The duke and I julia Quinn

particulars. But on the other hand, maybe— 
Daphne's breath caught in her throat. What if Simon couldn't—Or what if he didn't want to— 
No, she decided firmly, he definitely wanted to. Moreover, he definitely wanted 
her.
She hadn't 
imagined the fire in his eyes or the fierce pounding of his heart that night in the gardens. 
She glanced out the window, watching as London melted into the countryside. A woman could 
go mad obsessing over such things. She was going to put this from her mind. She was absolutely, 
positively, forever going to put this from her mind. 
Well, at least until that night. 
Her wedding night. 

---

The thought made her shiver. 
Simon glanced over at Daphne—his wife, he reminded himself, although it was still a bit 
difficult to believe. He'd never planned to have a wife. In fact, he'd planned quite specifically 
not
to have one. And yet here he was, with Daphne Bridgerton—no, Daphne 
Basset.
Hell, she was 
the Duchess of Hastings, that's what she was. 
That was probably the strangest of all. His dukedom hadn't had a duchess in his lifetime. The 
title sounded odd, rusty. 
Simon let out a long, calming exhale, letting his eyes rest on Daphne's profile. Then he frowned. 
"Are you cold?" he asked. She'd been shivering. 
Her lips were slightly parted, so he saw her tongue press up against the roof of her mouth to 
make an N sound, then she moved ever so slightly and said, "Yes. Yes, but just a touch. You 
needn't—" 
Simon tucked the blanket a bit more closely around her, wondering why on earth she would lie 
about such an innocuous fact. "It's been a long day," he murmured, not because he felt it—
although, when he did stop to think about it, it 
had
been a long day—but because it seemed like 
the right type of soothing remark for the moment. 
He'd been thinking a lot about soothing remarks and gentle consideration. He was going to try to 
be a good husband to her. She deserved at least that much. There were a lot of things he wasn't 
going to be able to give Daphne, true and complete happiness unfortunately among them, but he 
could do his best to keep her safe and protected and relatively content. 
She had chosen him, he reminded himself. Even knowing that she would never have children, 
she had chosen him. Being a good and faithful husband seemed the least he could do in return. 
"I enjoyed it," Daphne said softly. 
He blinked and turned to her with a blank expression. "I beg your pardon?" 
A shadow of a smile touched her lips. It was a sight to behold, something warm and teasing and 
just a little bit mischievous. It sent jolts of desire straight to his midsection, and it was all he 
could do to concentrate on her words as she said, "You said it had been a long day. I said I 
enjoyed it." 
He looked at her blankly. 
Her face screwed up with such enchanting frustration that Simon felt a smile tugging at his lips. 
"You
said it had been a long day," she said yet again. "I said I enjoyed it." When he still didn't 
speak, she let out a little snort and added, "Perhaps this will all seem more clear if I point out that 
I implied the words 'yes' and 'but' as in 'Yeeeessss, but I enjoyed it." 

---

"I see," he murmured, with all the solemnity he could muster. 
"I suspect you see a great deal," she muttered, "and ignore at least half of it." 
He quirked a brow, which caused her to grumble to herself, which of course caused him to want 
to kiss her. 
Everything made him want to kiss her. 
It was starting to grow quite painful, that. 
"We should be at the inn by nightfall," he said crisply, as if a businesslike mien would relieve 
his tension. 
It didn't, of course. All it did was remind him that he'd put off his wedding night by a full day. A 
full day of wanting, needing, of his body screaming for release. But he was damned if he was 
going to take her in some roadside inn, no matter how clean and tidy it might be. 
Daphne deserved better. This was her one and only wedding night, and he 
would
make it perfect 
for her. 
She shot him a slightly startled look at the sudden change of subject. "That will be nice." 
'The roads really aren't safe these days after dark," he added, trying not to remind himself that 
he'd originally planned on pushing straight through to Clyvedon. 
"No," she agreed. 
"And we'll be hungry." 
"Yes," she said, starting to look puzzled at his current obsession with their newly scheduled stop 
at the inn. Simon couldn't blame her, but it was either discuss the travel plans to death or grab her 
and take her right there in the carriage. 
Which was 
not
an option. 
So he said, "They have good food." 
She blinked, once, before pointing out, "You said that." 
"So I did." He coughed. "I believe I'll take a nap." 
Her dark eyes widened, and her entire face actually bobbed forward as she asked, "Right now?" 
Simon gave a brisk nod. "I do seem to be repeating myself, but I did, as you so thoughtfully 
reminded me, say it had been a long day." 

---

"Indeed." She watched him curiously as he shifted in his seat, looking for the most comfortable 
position. Finally, she asked, "Are you truly going to be able to fall asleep here in the moving 
carriage? Don't you find the ride a bit bumpy?" 
He shrugged. "I'm quite good at falling asleep whenever I wish to. Learned how on my travels." 
"It's a talent," she murmured. "Jolly good one," he agreed. Then he closed his eyes and faked 
sleep for the better part of three hours. 
Daphne stared at him. Hard. He was faking it. With seven siblings, she knew every trick in the 
book, and Simon was definitely 
not
asleep. 
His chest was rising and falling in an admirably even manner, and his breath contained just the 
right amount of whoosh and wheeze to sound like he was almost but not quite snoring. 
But Daphne knew better. 
Every time she moved, made a rustling sound, or breathed just a little too loudly, his chin 
moved. It was barely perceptible, but it was there. And when she yawned, making a low, sleepy, 
moaning noise, she saw his eyes move under his closed lids. 
There was something to admire, however, in the fact that he'd managed to keep up the charade 
for over two hours. 
She'd never lasted past twenty minutes herself. 
If he wanted to feign sleep, she decided in a rare fit of magnanimity, she might as well let him. 
Far be it from her to ruin such a marvelous performance. 
With one last yawn—a loud one, just to watch his eyes snap to attention under his eyelids—she 
turned to the carriage window, drawing the heavy velvet curtain back so she could peer outside. 
The sun sat orange and fat on the western horizon, about one-third of it already resting below the 
edge of the earth. 
If Simon had been correct in his estimation of their traveling time—and she had the feeling that 
he was frequently correct about such things; people who liked mathematics usually were—then 
they should be almost at the halfway point of their journey. Almost to The Hare and Hounds. 
Almost to her wedding night. 
Good God, she was going to 
have
to stop thinking in such melodramatic terms. This was getting 
ridiculous. 
"Simon?" 

---

He didn't move. This irritated her. 
"Simon?" A little louder this time. 
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, pulling down into a tiny frown. Daphne was positive 
he was trying to decide if she'd spoken too loudly for him to continue to feign sleep. 
"Simon!" She poked him. Hard, right where his arm joined with his chest. There was no way he 
could possibly think a person could sleep through that. 
His eyelids fluttered open, and he made a funny little breathy sound—the sort people made 
when they woke up. 
He was 
good,
Daphne thought with reluctant admiration. 
He yawned. "Daff?" 
She didn't mince words. "Are we there yet?" 
He rubbed nonexistent sleep from his eyes. "I beg your pardon?" 
"Are we 
there
yet?" 
"Uhhh..." He glanced around the inside of carriage, not that that would tell him anything. "Aren't 
we still moving?" 
"Yes, but we could be close." 
Simon let out a little sigh and peered out the window. He was facing east, so the sky looked 
considerably darker than it had through Daphne's window. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised. 
"Actually, it's just up ahead." 
Daphne did her best not to smirk. 
The carriage rolled to a halt, and Simon hopped down. 
He exchanged some words with the driver, presumably informing him that they had changed 
their plans and now intended to spend the night. Then he reached up for Daphne's hand and 
helped her down. 
"Does this meet with your approval?" he asked, with a nod and a wave toward the inn. 
Daphne didn't see how she could render judgment without seeing the interior, but she said yes, 
anyway. Simon led her inside, then deposited her by the door when he went to deal with the 
innkeeper. 

---

Daphne watched the comings and goings with great interest. Right now a young couple—they 
looked to be landed gentry—were being escorted into a private dining room, and a mother was 
ushering her brood of four up the stairs. Simon was arguing with the innkeeper, and a tall, lanky 
gentleman was leaning against a— 
Daphne swung her head back toward her husband. Simon was arguing with the innkeeper? Why 
on earth would he do that? She craned her neck. The two men were speaking in low tones, but it 
was clear that Simon was most displeased. The innkeeper looked as if he might die of shame at 
his inability to please the Duke of Hastings. 
Daphne frowned. This didn't look right. 
Should she intervene? 
She watched them argue a few moments longer. Clearly, she should intervene. 
Taking steps that weren't hesitant yet could never be called determined, she made her way over 
to her husband's side. "Is anything amiss?" she inquired politely. 
Simon spared her a brief glance. "I thought you were waiting by the door." 
"I was." She smiled brightly. "I moved." 
Simon scowled and turned back to the innkeeper. 
Daphne let out a little cough, just to see if he would turn around. He didn't. She frowned. She 
didn't like being ignored. "Simon?" She poked him in the back. "Simon?" 
He turned slowly around, his face pure thundercloud. 
Daphne smiled again, all innocence. "What is the problem?" 
The innkeeper held his hands up in supplication and spoke before Simon could make any 
explanations. "I have but one room left," he said, his voice a study in abject apology. "I had no 
idea his grace planned to honor us with his presence this eve. Had I known, I would never have 
let that last room out to Mrs. Weatherby and her brood. I assure you"—the innkeeper leaned 
forward and gave Daphne a commiserating look—"I would have sent them right on their way!" 
The last sentence was accompanied by a dramatic whooshing wave of both hands that made 
Daphne a touch seasick. "Is Mrs. Weatherby the woman who just walked by here with four 
children?" 
The innkeeper nodded. "If it weren't for the children, I'd—" 
Daphne cut him off, not wanting to hear the remainder of a sentence that would obviously 
involve booting an innocent woman out into the night. "I see no reason why we cannot make do 

---

with one room. We are certainly not as high in the instep as that." 
Beside her, Simon's jaw clenched until she would swear she could hear his teeth grinding. 
He wanted separate rooms, did he? It was enough to make a new bride feel extremely 
unappreciated. 
The innkeeper turned to Simon and waited for his approval. Simon gave a curt nod, and the 
innkeeper clapped his hands together in delight (and presumably relief; there was little worse for 
business than an irate duke on one's premises). He grabbed the key and scurried out from behind 
his desk. "If you'll follow me ..." 
Simon motioned for Daphne to go first, so she swept past him and climbed the stairs behind the 
innkeeper. After only a couple of twists and turns, they were deposited in a large, comfortably 
furnished room with a view of the village. 
"Well, now," Daphne said, once the innkeeper had seen himself out, "this seems nice enough." 
Simon's reply was a grunt. 
"How articulate of you," she murmured, then disappeared behind the dressing screen. 
Simon watched her for several seconds before it occurred to him where she'd gone. "Daphne?" 
he called out, his voice strangling on itself. "Are you changing your clothing?" 
She poked her head out. "No. I was just looking around." 
His heart continued to thud, although perhaps not at quite as rapid a pace. "Good," he grunted. 
"We'll be wanting to go down for supper soon." 
"Of course." She smiled—a rather annoyingly winning and confident smile, in his opinion. "Are 
you hungry?" she asked. 
"Extremely." 
Her smile wobbled just a touch at his curt tone. Simon gave himself a mental scolding. Just 
because he was irate with himself didn't mean he had to extend the anger toward her. She'd done 
nothing wrong. "And you?" he asked, keeping his voice gentle. 
She emerged fully from behind the screen and perched at the end of the bed. "A bit," she 
admitted. She swallowed nervously. "But I'm not certain I could eat anything." 
"The food was excellent the last time I ate here. I assure you—" 
"It's not the quality of the food that worries me," she interrupted. "It's my nerves." 

---

He stared at her blankly. 
"Simon," she said, obviously trying to hide the impatience in her voice (but not, in Simon's 
opinion, succeeding), "we were married this morning." 
Realization finally dawned. "Daphne," he said gently, "you needn't worry." 
She blinked. "I needn't?" 
He drew a ragged breath. Being a gentle, caring husband was not as easy as it sounded. "We will 
wait until we reach Clyvedon to consummate the marriage." 
"We will?" 
Simon felt his eyes widen in surprise. Surely she didn't sound disappointed? "I'm not going to 
take you in some roadside inn," he said. "I have more respect for you than that." 
"You're not? You do?" 
His breath stopped. She 
did
sound disappointed. 
"Uh, no." 
She inched forward. "Why not?" 
Simon stared at her face for several moments, just sat there on the bed and stared at her. Her 
dark eyes were huge as they returned his regard, filled with tenderness and curiosity and a touch 
of hesitation. She licked her lips—surely just another sign of nerves, but Simon's frustrated body 
reacted to the seductive movement with an instant quickening. 
She smiled tremulously but didn't quite meet his eye. "I wouldn't mind." 
Simon remained frozen, curiously rooted to the spot as his body screamed,