The Duke and I (24 page)

 "Daff," he began, not at all sure what to say but hoping that the words somehow came out right and in one piece. "It—it isn't you. If it could be anyone it would be you. But marriage to me would destroy you. I could never give you what you want. You'd die a little every day, and it would kill me to watch."

 "You could never hurt me," she whispered.

 He shook his head. "You have to trust me."

 Her eyes were warm and true as she said softly, "I do trust you. But I wonder if you trust me."

 Her words were like a punch to the gut, and Simon felt impotent and hollow as he said, "Please know that I never meant to hurt, you."

 She remained motionless for so long that Simon wondered if she'd stopped breathing. But then, without even looking at her brother, she said, "I'd like to go home now."

 Anthony put his arms around her and turned her away, as if he could protect her simply by shielding her from the sight of him. "We'll get you home," he said in soothing tones, "tuck you into bed, give you some brandy."

 "I don't want brandy," Daphne said sharply, "I want to think."

 Simon thought Anthony looked a bit bewildered by the statement, but to his credit, all he did was give her upper arm an affectionate squeeze, and say, "Very well, then."

 And Simon just stood there, battered and bloodied, until they disappeared into the night.

 Chapter 11

 Lady Trowbridge's annual ball at Hampstead Heath on Saturday evening was, as always, a highlight of the gossip season. This Author spied Colin Bridgerton dance with all three of the Featherington sisters (not at once, of course) although it must be said that this most dashing Bridgerton did not appear to be charmed by his fate. Additionally, Nigel
Berbrooke was seen courting a woman who was not Miss Daphne Bridgerton
—
perhaps Mr. Berbrooke has finally realized the futility of his pursuit
.

 And speaking of Miss Daphne Bridgerton, she made an early departure. Benedict Bridgerton informed the curious that she had the headache, but This Author spied her earlier in the evening, while she was talking to the elderly Duke of Middlethorpe, and she appeared to
be in perfect health
.

 Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 17 May 1813

 It was, of course, impossible to sleep. Daphne paced the length of her room, her feet wearing treads in the blue-and-white carpet that had lain in her room since childhood. Her mind was spinning in a dozen different directions, but one thing was clear.

 She had to stop this duel.

 She did not, however, underestimate the difficulties involved in carrying out that task. For one thing, men tended to be mulish idiots when it came to things like honor and duels, and she rather doubted that either Anthony or Simon would appreciate her interference. Secondly, she didn't even know where the duel was to take place. The men hadn't discussed that out in Lady Trowbridge's garden. Daphne assumed that Anthony would send word to Simon by a servant. Or maybe Simon got to choose the location since he was the one who'd been challenged. Daphne was certain there had to be some sort of etiquette surrounding duels, but she certainly didn't know what it was.

 Daphne paused by the window and pushed the curtain aside to peer out. The night was still young by the standards of the
ton;
she and Anthony had left the party prematurely. As far as she knew, Benedict, Colin, and her mother were all still at Lady Trowbridge's house. The fact that they had not yet returned (Daphne and Anthony had been home for nearly two hours) Daphne took as a good sign. If the scene with Simon had been witnessed, surely the gossip would have raged across the ballroom in seconds, causing her mother to rush home in disgrace.

 And maybe Daphne would make it through the night with only her dress in shreds—and
not
her reputation.

 But concern for her good name was the least of her worries. She needed her family home for another reason. There was no way she'd be able to stop this duel on her own. Only an idiot would ride through London in the wee hours of the morning and try to reason with two belligerent men by herself. She was going to need help.

 Benedict, she feared, would immediately take Anthony's side of the whole thing; in fact, she'd be surprised if Benedict didn't act as Anthony's second.

 But Colin—Colin might come around to her way of thinking. Colin would grumble, and Colin would probably say that Simon deserved to be shot at dawn, but if Daphne begged, he would help her.

 And the duel had to be stopped. Daphne didn't understand what was going on in Simon's head, but he was clearly anguished about something, probably something having to do with his father. It had long been obvious to her that he was tortured by some inner demon. He hid it well, of course, especially when he was with her, but too often she'd seen a desperate bleak look in his eyes. And there had to be a reason why he fell silent with such frequency. Sometimes it seemed to Daphne that she was the only person with whom he was ever truly relaxed enough to laugh and joke and make small talk.

 And maybe Anthony. Well, maybe Anthony before all of
this
.

 But despite it all, despite Simon's rather fatalistic attitude in Lady Trowbridge's garden, she didn't think he wanted to die.

 Daphne heard the sound of wheels on cobbles and rushed back to the open window just in time to see the Bridgerton carriage rolling past the house on its way to the mews.

 Wringing her hands, she hurried across the room and pressed her ear to the door. It wouldn't do for her to go downstairs; Anthony thought she was asleep, or at least tucked into her bed and contemplating her actions of the evening.

 He'd said he wasn't going to say anything to their mother. Or at least he wasn't until he could determine what she knew.

Violet's delayed return home led Daphne to believe that there hadn't been any huge or dreadful rumors circulating about her, but that didn't mean that she was off scot-free. There would be whispers. There were always whispers. And whispers, if left unchecked, could quickly grow into roars.

 Daphne knew that she would have to face her mother eventually. Sooner or later Violet would hear something. The
ton
 

would make certain she heard something. Daphne just hoped that by the time Violet was assaulted by rumors—most of

them regrettably true—her daughter would already be safely betrothed to a duke.

 People would forgive anything if one was connected to a duke.

 And that would be the crux of Daphne's strategy to save Simon's life. He wouldn't save himself, but he might save
her
.

 Colin Bridgerton tiptoed down the hall, his boots moving silently over the runner carpet that stretched across the floor. His mother had gone off to bed, and Benedict was ensconced with Anthony in the latter's study. But he wasn't interested in any of them. It was Daphne he wanted to see.

 He knocked softly on her door, encouraged by the pale shaft of light that glowed at the bottom. Clearly she'd left several candles burning. Since she was far too sensible ever to fall asleep without snuffing her candles, she was still awake.

 And if she were still awake, then she'd have to talk to him.

 He raised his hand to knock again, but the door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Daphne silently motioned for him to enter.

 "I need to talk to you," she whispered, her words coming out in a single, urgent rush of air.

 "I need to talk to you, too."

 Daphne ushered him in, and then, after a quick glance up and down the hall, shut the door. "I'm in big trouble," she said.

 "I know."

 The blood drained from her face. "You do?"

 Colin nodded, his green eyes for once deadly serious. "Do you remember my friend Macclesfield?"

 She nodded. Macclesfield was the young earl her mother had insisted upon introducing her to a fortnight ago. The very

night she'd met Simon.

 "Well, he saw you disappear into the gardens tonight with Hastings."

 Daphne's throat felt suddenly scratchy and swollen, but she managed to get out, "He did?"

 Colin nodded grimly. "He won't say anything. I'm sure of it. We've been friends for nearly a decade. But if he saw you, someone else might have as well. Lady Danbury was looking at us rather queerly when he was telling me what he'd seen."

 "Lady Danbury saw?" Daphne asked sharply.

 "I don't know if she did or if she didn't. All I know is that"—Colin shuddered slightly—"she was looking at me as if she

knew my every transgression."

 Daphne gave her head a little shake. "That's just her way. And if she did see anything, she won't say a word."

 "Lady Danbury?" Colin asked doubtfully.

 "She's a dragon, and she can be rather cutting, but she isn't the sort to ruin someone just for the fun of it. If she saw

something, she'll confront me directly."

 Colin looked unconvinced.

 Daphne cleared her throat several times as she tried to figure out how to phrase her next question. "What exactly did he see?"

 Colin eyed her suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

 "Exactly what I said," Daphne very nearly snapped, her nerves stretched taut by the long and stressful evening. "What did he see?"

 Colin's back straightened and his chin jolted back in a defensive manner. "Exactly what I said," he retorted. "He saw you disappear into the gardens with Hastings."

 "But that's all?"

 "That's all?" he echoed. His eyes widened, then narrowed. "What the hell happened out there?"

 Daphne sank onto an ottoman and buried her face in her hands, "Oh, Colin, I'm in such a tangle."

 He didn't say anything, so she finally wiped her eyes, which weren't exactly crying but did feel suspiciously wet, and looked up. Her brother looked older—and harder—than she'd ever before seen him. His arms were crossed, his legs spread in a wide and implacable stance, and his eyes, normally so merry and mischievous, were as hard as emeralds. He'd clearly been waiting for her to look up before speaking.

 "Now that you're done with your display of self-pity," he said sharply, "suppose you tell me what you and Hastings did

tonight in Lady Trowbridge's garden."

 "Don't use that tone of voice with me," Daphne snapped back, "and don't accuse me of indulging in self-pity. For the love of God, a man is going to die tomorrow. I'm entitled to be a little upset."

 Colin sat down on a chair opposite her, his face immediately softening into an expression of extreme concern. "You'd better tell me everything."

 Daphne nodded and proceeded to relate the events of the evening. She didn't, however, explain the precise extent of her disgrace. Colin didn't need to know exactly what Anthony had seen; the fact that she'd been caught in a compromising

position ought to be enough.

 She finished with, "And now there is going to be a duel, and Simon is going to die!"

 "You don't know that, Daphne."

 She shook her head miserably. "He won't shoot Anthony. I'd bet my life on it. And Anthony—" Her voice caught, and she had to swallow before continuing. "Anthony is so furious. I don't think he'll delope."

 "What do you want to do?"

 "I don't know. I don't even know where the duel is to be held. All I know is that I have to stop it!"

 Colin swore under his breath, then said softly, "I don't know if you can, Daphne."

 "I must!" she cried out. "Colin, I can't sit here and stare at the ceiling while Simon dies." Her voice broke, and she added, "I love him."

 He blanched. "Even after he rejected you?"

 She nodded dejectedly. "I don't care if that makes me a pathetic imbecile, but I can't help it. I still love him. He needs me."

 Colin said quietly, "If that were true, don't you think he would have agreed to marry you when Anthony demanded it?"

 Daphne shook her head. "No. There's something else I don't know about. I can't really explain it, but it was almost as if a part of him wanted to marry me." She could feel herself growing agitated, feel her breath starting to come in jerky gasps, but still she continued. "I don't know, Colin. But if you could have seen his face, you'd understand. He was trying to protect me from something. I'm sure of it."

 "I don't know Hastings nearly as well as Anthony," Colin said, "or even as well as you, but I've never even heard the barest hint of a whisper about some deep, dark secret. Are you certain—" He broke off in the middle of his sentence, and let his head fall into his hands for a moment before looking back up. When he spoke again, his voice was achingly gentle. "Are you certain you might not be imagining his feelings for you?"

 Daphne took no offense. She knew her story sounded a fantasy. But she knew in her heart that she was right. "I don't want him to die," she said in a low voice. "In the end, that's all that's important"

 Colin nodded, but then asked one last question. "You don't want him to die, or you don't want him to die on your account?"

 Daphne stood on shaky feet. "I think you'd better leave," she said, using every last bit of her energy to keep her voice steady. "I can't believe you just asked that of me."