by Julia Quinn
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 the stairs and 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’re our 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 the other. This isn’t your affair!”
Colin stepped forward. “We’re not leaving until we’re convinced he loves you.”
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 my own 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 on 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.”
Daphne melted into his arms. “Oh, Simon,” she sighed.
His mouth captured hers, trying to show her with his kiss what he was still learning to express in words. He loved her. He worshipped her. He’d walk across fire for her. He—
—still had the audience of her three brothers.
Slowly breaking the kiss, he turned his face to the side. Anthony, Benedict, and Colin were still standing in the foyer. Anthony was studying the ceiling, Benedict was pretending to inspect his fingernails, and Colin was staring quite shamelessly.
Simon tightened his hold on Daphne, even as he shot a glare down the hall. “What the hell are the three of you still doing in my house?”
Not surprisingly, none of them had a ready answer.
“Get out,” Simon growled.
“Please.” Daphne’s tone didn’t exactly suggest politeness.
“Right,” Anthony replied, smacking Colin on the back of the head. “I believe our work here is done, boys.”
Simon started steering Daphne toward the stairs. “I’m sure you can show yourselves out,” he said over his shoulder.
Anthony nodded and nudged his brothers toward the door.
“Good,” Simon said tersely. “We’ll be going upstairs.”
“Simon!” Daphne squealed.
“It’s not as if they don’t know what we’re going to do,” he whispered in her ear.
“But still—They’re my brothers!”
“God help us,” he muttered.
But before Simon and Daphne could even reach the landing, the front door burst open, followed by a stream of decidedly feminine invective.
“Mother?” Daphne said, the word croaking in her throat.
But Violet only had eyes for her sons. “I knew I’d find you here,” she accused. “Of all the stupid, bullheaded—”
Daphne didn’t hear the rest of her mother’s speech. Simon was laughing too hard in her ear.
“He made her miserable!” Benedict protested. “As her brothers, it’s our duty to—”
“Respect her intelligence enough to let her solve her own problems,” Violet snapped. “And she doesn’t look particularly unhappy right now.”
“That’s because—”
“And if you say that’s because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I’m disowning all three of you.”
All three men shut their mouths.
“Now then,” Violet continued briskly, “I believe it’s time we left, don’t you?” When her sons didn’t move quickly enough to suit her, she reached out and—
“Please, Mother!” Colin yelped. “Not the—”
She grabbed him by his ear.
“Ear,” he finished glumly.
Daphne grabbed Simon’s arm. He was laughing so hard now, she was afraid he’d tumble down the steps.
Violet herded her sons out the door with a loud, “March!” and then turned back to Simon and Daphne on the stairs.
“Glad to see you in London, Hastings,” she called, gifting him with a wide, brilliant smile. “Another week and I would have dragged you here myself.”
Then she stepped outside and shut the door behind her.
Simon turned to Daphne, his body still shaking with laughter. “Was that your mother?” he asked, smiling.
“She has hidden depths.”
“Clearly.”
Daphne’s face grew serious. “I’m sorry if my brothers forced—”
“Nonsense,” he said cutting her off. “Your brothers could never force me to say something I don’t feel.” He cocked his head and pondered that for a moment. “Well, not without a pistol.”
Daphne smacked him in the shoulder.
&
nbsp; Simon ignored her and pulled her body against his. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I love you. I’ve known it for some time now, but—”
“It’s all right,” Daphne said, laying her cheek against his chest. “You don’t need to explain.”
“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I—” But the words wouldn’t come. There was too much emotion inside, too many feelings rocking within him. “Let me show you,” he said hoarsely. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
Daphne answered by tilting her face up to receive his kiss. And as their lips touched, she sighed, “I love you, too.”
Simon’s mouth took hers with hungry devotion, his hands clutching at her back as if he were afraid she might disappear at any moment. “Come upstairs,” he whispered. “Come with me now.”
She nodded, but before she could take a step, he swept her into the cradle of his arms and carried her up the stairs.
By the time Simon reached the second floor, his body was rock hard and straining for release. “Which room have you been using?” he gasped.
“Yours,” she replied, sounding surprised that he’d even asked.
He grunted his approval and moved swiftly into his—no, their—room, kicking the door shut behind him. “I love you,” he said as they tumbled onto the bed. Now that he’d said the words once, they were bursting within him, demanding a voice. He needed to tell her, make sure she knew, make sure she understood what she meant to him.
And if it took a thousand sayings, he didn’t care.
“I love you,” he said again, his fingers frantically working on the fastenings of her dress.
“I know,” she said tremulously. She cupped his face in her hands and caught his eyes with hers. “I love you, too.”
Then she pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a sweet innocence that set him afire.
“If I ever, ever hurt you again,” he said fervently, his mouth moving to the corner of hers, “I want you to kill me.”
“Never,” she answered, smiling.
His lips moved to the sensitive spot where her jaw met her earlobe. “Then maim me,” he murmured. “Twist my arm, sprain my ankle.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, touching his chin and turning his face back to hers. “You won’t hurt me.”
Love for this woman filled him. It flooded his chest, made his fingers tingle, and stole his very breath. “Sometimes,” he whispered, “I love you so much it scares me. If I could give you the world, you know I would do it, don’t you?”
“All I want is you,” she whispered. “I don’t need the world, just your love. And maybe,” she added with a wry smile, “for you to take off your boots.”
Simon felt his face erupt into a grin. Somehow his wife always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Just when his emotions were choking him, bringing him dangerously close to tears, she lightened the mood, made him smile. “Your wish is my command,” he said, and rolled to her side to yank the offending footwear off.
One boot tumbled to the floor, the other skittered across the room.
“Anything else, your grace?” he asked.
She cocked her head coyly. “Your shirt could go, too, I suppose.”
He complied, and the linen garment landed on the nightstand.
“Will that be all?”
“These,” she said, hooking her finger around the waistband of his breeches, “are definitely in the way.”
“I agree,” he murmured, shrugging them off. He crawled over her, on his hands and knees, his body a hot prison around her. “Now what?”
Her breath caught. “Well, you’re quite naked.”
“That is true,” he concurred, his eyes burning down on hers.
“And I’m not.”
“That is also true.” He smiled like a cat. “And a pity it is.”
Daphne nodded, completely without words.
“Sit up,” he said softly.
She did, and seconds later her dress was whipped over her head.
“Now that,” he said hoarsely, staring hungrily at her breasts, “is an improvement.”
They were now kneeling across from each other on the massive four-poster bed. Daphne stared at her husband, her pulse quickening at the sight of his broad chest, rising and falling with each heavy breath. With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched him, her fingers lightly skimming over his warm skin.
Simon stopped breathing until her forefinger touched his nipple, and then his hand shot up to cover hers. “I want you,” he said.
Her eyes flicked downward, and her lips curved ever so slightly. “I know.”
“No,” he groaned, pulling her closer. “I want to be in your heart. I want—” His entire body shuddered when their skin touched. “I want to be in your soul.”
“Oh, Simon,” she sighed, sinking her fingers in his thick, dark hair. “You’re already there.”
And then there were no more words, only lips and hands and flesh against flesh.
Simon worshipped her in every way he knew how. He ran his hands along her legs and kissed the back of her knees. He squeezed her hips and tickled her navel. And when he was poised to enter her, his entire body straining against the most all-consuming desire he’d ever felt, he gazed down upon her with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered. “In all my life, it’s been only you.”
Daphne nodded and although she made no sound, her mouth formed the words, “I love you, too.”
He pushed forward, slowly, inexorably. And when he was settled fully within her body, he knew he was home.
He looked down at her face. Her head was thrown back, her lips parted as she struggled for breath. He grazed her flushed cheeks with his lips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “I’ve never—I don’t know how—”
She arched her back in response. “Just love me,” she gasped. “Please, love me.”
Simon began to move, his hips rising and falling in time’s most ancient rhythm. Daphne’s fingers pressed into his back, her nails digging into his skin every time he thrust further into her body.
She moaned and mewled, and his body burned at the sounds of her passion. He was spiraling out of control, his movements growing jerky, more frenetic. “I can’t hold on much longer,” he gasped. He wanted to wait for her, needed to know that he’d brought her bliss before he allowed himself his own release.
But then, just when he thought his body would shatter from the effort of his restraint, Daphne shook beneath him, her most intimate muscles squeezing around him as she cried out his name.
Simon’s breath stopped in his throat as he watched her face. He’d always been so busy making sure he didn’t spill his seed inside of her that he’d never seen her face as she climaxed. Her head was thrown back, the elegant lines of her throat straining as her mouth opened in a silent scream.
He was awestruck.
“I love you,” he said. “Oh, God, how I love you.” Then he plunged deeper.
Daphne’s eyes fluttered open as he resumed his rhythm. “Simon?” she asked, her voice tinged with a touch of urgency. “Are you sure?”
They both knew what she meant.
Simon nodded.
“I don’t want you to do this just for me,” she said. “It has to be for you, too.”
The strangest lump formed in his throat—it was nothing like his stutters, nothing like his stammers. It was, he realized, nothing but love. Tears stabbed at his eyes, and he nodded, utterly unable to speak.
He plunged forward, exploding within her. It felt good. Oh God, it felt good. Nothing in life had ever felt that good before.
His arms finally gave out, and he collapsed atop her, the only sound in the room the rasp of his ragged breathing.
And then Daphne smoothed his hair from his forehead and kissed his brow. “I love you,” she whispered. “I will always love you.”
Simon buried his face into her neck
, breathing in the scent of her. She surrounded him, enveloped him, and he was complete.
Many hours later, Daphne’s eyelids fluttered open. She stretched her arms above her as she noticed that the curtains had all been pulled shut. Simon must have done that, she thought with a yawn. Light filtered around the edges, bathing the room with a soft glow.
She twisted her neck, working the kinks out, then slid out of bed and padded to the dressing room to fetch her robe. How unlike her to sleep in the middle of the day. But, she supposed, this hadn’t been an ordinary day.
She pulled on her robe, tying the silken sash around her waist. Where had Simon gone off to? She didn’t think he’d left the bed too long before she had; she had a sleepy memory of lying in his arms that somehow seemed too fresh.
The master suite consisted of five rooms altogether: two bedrooms, each with its own dressing room off to the side, connected by a large sitting room. The door to the sitting room was ajar, and bright sunlight streamed through the aperture, suggesting that the curtains inside had been pulled open. Moving on deliberately quiet feet, Daphne walked to the open doorway and peered inside.
Simon was standing by the window, staring out over the city. He’d donned a lush burgundy dressing gown, but his feet were still bare. His pale blue eyes held a reflective look, unfocused and just the slightest bit bleak.
Daphne’s brow wrinkled with concern. She crossed the room toward him, quietly saying, “Good afternoon,” when she was but a foot away.
Simon turned at the sound of her voice, and his haggard face softened at the sight of her. “Good afternoon to you, too,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. Somehow she ended up with her back pressed up against his broad chest, gazing out over Grosvenor Square as Simon rested his chin on the top of her head.
It took Daphne several moments before she worked up the courage to ask, “Any regrets?”
She couldn’t see him, but she felt his chin rub against her scalp as he shook his head.
“No regrets,” he said softly. “Just . . . thoughts.”
Something about his voice didn’t sound quite right, and so Daphne twisted in his arms until she could see his face. “Simon, what’s wrong?” she whispered.