He threw open the door to the Townsend Park breakfast room, sending the thick oak crashing into the wall behind and surprising a tableful of ladies during their morning meal as he bore down on St. John, who was calmly buttering his toast. “Where is she?”
Nick took a long sip of tea. “Where is who?”
Simon fought off the urge to pour the contents of the tea service over his head. “Juliana.”
“She’s gone. Left at first light,” St. John said casually. “Have a seat. We’ll bring you some bacon.”
“I don’t want any damned bacon. Why don’t you bring me your sister?”
The statement, inappropriate in a staggering number of ways, was apparently what it took to secure St. John’s attention—and the attention of the half dozen women in the room, who all stopped eating at once. Nick cut a look at Simon and stood, pushing back his chair and coming to his full height. “Perhaps you’d like to apologize to the ladies and join me in the study?”
Finally.
He bowed stiffly to the table of women. “My apologies,” he intoned, before turning on his heel and following Nick from the room.
They did not speak until they were safely inside the earl’s study, but when the door closed behind them, they both started in.
“First, it’s excellent bacon, and I’m not thrilled I had to stop eating it.”
“I don’t have time to play games—”
Nick ignored him and pressed on. “And second, what in the hell were you thinking, speaking in such a manner about my sister?”
“I am going to marry her.”
Nick blinked. “Really? Because I’m fairly certain that neither Ralston nor I have given our permission for you to even court her . . . let alone marry her.”
Fury blazed at the words. “I don’t need your permission. She’s mine.”
Nick’s gaze narrowed. “May I suggest you rephrase that last bit, Duke?”
Simon took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm even as every inch of him wanted to pummel Nick. “I should like to court your sister.”
Nick nodded once. “Much better.”
“Excellent. Where is she?”
“I have not given my permission.”
Simon heard the low growl rising in his throat. He’d never been a violent man, but Juliana’s brothers appeared to be the exception to the rule. “Are you going to give it?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
Simon was through with this family and their insanity. “Why the hell not?” he thundered.
“Any number of reasons. Shall I list them?”
“I don’t imagine I could stop you. I’ve had enough. If she’s headed for London, I can still catch her. I can ride faster than her coach.”
He headed for the door. “You aren’t leaving this house, Leighton. Not in your mood.”
Simon turned back, shocked. “You think I would hurt her?”
“No, but I think you would upset her, and right now, she doesn’t deserve it.”
“You think you can stop me?”
“I know I can. I do not have to remind you of the caliber of security employed by the Park.”
Simon began to pace the room. “I’m a duke! How is it possible that the title opens doors the world over, but in this family, it seems only to count against me?”
Nick grinned. “Our perverse nature. It’s first on my list of reasons why I don’t like the idea of your marrying Juliana.”
“Yes. Being a duchess is a difficult thing indeed.”
Nick ignored the dripping sarcasm. “It would be for her. She would hate it. The Beau Monde would never forgive her for flouting their rules. And your precious reputation would suffer for it.”
He didn’t care. He would slay the dragons of the ton for her.
In the mood he was in, he would do it with his bare hands.
Nick pressed on. “And even if she were well behaved—although I’ve never known Juliana to take the meek path—she will never escape the specter of our mother. The ton will forever judge her for her parentage. And you will come to resent her for it.”
“It’s not true.” But even as he said the words, he understood why they all would think it. They were true, until recently. Until her. Until she’d taught him that there were things that were infinitely more important than reputation.
“No?” He heard the disbelief in Nick’s voice. Did not like it. “Leighton, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve made it a mission to stay clear of scandal. You have been raised to avoid excitement. You are cold and unmoving and utterly proper in every way.”
The words rippled through Simon. Cold. Unmoving.
He did not feel cold or unmoved right now.
She had rocked him to his core.
And then she had left him.
Nick pressed on. “You have lived your whole life keeping your reputation untarnished. For God’s sake, man. You left your sister in the country with us rather than face the fact that she had not lived up to your expectations. And you want me to give my sister over to you?”
The question hung in the air between them, and Simon knew that Nick was right. He’d spent his entire life judging those with less-than-perfect reputations, less-than-perfect families, less-than-perfect pasts. He had been the Duke of Disdain—swearing that he was above such base and common things as scandal . . . and love.
Until she’d taught him he wanted her bold ideas and her brash laugh and her too-wide smiles and her scandalous nature that was not so scandalous, after all.