Simon, too, was exhausted. It wasn't every day that a man resigned himself to death. And then to be saved by—and betrothed to!—the woman who had occupied his every dream for the past two weeks.

If he weren't sporting two black eyes and a sizable bruise on his chin, he'd have thought he'd dreamed the whole thing.

Did Daphne realize what she'd done? What she was denying herself? She was a levelheaded girl, not given to foolish dreams and flights of fancy; he didn't think she would have agreed to marry him without sorting through all the consequences.

But then again, she'd reached her decision in under a minute. How could she have thought everything through in under a minute?

Unless she fancied herself in love with him. Would she give up her dream of a family because she loved him?

Or maybe she did it out of guilt. If he'd died in that duel, he was sure Daphne could come up with some line of reasoning that would make it seem her fault. Hell, he liked Daphne. She was one of the finest people he knew. He didn't think he could live with her death on his conscience. Perhaps she felt the same way about him.

But whatever her motives, the simple truth was that come this Saturday (Lady Bridgerton had already sent him a note informing him that the engagement would not be an extended one) he would be bound to Daphne for life.

And she to him.

There was no stopping it now, he realized. Daphne would never back out of the marriage at this point, and neither would he. And to his utter surprise, this almost fatalistic certainty felt…

Good.

Daphne would be his. She knew of his shortcomings, she knew what he could not give her, and she had still chosen him.

It warmed his heart more than he would ever have thought possible.

“Your grace?”

Simon looked up from his slouchy position in his study's leather chair. Not that he needed to; the low, even voice was obviously that of his butler. “Yes, Jeffries?”

“Lord Bridgerton is here to see you. Shall I inform him that you are not at home?”

Simon pulled himself to his feet. Damn, but he was tired. “He won't believe you.”

Jeffries nodded. “Very well, sir.” He took three steps, then turned around. “Are you certain you wish to receive a guest? You do seem to be a trifle, er, indisposed.”

Simon let out a single humorless chuckle. “If you are referring to my eyes, Lord Bridgerton would be the one responsible for the larger of the two bruises.”

Jeffries blinked like an owl. “The larger, your grace?”

Simon managed a half-smile. It wasn't easy. His entire face hurt. “I realize it's difficult to discern, but my right eye is actually a touch worse off than the left.”

Jeffries swayed closer, clearly intrigued.

“Trust me.”

The butler straightened. “Of course. Shall I show Lord Bridgerton to the drawing room?”

“No, bring him here.” At Jeffries's nervous swallow, Simon added, “And you needn't worry for my safety. Lord Bridgerton isn't likely to add to my injuries at this juncture. Not,” he added in a mutter, “that he'd find it easy to find a spot he hasn't already injured.”

Jeffries's eyes widened, and he scurried out of the room.

A moment later Anthony Bridgerton strode in. He took one look at Simon, and said, “You look like hell.”

Simon stood and raised a brow—not an easy feat in his current condition. “This surprises you?”

Anthony laughed. The sound was a little mirthless, a little hollow, but Simon heard a shadow of his old friend. A shadow of their old friendship. He was surprised by how grateful he was for that.

Anthony motioned to Simon's eyes. “Which one is mine?”

“The right,” Simon replied, gingerly touching his abused skin. “Daphne packs quite a punch for a girl, but she lacks your size and strength.”

“Still,” Anthony said, leaning forward to inspect his sister's handiwork, “she did quite a nice job.”

“You should be proud of her,” Simon grunted. “Hurts like the devil.”

“Good.”

And then they were silent, with so much to say and no idea how to say it.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” Anthony finally said.

“Nor I.”

Anthony leaned against the edge of Simon's desk, but he shifted uncomfortably, looking oddly ill at ease in his own body. “It wasn't easy for me to let you court her.”

“You knew it wasn't real.”

“You made it real last night.”

What was he to say? That Daphne had been the seducer, not he? That she'd been the one to lead him off the terrace and dance into the darkness of the night? None of that mattered. He was far more experienced than Daphne. He should have been able to stop.

He said nothing.

“I hope we may put this behind us,” Anthony said.

“I'm certain that would be Daphne's fondest wish.”

Anthony's eyes narrowed. “And is it now your aim in life to grant her fondest wishes?”

All but one, Simon thought. All but the one that really matters. “You know that I will do everything in my capabilities to keep her happy,” he said quietly.

Anthony nodded. “If you hurt her—”

“I will never hurt her,” Simon vowed, his eyes blazing.

Anthony regarded him with a long and even stare. “I was prepared to kill you for dishonoring her. If you damage her soul, I guarantee you will never find peace as long as you live. Which,” he added, his eyes turning slightly harder, “would not be long.”

“Just long enough to put me in excruciating pain?” Simon asked mildly.