Bridgerton Collection Volume 1 (Bridgertons)

by Julia Quinn

  Simon couldn’t imagine why not.

  “I’m not really sure why,” Anthony mused. “I think she’s a perfectly nice girl.”

  Simon decided this wasn’t the time to mention that he’d been one inch away from easing her up against the wall, pressing his hips against hers, and kissing her senseless. If he hadn’t discovered that she was a Bridgerton, frankly, he might have done exactly that.

  “Daff’s the best,” Benedict agreed.

  Colin nodded. “Capital girl. Really good sport.”

  There was an awkward pause, and then Simon said, “Well, good sport or not, I’m not going over there to save her, because she told me quite specifically that your mother forbade her ever to be seen in my presence.”

  “Mother said that?” Colin asked. “You must really have a black reputation.”

  “A good portion of it undeserved,” Simon muttered, not entirely certain why he was defending himself.

  “That’s too bad,” Colin murmured. “I’d thought to ask you to take me ’round.”

  Simon foresaw a long and terrifyingly roguish future for the boy.

  Anthony’s fist found its way to the small of Simon’s back, and he started to propel him forward. “I’m sure Mother will change her mind given the proper encouragement. Let’s go.”

  Simon had no choice but to walk toward Daphne. The alternative required making a really big scene, and Simon had long since learned that he didn’t do well with scenes. Besides, if he’d been in Anthony’s position, he probably would have done the exact same thing.

  And after an evening with the Featherington sisters and the like, Daphne didn’t sound half-bad.

  “Mother!” Anthony called out in a jovial voice as they approached the viscountess. “I haven’t seen you all evening.”

  Simon noticed that Lady Bridgerton’s blue eyes lit up when she saw her son approaching. Ambitious Mama or not, Lady Bridgerton clearly loved her children.

  “Anthony!” she said in return. “How nice to see you. Daphne and I were just chatting with Lord Macclesfield.”

  Anthony sent Lord Macclesfield a commiserating look. “Yes, I see.”

  Simon caught Daphne’s eye for a moment and gave his head the tiniest shake. She responded with an even tinier nod, sensible girl that she was.

  “And who is this?” Lady Bridgerton inquired, her eyes lighting upon Simon’s face.

  “The new Duke of Hastings,” Anthony replied. “Surely you remember him from my days at Eton and Oxford.”

  “Of course,” Lady Bridgerton said politely.

  Macclesfield, who had been keeping scrupulously quiet, quickly located the first lull in the conversation, and burst in with, “I think I see my father.”

  Anthony shot the young earl an amused and knowing glance. “Then by all means, go to him.”

  The young earl did, with alacrity.

  “I thought he detested his father,” Lady Bridgerton said with a confused expression.

  “He does,” Daphne said baldly.

  Simon choked down a laugh. Daphne raised her brows, silently daring him to comment.

  “Well, he had a terrible reputation, anyway,” Lady Bridgerton said.

  “There seems to be quite a bit of that in the air these days,” Simon murmured.

  Daphne’s eyes widened, and this time Simon got to raise his brows, silently daring her to comment.

  She didn’t, of course, but her mother gave him a sharp look, and Simon had the distinct impression that she was trying to decide whether his newly acquired dukedom made up for his bad reputation.

  “I don’t believe I had the chance to make your acquaintance before I left the country, Lady Bridgerton,” Simon said smoothly, “but I am very pleased to do so now.”

  “As am I.” She motioned to Daphne. “My daughter Daphne.”

  Simon took Daphne’s gloved hand and laid a scrupulously polite kiss on her knuckles. “I am honored to officially make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton.”

  “Officially?” Lady Bridgerton queried.

  Daphne opened her mouth, but Simon cut in before she could say anything. “I already told your brother about our brief meeting earlier this evening.”

  Lady Bridgerton’s head turned rather sharply in Daphne’s direction. “You were introduced to the duke earlier this evening? Why did you not say anything?”

  Daphne smiled tightly. “We were rather occupied with the earl. And before that, with Lord Westborough. And before that, with—”

  “I see your point, Daphne,” Lady Bridgerton ground out.

  Simon wondered how unforgivably rude it would be if he laughed.

  Then Lady Bridgerton turned the full force of her smile on him—and Simon quickly learned where Daphne got that wide, wide smile from—and Simon realized that Lady Bridgerton had decided that his bad reputation could be overlooked.

  A strange light appeared in her eye, and her head bobbed back and forth between Daphne and Simon.

  Then she smiled again.

  Simon fought the urge to flee.

  Anthony leaned over slightly, and whispered in his ear, “I am so sorry.”

  Simon said between clenched teeth, “I may have to kill you.”

  Daphne’s icicle glare said that she’d heard both of them and was not amused.

  But Lady Bridgerton was blissfully oblivious, her head presumably already filling with images of a grand wedding.

  Then her eyes narrowed as she focused on something behind the men. She looked so overwhelmingly annoyed that Simon, Anthony, and Daphne all twisted their necks to see what was afoot.

  Mrs. Featherington was marching purposefully in their direction, Prudence and Philipa right behind. Simon noticed that Penelope was nowhere to be seen.

  Desperate times, Simon quickly realized, called for desperate measures. “Miss Bridgerton,” he said, whipping his head around to face Daphne, “would you care to dance?”

  Chapter 5

  Were you at Lady Danbury’s ball last night? If not, shame on you. You missed witnessing quite the most remarkable coup of the season. It was clear to all partygoers, and especially to This Author, that Miss Daphne Bridgerton has captured the interest of the newly returned to England Duke of Hastings.

  One can only imagine the relief of Lady Bridgerton. How mortifying it will be if Daphne remains on the shelf for yet another season! And Lady B—with three more daughters to marry off. Oh, the horror.

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 30 April 1813

  There was no way Daphne could refuse. First of all, her mother was impaling her with her deadly I-Am-Your-Mother-Don’t-You-Dare-Defy-Me gaze.

  Secondly, the duke had clearly not given Anthony the entire story of their meeting in the dimly lit hallway; to make a show of refusing to dance with him would certainly raise undue speculation.

  Not to mention that Daphne really didn’t particularly relish getting drawn into a conversation with the Featheringtons, which was sure to happen if she didn’t make immediate haste for the dance floor.

  And finally, she kind of sort of just a little teeny bit actually wanted to dance with the duke.

  Of course the arrogant boor didn’t even give her the chance to accept. Before Daphne could manage an “I’d be delighted,” or even a mere, “Yes,” he had her halfway across the room.

  The orchestra was still producing those awful noises it makes while the musicians were getting ready to begin, so they were forced to wait a moment before they actually danced.

  “Thank God you didn’t refuse,” the duke said with great feeling.

  “When would I have had the opportunity?”

  He grinned at her.

  Daphne answered that with a scowl. “I wasn’t given the opportunity to accept, either, if you recall.”

  He raised a brow. “Does that mean I must ask you again?”

  “No, of course not,” Daphne replied, rolling her eyes. “That would be rather childish of me, don’t you think? And besides, it would cause a terrible scene, w
hich I don’t think either of us desires.”

  He cocked his head and gave her a rather assessing glance, as if he had analyzed her personality in an instant and decided she might just be acceptable. Daphne found the experience somewhat unnerving.

  Just then the orchestra ceased its discordant warm-up and struck the first notes of a waltz.

  Simon groaned. “Do young ladies still need permission to waltz?”

  Daphne found herself smiling at his discomfort. “How long have you been away?”

  “Five years. Do they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have it?” He looked almost pained at the prospect of his escape plan falling apart.

  “Of course.”

  He swept her into his arms and whirled her into the throng of elegantly clad couples. “Good.”

  They had made a full circle of the ballroom before Daphne asked, “How much of our meeting did you reveal to my brothers? I saw you with them, you know.”

  Simon only smiled.

  “What are you grinning about?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I was merely marveling at your restraint.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He shrugged slightly, his shoulders rising as his head tilted to the right. “I hadn’t thought you the most patient of ladies,” he said, “and here it took you a full three and a half minutes before asking me about my conversation with your brothers.”

  Daphne fought a blush. The truth was, the duke was a most accomplished dancer, and she’d been enjoying the waltz too much even to think of conversation.

  “But since you asked,” he said, mercifully sparing her from having to make a comment, “all I told them was that I ran into you in the hall and that, given your coloring, I instantly recognized you as a Bridgerton and introduced myself.”

  “Do you think they believed you?”

  “Yes,” he said softly, “I rather think they did.”

  “Not that we have anything to hide,” she added quickly.

  “Of course not.”

  “If there is any villain in this piece it is most certainly Nigel.”

  “Of course.”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “Do you think he’s still out in the hall?”

  “I certainly have no intention of finding out.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Daphne said, “It has been some time since you have attended a London ball, has it not? Nigel and I must have been quite a welcome.”

  “You were a welcome sight. He was not.”

  She smiled slightly at the compliment. “Aside from our little escapade, have you been enjoying your evening?”

  Simon’s answer was so unequivocally in the negative that he actually snorted a laugh before saying it.

  “Really?” Daphne replied, her brows arching with curiosity. “Now that is interesting.”

  “You find my agony interesting? Remind me never to turn to you should I ever fall ill.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “It can’t have been that bad.”

  “Oh, it can.”

  “Certainly not as bad as my evening.”

  “You did look rather miserable with your mother and Macclesfield,” he allowed.

  “How kind of you to point it out,” she muttered.

  “But I still think my evening was worse.”

  Daphne laughed, a light musical sound that warmed Simon’s bones. “What a sad pair we are,” she said. “Surely we can manage a conversation on a topic other than our respective terrible evenings.”

  Simon said nothing.

  Daphne said nothing.

  “Well, I can’t think of anything,” he said.

  Daphne laughed again, this time with more gaiety, and Simon once again found himself mesmerized by her smile.

  “I give in,” she gasped. “What has turned your evening into such a dreadful affair?”

  “What or whom?”

  “‘Whom’?” she echoed, tilting her head as she looked at him. “This grows even more interesting.”

  “I can think of any number of adjectives to describe all of the ‘whoms’ I have had the pleasure of meeting this evening, but ‘interesting’ is not one of them.”

  “Now, now,” she chided, “don’t be rude. I did see you chatting with my brothers, after all.”

  He nodded gallantly, tightening his hand slightly at her waist as they swung around in a graceful arc. “My apologies. The Bridgertons are, of course, excluded from my insults.”

  “We are all relieved, I’m sure.”

  Simon cracked a smile at her deadpan wit. “I live to make Bridgertons happy.”

  “Now that is a statement that may come back to haunt you,” she chided. “But in all seriousness, what has you in such a dither? If your evening has gone that far downhill since our interlude with Nigel, you’re in sad straits, indeed.”

  “How shall I put this,” he mused, “so that I do not completely offend you?”

  “Oh, go right ahead,” she said blithely. “I promise not to be offended.”

  Simon grinned wickedly. “A statement that may come back to haunt you.”

  She blushed slightly. The color was barely noticeable in the shadowy candlelight, but Simon had been watching her closely. She didn’t say anything, however, so he added, “Very well, if you must know, I have been introduced to every single unmarried lady in the ballroom.”

  A strange snorting sound came from the vicinity of her mouth. Simon had the sneaking suspicion that she was laughing at him.

  “I have also,” he continued, “been introduced to all of their mothers.”

  She gurgled. She actually gurgled.

  “Bad show,” he scolded. “Laughing at your dance partner.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her lips tight from trying not to smile.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “All right,” she admitted, “I’m not. But only because I have had to suffer the same torture for two years. It’s difficult to summon too much pity for a mere evening’s worth.”

  “Why don’t you just find someone to marry and put yourself out of your misery?”

  She shot him a sharp look. “Are you asking?”

  Simon felt the blood leave his face.

  “I thought not.” She took one look at him and let out an impatient exhale. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. You can start breathing now, your grace. I was only teasing.”

  Simon wanted to make some sort of dry, cutting, and utterly ironic comment, but the truth was, she had so startled him that he couldn’t utter a word.

  “To answer your question,” she continued, her voice a touch more brittle than he was accustomed to hearing from her, “a lady must consider her options. There is Nigel, of course, but I think we must agree he is not a suitable candidate.”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Earlier this year there was Lord Chalmers.”

  “Chalmers?” He frowned. “Isn’t he—”

  “On the darker side of sixty? Yes. And since I would someday like to have children, it seemed—”

  “Some men that age can still sire brats,” Simon pointed out.

  “It wasn’t a risk I was prepared to take,” she returned. “Besides—” She shuddered slightly, a look of revulsion passing over her features. “I didn’t particularly care to have children with him.”

  Much to his annoyance, Simon found himself picturing Daphne in bed with the elderly Chalmers. It was a disgusting image, and it left him feeling faintly furious. At whom, he didn’t know; maybe at himself for even bothering to imagine the damned thing, but—

  “Before Lord Chalmers,” Daphne continued, thankfully interrupting his rather unpleasant thought process, “there were two others, both just as repulsive.”

  Simon looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you want to marry?”

  “Well, of course.” Her face registered her surprise. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I don’t.”

  She smiled condescendingly. “You think you don
’t. All men think they don’t. But you will.”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “I will never marry.”

  She gaped at him. Something in the duke’s tone of voice told her that he truly meant what he said. “What about your title?”

  Simon shrugged. “What about it?”

  “If you don’t marry and sire an heir, it will expire. Or go to some beastly cousin.”

  That caused him to raise an amused brow. “And how do you know that my cousins are beastly?”

  “All cousins who are next in line for a title are beastly.” She cocked her head in a mischievous manner. “Or at least they are according to the men who actually possess the title.”

  “And this is information you’ve gleaned from your extensive knowledge of men?” he teased.

  She shot him a devastatingly superior grin. “Of course.”

  Simon was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “Is it worth it?”

  She looked bemused by his sudden change of subject. “Is what worth it?”

  He let go of her hand just long enough to wave at the crowd. “This. This endless parade of parties. Your mother nipping at your heels.”

  Daphne let out a surprised chuckle. “I doubt she’d appreciate the metaphor.” She fell silent for a moment, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she said, “But yes, I suppose it is worth it. It has to be worth it.”

  She snapped back to attention and looked back to his face, her dark eyes meltingly honest. “I want a husband. I want a family. It’s not so silly when you think about it. I’m fourth of eight children. All I know are large families. I shouldn’t know how to exist outside of one.”

  Simon caught her gaze, his eyes burning hot and intense into hers. A warning bell sounded in his mind. He wanted her. He wanted her so desperately he was straining against his clothing, but he could never, ever so much as touch her. Because to do so would be to shatter every last one of her dreams, and rake or not, Simon wasn’t certain he could live with himself if he did that.

  He would never marry, never sire a child, and that was all she wanted out of life.

  He might enjoy her company; he wasn’t certain he could deny himself that. But he had to leave her untouched for another man.

  “Your grace?” she asked quietly. When he blinked, she smiled and said, “You were woolgathering.”