotion when I was growing up. Trust me, it makes everything easier."

 Simon sat very still for several minutes, the only sound the low whoosh of his breath as he fought to control his emotions. Finally, just when Daphne was beginning to fear she'd lost him, he looked up at her with shattered eyes.

 "I want to be happy," he whispered.

 "You will be," she vowed, wrapping her arms around him. "You will be."

 Chapter 21

 The Duke of Hastings is back!

 Lady Whistledown's Society Papers ,6 August 1813

 Simon didn't speak as they slowly rode home. Daphne's mare had been found munching contentedly on a patch of grass

about twenty yards away, and even though Daphne had insisted that she was fit to ride, Simon had insisted that he didn't care. After tying the mare's reins to his own gelding, he had boosted Daphne into his saddle, hopped up behind her, and headed back to Grosvenor Square.

 Besides, he needed to hold her.

 He was coming to realize that he needed to hold on to something in life, and maybe she was right—maybe anger wasn't

the solution. Maybe—just maybe he could learn to hold on to love instead.

 When they reached Hastings House, a groom ran out to take care of the horses, and so Simon and Daphne trudged up

the front steps and entered the hall.

 And found themselves being stared down by the three older Bridgerton brothers.

 "What the hell are you doing in my house?" Simon demanded. All he wanted to do was scoot up thestairsand make love to his wife, and instead he was greeted by this belligerent trio. They were standing with identical postures—legs spread, hands on hips, chins jutted out. If Simon hadn't been so damned irritated with the lot of them, he probably would have had the presence of mind to have been slightly alarmed.

 Simon had no doubt that he could hold his own against one of them—
maybe
two—but against all three he was a dead man.

 "We heard you were back," Anthony said.

 "So I am," Simon replied. "Now leave."

 "Not so fast," Benedict said,crossing his arms.

 Simon turned to Daphne. "Which one of them may I shoot first?"

 She threw a scowl at her brothers. "I have no preference."

 "We have a few demands before we'll let you keep Daphne,"Colin said.

 "What?" Daphne howled.

 "She is my wife!"Simon roared, effectively obliterating Daphne's angry query.

 "She was our sister first," Anthony growled, "and you've made her miserable."

 "This isn't any of your business," Daphne insisted.

 "You'reour business," Benedict said.

 "She's
my
business," Simon snapped, "so now get the hell out of my house."

 "When the three of you have marriages of your own, then you can presume to offer me advice," Daphne said angrily,

"but in the meantime,keep your meddling impulses to yourselves."

 "I'm sorry, Daff," Anthony said, "but we're not budging on this."

 "On what?" she snapped. "You have no place to budge one way or theother. This isn't your affair!"

 Colin stepped forward. "We're not leaving until we're convinced he lovesyou."

 The blood drained from Daphne's face. Simon had never once told her that he loved her. He'd shown it, in a thousand

different little ways, but he'd never said the words. When they came, she didn't want them at the hands of her overbearing brothers; she wanted them free and felt, from Simon's heart.

 "Don't do this, Colin," she whispered, hating the pathetic, pleading note of her voice. "You have to let me fight myown battles."

 "Daff—"

 "Please," she pleaded.

 Simon marched between them. "If you will excuse us," he said to Colin, and by extension, to Anthony and Benedict. He ushered Daphne to the other end of the hall, where they might talk privately. He would have liked to have moved to another room altogether, but he had no confidence that her idiot brothers wouldn't follow.

 "I'm so sorry about my brothers," Daphne whispered, her words coming out in a heated rush. "They're boorish idiots, and they had no business invading your house. If I could disown them I would. After this display I wouldn't be surprised if you
never
want children—"

 Simon silenced her with a finger to her lips. "First of all, it's our house, not my house. And as for your brothers—they

annoy the hell out of me, but they're acting out of love." He leaned down, just an inch, but it brought him close enough

so that she could feel his breath oh her skin. "And who can blame them?" he murmured.

 Daphne's heart stopped.

 Simon moved ever closer, until his nose rested on hers. "I love you, Daff," he whispered.

 Her heart started again, with a vengeance. "You do?"

 He nodded, his nose rubbing against hers. "I couldn't help it."

 Her lips wobbled into a hesitant smile. "That's not terribly romantic."

 "It's the truth," he said, with a helpless shrug. "You know better than anyone that I didn't want any of this. I didn't want a wife, I didn't want a family, and I
definitely
didn't want to fall in love." He brushed his mouth softly against hers, sending shivers down both of their bodies. "But what I found"—his lips touched hers again—"much to my dismay"—and again—"was that it's quite impossible
not
to love you."