We are so good, we even fool ourselves

[Derrick Kenworthy]

The Duke's horse trotted up the lane, safely away from the mothers who would all but toss their geams under his horse in order to gain his attention. The last thing he wanted right now was to have to listen to them talk, and fawn over him. Since arriving in London he had learned that it was best to avoid them--only one could go no were and not pass by them. They 'happened' to walk by his solicitors. They 'happened' to walk past his house. They even once 'happened' to be walking past Will's establishment. Which was no only odd but nearly made the Duke (a man who could face anything) hide.

They wanted to talk about his father. That was their go too introduction. They were always sorry to hear of his passing--and frankly Simon was hoping the old bastard was rotting. He didn't want them to be sorry. He wanted to never think of the man again. He had been escaping them for a short while in the dark walk when he had found Miss Bridgerton on her own with that half wit. And thus . . . the perfect plan. Since attaching himself to her he had lost a lot of the adventurous Mama's from following him--though he had seem to lost Anthony's favor as well. But once this ruse was ended, Anthony and him could move on.

Simon dropped his horse with a stable boy that lined the walk, and dismounted with a slight jump. His long strides too him quickly to the party of ladies--Daphne, her mother and lady Danbury. After a polite bow of his head and brief greeting to them (making sure to tell them they looked well as was polite), he offered Miss Bridgerton his arm. "Shall well?" He asked with a bit of arrogance, and amusement. He enjoyed this, which should have told him something. Something he was having too much fun at the moment to pay heed too.

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[L]

Who was this man, truly? He was a rake, he was not a rake. He was an eligible Duke, he would never marry. He was a mystery wrapped in a conundrum with a sprinkling of dilemma. And the world thought he was hers. She curtseyed slightly as he offered her the customarily polite head bow and shot him a smile more resemblant of a grin.

"We shall." She wrapped her arm around his, following his lead as they began to slowly promenade. The mix of his scent with the fresh air and flowers proved to be a slightly heady combination, and she found herself leaning slightly towards him as they walked. All the better, since from the outside she knew it must appear that she was developing an attraction, a connection.

"Have you ever seen the park in autumn, your Grace? I must confess that I find it to be the most splendid time of year, when the trees are bathed in more gold than even the Queen could ever possess." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. It was true, she found Richmond Park quite beautiful in the cooler months, but she did not mean to blather. It was this man. Truly it was freeing to know that he would never love her and she him. It lent her more freedom to talk, to chatter as she might with a more familiar acquaintance than she otherwise would. The secret between them, of the so-called attachment they had formed, had planted a seed of giddiness deep within her, and it had sprouted into a most wonderful comfort. She allowed herself a laugh, before quickly smothering it with her free hand.

Maybe this would work.

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[Derrick Kenworthy]

This whole thing had been Simon's plan. His plan to undo that annoying Gossip writer's affect on his life, and be able to enjoy the season without the need to hide away. The match making mama's would move on when they assumed he had picked his duchess, not wishing to waste their time on him. Meanwhile, the lords of the ton would begin approaching her again, as they would all want to be the one to steal her from a Duke--or perhaps assuming that Simon had taken care of the 'over protective brother' and it was safe to approach her again. Which was the more most foolish thing he had heard. If you were too timid to stand up to the girl's brother then you didn't need to approach her anyway.

Daphne begin talking about the weather, and while the topic was a safe one she also didn't say the normal boring comments on it. Simon felt the corner of his lip tighten in what could almost be a smile. Once she laughed, he smiled in earnest. "Are we to talk of the weather, Miss Bridgerton?" He challenged softly, making sure his voice was not to be heard. "Is this your plan to woe some buck into asking for your hand? You will learn nothing from a man asking about the weather." Simon might not have plans to marry her, but he understood her wish to make a good match. While her comments about the weather were refreshing and frankly--on point--he did not plan on spending the ruse talking about the weather. "Tell me. Was it your brother who taught you to plant a facer?" He knew from her brother that she had not known her father well, so he assumed it was not him.

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[L]

The nerve of this man, talking to her as though she were no more than a petulant schoolboy. She needed no instruction from him. She was a woman grown, long since removed from the embarrassment of leading strings, thank you very much. Briefly, she contemplated sticking her tongue out at him, then shoved the urge away. It would only serve to make his point further. What a patronizing, pompous rake! It was good that they had forged an agreement, for she would have walked away right then and there. Trust Simon to make her feel this way.

“I do believe, Your Grace, that you would know my brother’s boxing skills far better than I.” She raised her chin, putting on what she hoped was a slightly haughty air. “I did not need him to teach me. Indeed, I did not need anyone. I simply learned from experience. And I would rather not repeat it.” Really, if they were to keep the events of that night hidden from the ears of Lady Whistledown — and, therefore, the hungry eyes of the ton — he would need to stop mentioning them.

A grin worked its way onto her face, and she felt her fist curl slightly in its lacy glove.

“Though I must say, it did feel rather good.” She tossed a teasing glance his way. She would never think of hitting him, but he wasn’t to know that.

“And where did you learn to box, Your Grace? Some faraway location no doubt, full of rogues and pirates and the like."

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[Derrick Kenworthy]

He had not meant to belittle her with his crass words but once she spoke with a little fire in her tone, Simon realized that he had indeed done so--and that Daphne Bridgerton was not a timid miss. Not that he believed so, after watching her rescue her own self from the bumbling lord drooling around her skirts--but if felt different with words.

"I am pleased to admit it might know more of mine then I of his." Simon countered, with a grin both at her words and his own. He had indeed engaged in boxing with her brother on numerous occasions. Sometimes in good sport and sometimes Bridgerton was angry because Simon paid too much attention to his sister, As long as Simon kept his emotions tight in check, he could hold his own.

She admitted that it felt good, and he grinned at the cheeky comment. He bet it did. Had she not then he would have, but Simon liked that she had been the one to do it. "I suppose I too learned from simply doing, however I learned better form from Gentleman Jacks. A boxing house that both I and your brother have been too. Sadly no pirates' that I know of are there." A place that he couldn't imagine she'd ever wish to go.

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[L]

Simon grinned and Daphne felt the strangest sensation in the pit of her stomach. It was as though little birds had somehow burst from their eggs and swarmed within her. She wanted to look away, to focus on almost anything else. But she found she could not, her body rejecting all efforts she made to the contrary. She heard his words, but as though from a distance, her mind filtering out all other inputs deemed unnecessary.

“A boxing house, you say? Certainly I have never been to one. I prefer my entertainment in the form of books and plays. Or even just a view of pretty things.” Her eyes. She had to get her eyes off of him. Otherwise he would think that she was implying something she had no intention of ever saying. Blushing, she looked down at the sleeve on her dress. Several of her buttons had popped open, exposing some of the skin on her wrist. Perfect.

“My cuff. Button it.” She held the offending article up to him.

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[Derrick Kenworthy]

Simon held his tongue that he too enjoyed passing his time with the view of pretty things. While he imagined she meant flowers and dandy men dressed to the nines--he was not. Wisely he knew better than to say such things to a debutante fresh from the school room. Looking over and down at her, he noticed her stare. Arrogantly, he knew she was looking at him and enjoying what she saw, though he also knew it meant nothing. She had her sights set on a husband, and she had made it clear that he was not such a man. Though, that did not mean he too enjoyed the sight of her pretty face.

Suddenly she left her wrist up, demanded that he button the cuff. Simon, caught off guard for he had never buttoned a lady's cuff before and never by demand, paused. Then he noticed the young bucks eyeing them from the grass. Clever girl.

Deciding to enjoy the moment, and feed the gossips, Simon looked at her face as his fingers lifted up to touch her wrist. The buttons were small, and smooth under his touch. He found he wondered what her skin felt like. For a moment, the imagine of her skin filled his mind as he looked from the buttons to her eyes. "Well played, Miss Bridgerton," he told her, letting his finger tips linger over the lace covered wrist for a moment, before letting it go. Anthony Bridgerton would kill him if he knew of Simon's thoughts in that moment.

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[L]

"Well played, Miss Bridgerton."

If ever Daphne had ruminated on the true meaning of meeting one's match, all questions would have been answered in that moment. Impeccably polite, as always, Simon had recognized her game and made a move of his own. Knight takes pawn, bishop takes knight, and the men off to the side were hooked, their eyes boring holes into her dress as they stared. Too bad the interest was from them and not a certain other party. But no, she would not allow herself to follow that train of thought. They had made an arrangement, and he was holding up his part of the bargain splendidly. So she would hold up hers and refuse him any feelings other than warm friendship.

If only he would let go of her wrist. The gloves she wore were for appearance rather than warmth, and she could feel the heat running from his hand into hers, banishing what little chill remained in the late spring day. She could see her pulse beating rapidly in the spot left uncovered by fabric, a mere inch or two and yet enough to give away her racing heart. Gently she broke the contact.

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women are merely players." She quipped, thinking of how proud her mama and governess would be if they could hear her now. "They have their  exits and entrances, and one man in his time may play many parts." Or perhaps not, in her mother's case. She was, after all, dabbling into impertinence with a duke.

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[Derrick Kenworthy]

How wise of the head strong woman before him, as she spoke about the world being a stage. It was a solid reminder to him that he need not think too much about her skin, for it would never be his to touch. She wanted to make a good match, and possibly find love. Something he could not afford to give her since he was determined to finish this life alone.

"I fear that the London men have yet to understand they are in your play, and are merely your puppets." He told her, daring to lean in a little closer. Clearly he was meaning it as a way to make the men wonder what he was saying to her, and to keep their attention on her--not because he wanted to smell her clean and fresh scent. Not because he enjoyed the way her cheeks turned pink. Not because he enjoyed her gaze. "Yet they will learn."

Leaning back to a respectfully distance, and so he was once again standing straight, Simon looked down at her tall frame, and kept his smile in check. Where had this wit come from. Surely not from her brothers. He did not know her mother well enough to assume.

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[L]

Daphne felt the heat rise in her cheeks as the Duke spoke. She was no sought-after maiden, with men falling around her feet. That had been made quite clear by the dearth of suitors in the Bridgerton drawing room recently. No, she was caught in the ton's web, a fly just like all the others. Oh how he was praising her though! To think that such a powerful man presumed her capable of such command. She would try to make herself worthy of such compliments. Not that she cared overmuch for them. No, she cared exactly enough.

"We are all humbled by Society, your Grace. It teaches us all."

They were so open and free with each other. With a real suitor she would never imagine that she could speak as she did to him, a fact that she appreciated more than she had expected. Whereas she was forced to restrict her tone and words with other men, she could give her real conveyance to this man. And he appeared to be appreciating it as well. Unless she was presuming too much, which she might, given the absolute bounds they had set upon their little agreement. He moved towards her slightly, and then backed away, as though he was a fanciful bird, inviting her to dance. She looked up at him with a smile.

"I fear, your Grace, that there is not a ballroom in sight, and this is a most unusual place for us to practice our footwork." The comment slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. He would think her odd. Yet, she could picture the two of them dancing in the park so vividly. It felt a crime not to let at least a small piece of the image be shared.

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