Thursday—November 26th, 2020

Night of Lady Danbury's Thanksgiving Bash, 8h15pm

There was no way Daphne could have refused.

First of all, her mother was impaling her with her deadly I-Am-Your-Mother-Don't-You-Dare-Defy-Me gaze.

Secondly, Daphne didn't particularly relish getting drawn into a conversation with the Featheringtons, which was sure to happen if she didn't make immediate haste for the dance floor.

And finally, she kind of sort of just a little teeny bit actually wanted to dance with him.

Of course the arrogant boor didn't even give her the chance to accept. Before Daphne could manage a mere, "Yes," he had her halfway across the room.

"Thank God you didn't refuse," he said with great feeling.

"It's not like you gave me the chance."

He cocked his head and gave her a rather assessing glance, as if he had analyzed her personality in an instant and decided she might just be acceptable. Daphne found the experience somewhat unnerving.

They had made a full circle of the ballroom before she teased, "Weren't you just dying to see me again? I saw how you rushed to my side as soon as you spotted me."

Simon smiled. "Your brother didn't give me a choice."

"Of course not."

"You're a welcome sight though," he added. "When I think of everyone else I met here."

She smiled slightly at the compliment. "So you haven't been enjoying your evening?"

Simon's answer was so unequivocally in the negative that he actually snorted a laugh before saying it.

"Really?" Daphne replied, her brows arching with curiosity. "Now that is interesting."

"I can think of any number of adjectives to describe all of the 'whoms' I have had the pleasure of meeting this evening, but 'interesting' is not one of them."

"Now, now," she chided, "don't be rude. I did see you chatting with my brothers, after all."

He nodded gallantly. "My apologies. The Bridgertons are, of course, excluded from my insults."

"And we are so relieved."

Simon cracked a smile at her deadpan wit. "I live to make Bridgertons happy."

"Now that's a statement that will come back to bite you," she warned.

He decided to change the subject. "Are you ready to tell me what you were doing at Global Hastings the other day?"

"It kills you, doesn't it?" she said softly, a wicked little smile crossing her lips. She was enjoying this a lot more than it was wise. "Not knowing everything about everybody?"

He said nothing, just arched one arrogant brow.

"To answer your question," she continued, her voice a touch more brittle than he was accustomed to hearing from her, "I went to ask Eric Macclesfield for money. Not a very honorable visit, I know. But I need to buy a place for my shop and I just about ran out of options."

"A shop?" He frowned.

"I started a business of my own. Daffiness," she told him, eyes lighting with pride. "I make clothes and I sell them. Accessories, too, but I doubt you're the type to accessorize. It's been growing well, thank you very much, but I need more room to expand. I'm currently renting the backroom of the public library. Doesn't exactly scream glamour."

Simon looked at her thoughtfully. "Isn't your family rich?"

"Well, of course." She snapped back to attention and looked back to his face, her dark eyes meltingly honest. "But Daffiness is my creation, it doesn't belong to my family. If I can't handle it by myself... then what's the point?"

Simon caught her gaze, his eyes burning hot and intense into hers. A warning bell sounded in his mind. This woman was dangerous. She was the type of woman that could really get under his skin. She was the type of woman that he could easily see himself liking.

Well, who was he trying to fool? He already liked her. He already wanted her. He wanted her so desperately, he realize with a jolt, that he was straining against his clothing. But he could never ever have her because of who she was.

Bridgerton. 

That blasted family. 

He might enjoy her company; he wasn't certain he could deny himself that. But she'd never be his to keep.

"You're woolgathering," Daphne said and she sounded annoyed.

He blinked into attention. "Just pondering your words."

"And did they meet with your approval?" she said sarcastically. 

"Actually," he said with honesty, "I can't remember the last time I talked with someone with such obvious good sense." He added in a slow voice, "It's good to know what you want out of life."

"Do you know what you want, Simon Basset?"

Ah, how to answer that. 

There were some things he knew he could not say. But it was so easy to talk to this woman. Something about her put his mind at ease, even as his body tingled with desire. By all rights they should not have been having such a frank conversation so soon into an acquaintance, he could barely converse in this way with people he knew for years, but somehow it just felt natural.

Finally, he just said, "I made some decisions when I was younger. I try to live my life according to those vows."

"That seems dangerous," she said. "To make promises so young." She looked ravenously curious, but didn't question him further. 

They were both trapped, Simon realized. Trapped by their society's conventions and expectations.

And that's when an idea popped into his mind. A strange, wild, and appallingly wonderful idea. It was probably also a dangerous idea, since it would put him in her company for long periods of time, which would certainly leave him in a perpetual state of unfulfilled desire, but Simon valued his self-control above all else, and he was certain he could control his baser urges.

"Would you like to make a deal with me?" he asked suddenly.

"A deal?" she echoed.

"Yes. I help you, you help me. A deal."

"How come?"

"I don't want to get married," he told her. "Ever."

She smiled condescendingly. "All men think they don't want to get married. But you will."

"No," he said emphatically. "I promise you, I will never marry."

She looked unsure. "Well, what about Global Hastings?"

Simon shrugged. "What about it?"

"To whom are you planning to leave all your family money? If I'm not mistaken, you have no family left."

"I don't give a damn about that," he admitted. "When I'm dead, the poor can have my money for all I care. But that's beyond my point. What I meant to say is that I don't ever want to marry and yet that seems to be the norm around the tons. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm thinking I'll be chased by mothers left and right until I have someone to accompany me to... these sort of unsavory events."

"You're right."

The music drew to a close, and Simon took her arm and guided her to the perimeter of the ballroom. Their dance had deposited them on the opposite side of the room from Daphne's family, so they had time to continue their conversation as they walked slowly back to Lady Bridgerton.

"What I'm trying to say," he said, "is that if I had a girlfriend, I'd be spared the attention of the Featheringtons and the like, and if you had a boyfriend, you'd be spared the matchmaking efforts of your mother."

She looked at him intently. "What are you saying?"

"We—" he leaned forward, his eyes mesmerizing hers— "will date each other."

Daphne said nothing. Absolutely nothing. She just stared at him as if she were trying to decide if he were the rudest man on the face of the Earth or simply mad in the head.

"Well, fake-date actually," Simon said at last.

"Why would I need you to pretend to like me when you genuinely do so already?" she pointed out smugly. "Or do you think I forgot you were hitting on me in the elevator?"

"I did no such thing."

"Of course you did." She patted his arm. "And it was pathetic, but I forgive you. I'm sure you couldn't help yourself."

Simon gave her a startled look. "I don't believe I have ever been that condescended to by a woman before."

"What a new day it must be for you."

"Listen," he said, blinking her answer away. "Here is my plan: we pretend to date. Girls will leave me alone. I will have my peace returned to me."

"What's in it for me, Romeo?"

"For one thing, your mother will stop trying to hook you up. Secondly, men are always more interested in a woman if they think other men are interested."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, uh, pardon my conceit, but if all the world thinks I'm head over heels for you, every men of the tons will begin to view you in a new light." He immediately realized that was the wrong thing to say. 

"And that's what you think I need? A man's attention? And then what? All my problems will be solved?" 

"Alright then." He said, thinking fast on his feet. "Fine. Then I'll give you something you truly want. I'll buy you your shop."

Daphne tripped over her feet, and then, just as soon as she'd regained her balance, she tripped over his. "What did you say?"

"I'll buy you a shop," he repeated clearly. "For Daffiness. Consider it an investment if you don't want to take it freely. Global Hastings wants to expand Daffiness and in exchange you'll give us... uh... one percent profit? Does that sound fair?"

She looked too shocked to answer.

He squeezed her arm slightly. "You in or out?"

Daphne looked at Mrs. Featherington, who looked like a bird of prey watching them from afar.

"Yes," she said, her voice firm. "You got yourself a deal."