And just managed to catch sight of the duke as he walked away, muttering something about Daphne and something about women in general and something else entirely that Daphne didn't quite catch.
You don't know, Anthony said, his voice low and nearly shaking with rage. You don't know what he has done.No more than what you have done, I'm sure, Violet said slyly.
Precisely! Anthony roared. Good God, I know exactly what is going on in his brain right now, and it has nothing to do with poetry and roses.Simon pictured laying Daphne down on a bed of rose petals. Well, maybe roses, he murmured.I'm going to kill him, Anthony announced.
These are tulips, anyway, Violet said primly, from Holland. And Anthony, you really must summon control of your emotions. This is most unseemly.He is not fit to lick Daphne's boots.
Simon's head filled with more erotic images, this time of himself licking her toes. He decided not to comment.
Besides, he had already decided that he wasn't going to allow his thoughts to wander in such directions. Daphne was Anthony's sister, for God's sake. He couldn't seduce her.He watched as her chin trembled, as her throat worked a convulsive swallow. And then, abruptly, she crouched down and scooped up the key. You will never marry my sister, she vowed, her low, intense voice sending chills to his very bones. Never.
And then, with a decisive click of the lock, she was gone.Two days later, Kate was still furious. It didn’t help that the afternoon following the musicale, a large bouquet of flowers had arrived for Edwina, the card reading, With my wishes for a speedy recovery. Last night was dull indeed without your shining presence.—Bridgerton.
Mary had ooohed and aahed over the note—so poetic, she’d sighed, so lovely, so obviously the words of a man truly smitten. But Kate had known the truth. The note was more of an insult toward her than it was a compliment toward Edwina.Dull indeed, she fumed, eyeing that note—enshrined now on a table in the sitting room—and wondering how she might make it look an accident if it somehow found itself torn into pieces. She might not know very much about matters of the heart and the affairs of men and women, but she’d bet her life that whatever the viscount had been feeling that night in the study, it had not been boredom.