The Duke and I (23 page)

 "I'll kill you, you bloody—" The rest of Anthony's rather violent curse was lost as Simon flipped him over, knocking the breath from him.

 "Anthony, no! Stop!" Daphne cried, still clutching at the bodice of her gown, even though she'd already yanked it up and it was in no danger of falling down.

 But Anthony was a man possessed. He pummeled Simon, his rage showing on his face, in his fists, in the primitive grunts of fury that emanated from his mouth.

 And as for Simon—he was defending himself, but he wasn't really fighting back.

 Daphne, who had been standing aside, feeling like a helpless idiot, suddenly realized that she had to intervene. Otherwise, Anthony was going to kill Simon, right there in Lady Trowbridge's garden. She reached down to try to wrest her brother away from the man she loved, but at that moment they suddenly rolled over in a quick flipping motion, clipping Daphne in the knees and sending her sprawling into the hedge.

 "Yaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" she howled, pain stabbing her in more parts of her body than she would have thought possible.

 Her cry must have contained a sharper note of agony than she'd thought she'd let slip, because both men immediately stilled.

 "Oh, my God!" Simon, who had been at the top of the altercation when Daphne fell over, rushed to her aid. "Daphne! Are you all right?"

 She just whimpered, trying not to move. The brambles were cutting into her skin, and every movement just elongated the scratches.

 "I think she's hurt," Simon said to Anthony, his voice sharp with worry. "We need to lift her straight out. If we twist, she'd likely to become even more entangled."

 Anthony gave a curt, businesslike nod, his fury at Simon temporarily put aside. Daphne was in pain, and she had to come first.

 "Just hold still, Daff," Simon crooned, his voice soft and soothing. "I'm going to put my arms around you. Then I'm going to lift you forward and pull you out. Do you understand?"

 She shook her head. "You'll scratch yourself."

 "I have long sleeves. Don't worry about me."

 "Let me do it," Anthony said.

 But Simon ignored him. While Anthony stood by helplessly, Simon reached into the tangled bramble of the hedge, and

slowly pushed his gloved hands through the mess, trying to wedge his coat-covered arms between the prickly branches

and Daphne's bare, tortured skin. When he reached her sleeves, however, he had to stop to disentangle the razor-sharp

points from the silk of her dress. Several branches had poked straight through the fabric and were biting her skin.

 "I can't get you completely loose," he said. "Your dress will tear."

 She nodded, the movement jerky. "I don't care," she gasped. "It's already ruined."

 "But—" Even though Simon had just been in the process of pulling that very same dress down to her waist, he still felt uncomfortable pointing out that the fabric was likely to fall right off her body once the branches were done tearing through the silk. Instead, he turned to Anthony, and said, "She'll need your coat."

 Anthony was already shrugging out of it.

 Simon turned back to Daphne and locked his eyes on hers. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.

 She nodded, and maybe it was his imagination, but he thought she seemed a little calmer now that her eyes were focused on his face.

 After making sure that no branches were still stuckto her skin, he pushed his arms farther back into the bramble, and then around her body until his hands met and locked together behind her back.

 "On the count of three," he murmured.

 She nodded again. "One ... Two ..."

 He yanked her up and out, the force sending them both sprawling.

 "You said three!" Daphne yelled.

 "I lied. I didn't want you to tense up."

 Daphne might have wanted to pursue the argument, but it was at that moment that she realized that her dress was in tatters, and she squealed as her arms flew up to cover herself.

 'Take this," Anthony said, thrusting his coat at her. Daphne gratefully accepted and wrapped herself in Anthony's superfine coat. It fit him to perfection, but on her it hung so loose that she could easily wrap herself up.

 "Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

 She nodded.

 "Good." Anthony turned to Simon. "Thank you for pulling her out."

 Simon said nothing, but his chin dipped in acknowledgment of Anthony's remark.

 Anthony's eyes darted back to Daphne. "Are you certain you're all right?"

 "It stings a little," she admitted, "and I'll surely need to apply a salve when I get home, but it's nothing I can't bear."

 "Good," Anthony said again. Then he drew back his fist and slammed it into Simon's face, easily knocking his unsuspecting friend to the ground.

 "That," Anthony spat out, "is for defiling my sister."

 "Anthony!" Daphne shrieked "Stop this nonsense right now! He didn't defile me."

 Anthony swung around and glared at her, his eyes burning. "I saw your—"

 Daphne's stomach churned, and for a moment she feared she'd actually cast up her accounts. Good God, Anthony had

seen her breast! Her brother! It was unnatural.

 "Stand up," Anthony grunted, "so I can hit you again."

 "Are you mad?" Daphne cried out, jumping between him and Simon, who was still on the ground, his hand clutching his injured eye. "Anthony, I swear if you hit him again, I shall not forgive you."

 Anthony pushed her aside, and not gently. "The next one," he spit, "is for betraying our friendship."

 Slowly, and to Daphne's horror, Simon rose to his feet.

 "No!" she yelled, jumping back between them.

 "Get out of the way, Daphne," Simon ordered softly. "This is between us."

 "It most certainly is not! In case no one recalls, I'm the one who—" She stopped herself in mid-sentence. There was no

point in speaking. Neither man was listening to her.

 "Get out of the way, Daphne," Anthony said, his voice frighteningly still. He didn't even look at her; his gaze remained

focused over her head, straight into Simon's eyes.

 "This is ridiculous! Can we not all discuss this like adults?" She looked from Simon to her brother, then whipped her head back to Simon. "Merciful heavens! Simon! Look at your eye!"

 She hurried to him, reaching up to his eye, which was already swelling shut.

 Simon remained impassive, not moving even a muscle under her concerned touch. Her fingers skimmedlightlyover his

swollen skin, oddly soothing. He ached for her still, although this time not with desire. She felt so good next to him, good and honorable and pure.

 And he was about to do the most dishonorable thing he'd ever done in his life.

 When Anthony finished with his violence, finished with his fury, and finally demanded that Simon marry his sister, Simon was going to say no.

 "Move out of the way, Daphne," he said, his voice strange in his own ears.

 "No, I—"

 "Move!"he roared.

 She fled, pressing her back up against the very hedge in which she'd been caught, staring in horror at the two men.

 Simon nodded grimly at Anthony. "Hit me."

 Anthony looked stunned by the request.

 "Do it," Simon said. "Get it over with."

 Anthony's fist fell slack. He didn't move his head, but his eyes flitted to Daphne. "I can't," he blurted out. "Not when he's just standing there asking for it."

 Simon took a step forward, bringing his face mockingly close. "Do it now. Make me pay."

 "You'll pay at the altar," Anthony replied.

 Daphne gasped, the sound drawing Simon's attention. Why was she surprised? Surely she understood the consequences of, if not their actions, their stupidity in gettingcaught?

 "I won't force him," Daphne said.

 "I will," Anthony bit out.

 Simon shook his head. "By tomorrow I'll be on the Continent."

 "You're leaving?" Daphne asked. The stricken sound of her voice sliced a guilty knife through Simon's heart.

 "If I stay, you'll forever be tainted by my presence. It's best if I'm gone."

 Her lower lip was trembling. It killed him that it was trembling. A single word fell from her lips. It was his name, and it was filled with a longing that squeezed his heart in two.

 It took Simon a moment to summon the words: "I can't marry you, Daff."

 "Can't or won't?" Anthony demanded.

 "Both."

 Anthony punched him again.

 Simon hit the ground, stunned by the force of the blow to his chin. But he deserved every sting, every shot of pain. He didn't want to look at Daphne, didn't want to catch even the barest of glances at her face, but she knelt beside him, her gentle hand sliding behind his shoulder to help him right himself.

 "I'm sorry, Daff," he said, forcing himself to look at her. He felt odd and off-balance, and he could see out of only one eye, but she'd come to his aid, even after he'd rejected her, and he owed her that much. "I'm so sorry."

 "Save your pathetic words," Anthony spat. "I'll see you at dawn."

 "No!" Daphne cried out.

 Simon looked up at Anthony and gave him the briefest of nods. Then he turned back to Daphne, and said, "If it c-could be anybody, Daff, it would be you. I p-promise you that."                                           

 "What are you talking about?" she asked, bewilderment turning her dark eyes to frantic orbs. "What do you mean?"

 Simon just closed his eye and sighed. By this time tomorrow he'd be dead, because he sure as hell wasn't going to raise a pistol at Anthony, and he rather doubted that Anthony's temper would have cooled enough for him to shoot into the air.

 And yet—in a bizarre, pathetic sort of way, he would be getting what he'd always wanted out of life. He'd have his final revenge against his father.

 Strange, but even so, this wasn't how he'd thought it would end. He'd thought—Well, he didn't know what he'd thought—most men avoided trying to predict their own deaths—but it wasn't this. Not with his best friend's eyes burning with hatred. Not on a deserted field at dawn.

 Not with dishonor.

 Daphne's hands, which had been stroking him so gently, wrapped around his shoulders and shook. The motion jolted his watery eye open, and he saw that her face was very close to his—close and furious.

 "What is the matter with you?" she demanded. Her face was like he'd never seen it before, eyes flashing with anger, and anguish, and even a little desperation. "He's going to kill you! He's going to meet you on some godforsaken field tomorrow and shoot you dead. And you're acting like you want him to."

 "I d-don't w-w-want to d-die," he said, too exhausted in mind and body to even care that he'd stammered. "B-but I can't

marry you."

 Her hands fell off his shoulders, and she lurched away. The look of pain and rejection in her eyes was almost impossible to bear. She looked so forlorn, wrapped up in her brother's too-big coat, pieces of twigs and brambles still caught in her dark hair. When she opened her mouth to speak, it looked as if her words were ripped from her very soul. "I-I've always known that I wasn't the sort of woman men dream of, but I never thought anyone would prefer death to marriage with me."

 "No!" Simon cried out, scrambling to his feet despite the dull aches and stinging pains that jolted his body. "Daphne, it's not like that."

 "You've said enough," Anthony said in a curt voice, stepping between them. He placed his hands on his sister's shoulders, steering her away from the man who had broken her heart and possibly damaged her reputation for eternity.

 "Just one more thing," Simon said, hating the pleading, pathetic look he knew must be in his eyes. But he had to talk to

Daphne. He had to make sure she understood.

 But Anthony just shook his head.

 "Wait." Simon laid a hand on the sleeve of the man who had once been his closest friend. "I can't fix this. I've made—" He let out a ragged breath, trying to collect his thoughts. "I've made vows, Anthony. I can't marry her. I can't fix this. But I can tell her—"

 'Tell her what?" Anthony asked with a complete lack of emotion.

 Simon lifted his hand from Anthony's sleeve and raked it through his hair. He couldn't tell Daphne. She wouldn't understand. Or worse, she would, and then all he'd have was her pity. Finally, aware that Anthony was looking at him with an impatient expression, he said, "Maybe I can make it just a little bit better."

 Anthony didn't move.

 "Please." And Simon wondered if he'd ever put such depth of meaning behind that word before.

 Anthony was still for several seconds, and then he stepped aside.                                                        

 "Thank you," Simon said in a solemn voice, sparing Anthony the briefest of glances before focusing on Daphne.

 He'd thought perhaps that she'd refuse to look at him, insulting him with her scorn, but instead he found her chin up, eyes defiant and daring. Never had he admired her more.