“Remarkably efficient, isn't she?” Daphne murmured.

“Your mother? She's a marvel.”

“She'll be back, of course.”

“Pity. And here I thought I had you well and truly in my clutches.”

Daphne laughed. “I don't know how anyone considered you a rake. Your sense of humor is far too superb.”

“And here we rakes thought we were so wickedly droll.”

“A rake's humor,” Daphne stated, “is essentially cruel.”

Her comment surprised him. He stared at her intently, searching her brown eyes, and yet not really knowing what it was he was looking for. There was a narrow ring of green just outside her pupils, the color as deep and rich as moss. He'd never seen her in the daylight before, he realized.

“Your grace?” Daphne's quiet voice snapped him out of his daze.

Simon blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

“You looked a thousand miles away,” she said, her brow wrinkling.

“I've been a thousand miles away.” He fought the urge to return his gaze to her eyes. “This is entirely different.”

Daphne let out a little laugh, the sound positively musical. “You have, haven't you? And here I've never even been past Lancashire. What a provincial I must seem.”

He brushed aside her remark. “You must forgive my woolgathering. We were discussing my lack of humor, I believe?”

“We were not, and you well know it.” Her hands found their way to her hips. “I specifically told you that you were in possession of a sense of humor far superior to that of the average rake.”

One of his brows lifted in a rather superior manner. “And you wouldn't classify your brothers as rakes?”

“They only think they are rakes,” she corrected. “There is a considerable difference.”

Simon snorted. “If Anthony isn't a rake, I pity the woman who meets the man who is.”

“There is more to being a rake than seducing legions of women,” Daphne said blithely. “If a man can't do more than poke his tongue into a woman's mouth and kiss—”

Simon felt his throat close up, but somehow he managed to sputter, “You should not be speaking of such things.”

She shrugged.

“You shouldn't even know about them,” he grunted.

“Four brothers,” she said by way of an explanation. “Well, three, I suppose. Gregory is too young to count.”

“Someone ought to tell them to hold their tongues around you.”

She shrugged again, this time with only one shoulder. “Half the time they don't even notice I'm there.”

Simon couldn't imagine that.

“But we seem to have veered away from the original subject,” she said. “All I meant to say is that a rake's humor has its basis in cruelty. He needs a victim, for he cannot imagine ever laughing at himself. You, your grace, are rather clever with the self-deprecating remark.”

“I just don't know whether to thank you or throttle you.”

“Throttle me? Good heavens, why?” She laughed again, a rich, throaty sound that Simon felt deep in his gut.

He exhaled slowly, the long whoosh of air just barely steadying his pulse. If she continued laughing, he wasn't going to be able to answer to the consequences.

But she just kept looking at him, her wide mouth curved into one of those smiles that looked as if it were perpetually on the verge of laughter.

“I am going to throttle you,” he growled, “on general principle.”

“And what principle is that?”

“The general principle of man,” he blustered.

Her brows lifted dubiously. “As opposed to the general principle of woman?”

Simon looked around. “Where is your brother? You're far too cheeky. Surely someone needs to take you in hand.”

“Oh, I'm sure you'll be seeing more of Anthony. In fact I'm rather surprised he hasn't made an appearance yet. He was quite irate last night. I was forced to listen to a full hour's lecture on your many faults and sins.”

“The sins are almost certainly exaggerated.”

“And the faults?”

“Probably true,” Simon admitted sheepishly.

That remark earned him another smile from Daphne. “Well, true or not,” she said, “he thinks you're up to something.”

“I am up to something.”

Her head tilted sarcastically as her eyes rolled upward. “He thinks you're up to something nefarious.”

“I'd like to be up to something nefarious,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

She frowned. “I think we should tell Anthony about our plan.”

“And what could possibly be the benefit to that?”

Daphne remembered the full-hour grilling she'd endured the previous night, and just said, “Oh, I think I'll let you figure that out for yourself.”

Simon merely raised his brows. “My dear Daphne…”

Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“Surely you're not going to force me to call you Miss Bridgerton.” He sighed dramatically. “After all that we've been through.”

“We've been through nothing, you ridiculous man, but I suppose you may call me Daphne nonetheless.”

“Excellent.” He nodded in a condescending manner. “You may call me ‘your grace.’”

She swatted him.

“Very well,” he replied, his lips twitching at the corners. “Simon, if you must.”

“Oh I must,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes, “clearly, I must.”