The Duke And I

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

"Any man, you'll soon learn, has an insurmountable need to blame someone else when he is made to look a fool."

For a moment Daphne forgot to breathe. Just when she’d decided that her would-be rescuer was irredeemingly arrogant, he had to go and smile at her like that. It was one of those boyish grins, the kind that melted female hearts within a ten-mile radius.

Daphne's initial reaction was to say, “Don't be silly,” but then she thought—Why ruin such a moment?—and so she just said, “Really?”

It was like being in Lady Trowbridge's garden all over again, Daphne thought wildly, except that this time there would be no interruptions—no furious older brothers, no fear of discovery, nothing but a husband, a wife, and the promise of passion.

“I assure you,” he murmured, flicking his tongue down the line of her middle finger, “I am perfectly able to satisfy you in bed.”

Daphne suddenly found it difficult to breathe. And when had the room grown so hot? “I-I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

He yanked her into his arms. “You will.”

Daphne deserved better. This was her one and only wedding night, and he would make it perfect for her.

Simon grabbed her with almost desperate arms, his mouth crashing down on hers with a force that drew a collective gasp from the small assemblage of guests.

And then both sets of lips—bride and groom—burst into laughter, even as they remained entwined.

Violet Bridgerton later said it was the oddest kiss she'd ever been privileged to view.

Simon's head turned slightly, his eyes darting to her face. Are you all right? his eyes asked.

She nodded, a tiny little jog of her chin that only he could see. Something blazed in his eyes—could it be relief?

Simon stilled her fingers with his own, then took over the task. He gave the tip of each finger a tug, then slowly slid the glove from her hand. The motion was unabashedly erotic, clearly an abbreviated version of what he wanted to do: remove every stitch from her body.

Daphne gasped as the edge of the glove trailed past the tips of her fingers. The sound of her breath rushing across her lips made him want her all the more.

With tremulous hands, he slid the ring on her finger, easing it over her knuckle until it rested in place.