“You needn't upset yourself over it,” Daphne said, attempting to lend a little compassion to her voice but probably not succeeding. “She merely wrote that you were a terrible rake, a fact which I'm sure you won't deny, since I have long since learned that men positively yearn to be considered rakes.”
She paused and gave him the opportunity to prove her wrong and deny it. He didn't.
She continued, “And then my mother, whose acquaintance I gather you must have made at some point or another before you left to travel the world, confirmed it all.”
“Did she?”
Daphne nodded. “She then forbade me ever to be seen in your company.”
“Really?” he drawled.
Something about the tone of his voice—and the way his eyes seemed to have grown almost smoky as they focused on her face—made her extremely uneasy, and it was all she could do not to shut her eyes.
She refused—absolutely refused—to let him see how he'd affected her.
His lips curved into a slow smile. “Let me make certain I have this correctly. Your mother told you I am a very bad man and that you are under no circumstances to be seen with me.”
Confused, she nodded.
“Then what,” he asked, pausing for dramatic effect, “do you think your mother would say about this little scenario?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, unless you count Nigel here”—he waved his hand toward the unconscious man on the floor—“no one has actually seen you in my presence. And yet…” He let his words trail off, having far too much fun watching the play of emotions on her face to do anything but drag this moment out to its lengthiest extreme.
Of course most of the emotions on her face were varying shades of irritation and dismay, but that made the moment all the sweeter.
“And yet?” she ground out.
He leaned forward, narrowing the distance between them to only a few inches. “And yet,” he said softly, knowing that she'd feel his breath on her face, “here we are, completely alone.”
“Except for Nigel,” she retorted.
Simon spared the man on the floor the briefest of glances before returning his wolfish gaze to Miss Bridgerton. “I'm not terribly concerned about Nigel,” he murmured. “Are you?”
Simon watched as she looked down at Nigel in dismay. It had to be clear to her that her spurned suitor wasn't going to save her should Simon decide to make an amorous advance. Not that he would, of course. After all, this was Anthony's younger sister. He might have to remind himself of this at frequent intervals, but it wasn't a fact that was likely to slip his mind on a permanent basis.
Simon knew that it was past time to end this little game. Not that he thought she would report the interlude to Anthony; somehow he knew that she would prefer to keep this to herself, stewing over it in privately righteous fury, and, dare he hope it—just a touch of excitement?
But even as he knew it was time to stop this flirtation and get back to the business of hauling Daphne's idiotic suitor out of the building, he couldn't resist one last comment. Maybe it was the way her lips pursed when she was annoyed. Or maybe it was the way they parted when she was shocked. All he knew was that he was helpless against his own devilish nature when it came to this girl.
And so he leaned forward, his eyes heavy-lidded and seductive as he said, “I think I know what your mother would say.”
She looked a little befuddled by his onslaught, but still she managed a rather defiant, “Oh?”
Simon nodded slowly, and he touched one finger to her chin. “She'd tell you to be very, very afraid.”
There was a moment of utter silence, and then Daphne's eyes grew very wide. Her lips tightened, as if she were keeping something inside, and then her shoulders rose slightly, and then…
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 paused, rather irritated that this slip of a girl had shown such disrespect for his authority. There were advantages to being considered a dangerous man, and being able to cow young maidens was supposed to be one of them.
“Well, actually, it does suit you, I ought to admit,” she added, still grinning at his expense. “You looked quite dangerous. And very handsome, of course.” When he made no comment, her face took on a bemused expression, and she asked, “That was your intention, was it not?”
He still said nothing, so she said, “Of course it was. And I would be remiss if I did not tell you that you would have been successful with any other woman besides me.”
A comment he couldn't resist. “And why is that?”
“Four brothers.” She shrugged as if that should explain everything. “I'm quite immune to your games.”
“Oh?”
She gave his arm a reassuring pat. “But yours was a most admirable attempt. And truly, I'm quite flattered you thought me worthy of such a magnificent display of dukish rakishness.” She grinned, her smile wide and unfeigned. “Or do you prefer rakish dukishness?”
Simon stroked his jaw thoughtfully, trying to regain his mood of menacing predator. “You're a most annoying little chit, did you know that, Miss Bridgerton?”
She gave him her sickliest of smiles. “Most people find me the soul of kindness and amiability.”
“Most people,” Simon said bluntly, “are fools.”