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Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them.
“Society mothers, you dolt. Those fire-breathing dragons with daughters of—God help us—marriageable age. You can run, but you’ll never manage to hide from them. And I should warn you, my own is the worst of the lot.”
“You really think,” Anthony said, raising a doubtful brow, “that you’re going to be able to go to the party, pay your respects to Lady Danbury, and leave?” Simon’s nod was forceful and direct. But Anthony’s snort of laughter was not terribly reassuring.
“Did you bring it?” “My list? Heavens, no. What can you be thinking?” His smile widened. “I brought mine.” Daphne gasped. “You didn’t!”
Nigel went down, his arms comically flailing in the air as his legs slid out from under him. Simon just stood there, watching in disbelief as the girl dropped to her knees. “Oh dear,” she said, her voice squeaking slightly. “Nigel, are you all right? I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” Simon laughed. He couldn’t help it. The girl looked up, startled.
“Were you listening to me?” “Of course,” he lied. “You weren’t.” “No,” he admitted.
There were rules among friends, commandments, really, and the most important one was Thou Shalt Not Lust After Thy Friend’s Sister.
“What?” “In Whistledown,” she replied, as if that explained anything. “Whistle-which?”
“Miss Bridgerton, I feel I should warn you that I am within an inch of strangling the information out of you.”
The two were perfect for each other—madmen, the both of them!
And then she laughed. Right in his face. “Oh, my goodness,” she gasped. “Oh, that was funny.” Simon was not amused. “I’m sorry.” This was said between laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry, but really, you shouldn’t be so melodramatic. It doesn’t suit you.”
Simon stared at her as if she were insane, then muttered, “I’m not even going to question that statement.”
“Can I hit him?” “Oh, please do go ahead,” she replied, still gasping for breath.
Penelope looked as if she wanted to dive under a rug. Simon decided that if he was forced to dance, he’d ask Penelope.
“For that comment I shall start introducing you to the debutantes myself.” “If you do,” Simon warned, “you shall soon find yourself dying a very slow and painful death.” Anthony grinned. “Swords or pistols?” “Oh, poison. Very definitely poison.” “Ouch.”
“What the devil is going on?” Simon finally asked. The three Bridgerton brothers looked at him with identical guilty expressions. “We should save Daff,” Benedict said. “We really should,” Anthony added. “What my brothers are too lily-livered to tell you,” Colin said derisively, “is that they are terrified of my mother.” “It’s true,” Anthony said with a helpless shrug. Benedict nodded. “I freely admit it.”
“Now look here,” Simon said hotly, “I’m not some sacrificial lamb to be slaughtered on the altar of your mother.”
“Now that is interesting.” “You find my agony interesting? Remind me never to turn to you should I ever fall ill.”
“And I,” Anthony snapped, “should take a dose of laudanum, for clearly I am fevered. What the devil is going on?”
Anthony glared at Simon’s back. “Tomorrow I will kill him.”
“How lovely to see you,” she said, a delighted smile crossing her face. Ah, that was more like it.
“I don’t know how anyone considered you a rake. Your sense of humor is far too superb.” “And here we rakes thought we were so wickedly droll.” “A rake’s humor,” Daphne stated, “is essentially cruel.”
“I am going to throttle you,” he growled, “on general principle.” “And what principle is that?” “The general principle of man,” he blustered. Her brows lifted dubiously. “As opposed to the general principle of woman?”
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.”
The Duke of Hastings. Daphne decided then and there that she’d be a fool if she didn’t fall in love with him.
“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.”
HAHAH
still don’t like your sniffing about her.” “Good God, you make me sound positively canine.”
Men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will soon follow. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 30 April 1813
And then finally, from Anthony: “Are you mad?” “I thought this might be his reaction,” Daphne murmured. “Are you both completely, irrevocably, abominably insane?” Anthony’s voice rose to a roar. “I don’t know which of you is more clearly the idiot.”
“And he,” he said menacingly, “is going to find himself headfirst through the goddamned window if he doesn’t shut up.” “Did you know I have always suspected that men were idiots,” Daphne ground out, “but I was never positive until today.” Simon grinned.
“Pay him no mind, Daphne. He’s an ass.” “Maybe,” she sniffled. “But he’s an intelligent ass.” Anthony’s mouth fell open.
“Then what are you smiling about?” That she most certainly was not going to reveal. “I’m not smiling.” “If you’re not smiling,” he muttered, “then you’re either about to suffer a seizure or sneeze.” “Neither,” she said in a breezy voice. “Just enjoying the excellent weather.”
“He knows we’re talking about him. It’s killing him.” “I thought you were friends.” “We are friends. This is what friends do to one another.” “Men are mad.” “Generally speaking,” he agreed.
As she spoke, she turned her face toward his, and in that instant, with the wind catching her hair and painting her cheeks pink, she looked so enchantingly lovely that Simon nearly forgot to breathe. Her lush mouth was caught somewhere between a laugh and a smile, and the sun glinted almost red on her hair. Here on the water, away from stuffy ballrooms, with the fresh air swirling about them, she looked natural and beautiful and just being in her presence made Simon want to grin like an idiot.
When his lips finally covered hers, he was not gentle. He was not cruel, but the pulse of his blood was too ragged, too urgent, and his kiss was that of a starving lover, not that of a gentle suitor.
“I’m going to kill him!” “Would that be before or after Anthony shoots you through the heart?” “Oh, definitely before,” Simon growled. “Where is he? Bridgerton!” he bellowed. Three chestnut heads swiveled in his direction. Simon stomped across the grass, murder in his eyes. “I meant the idiot Bridgerton.”
think of to delay the duel. She punched Simon. In his good eye. Simon howled in pain as he staggered back. “What the hell was that for?” “Fall down, you idiot,” she hissed. If he was prostrate on the ground, Anthony couldn’t very well shoot him. “I am certainly not going to fall down!” He clutched his eye as he muttered, “Good God, being felled by a woman. Intolerable.” “Men,” Daphne grunted. “Idiots, all.”
“Simon,” she pleaded, “save me.” And he was lost.
“I see,” he murmured, with all the solemnity he could muster. “I suspect you see a great deal,” she muttered, “and ignore at least half of it.”
“I’m quite good at falling asleep whenever I wish to. Learned how on my travels.” “It’s a talent,” she murmured. “Jolly good one,” he agreed. Then he closed his eyes and faked sleep for the better part of three hours.
“Really.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “When you smile it takes up half your face.” “Simon!” she exclaimed. “That sounds horrible.” “It’s enchanting.” “Distorted.” “Desirable.”
And in that moment, as he slowly closed the distance between them, he became her entire world.
“I might have to kill the next man who so much as looks at you sideways,” he grumbled. To his great surprise, she burst out laughing. “Oh, Simon,” she gasped, “it is so perfectly splendidly wonderful to be the object of such irrational jealousy. Thank you.” “You’ll thank me later,” he vowed.
And Simon realized that all his plans to seduce his wife were moot, because clearly she was planning to seduce him.
“I am so glad I married you,” she said in a rush of tenderness. “So very proud you’re mine.” Simon stilled, obviously surprised by her sudden gravity. His voice grew low and husky. “I’m proud you’re mine as well.”
To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull. Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 2 June 1813
“You have chosen to withhold something from me. Well, I have chosen to withhold something from you. Me.” He was speechless. Utterly speechless.
