The Duke and I by Julia Quinn

statues to shame. His eyes were oddly intense—so blue they practically glowed. His hair was thick and dark, and he was tall—as tall as her brothers, which was a rare thing.
     
     This was a man. Daphne thought wryly, who could quite possibly steal the gaggle of twittering young ladies away from the Bridgerton men for good.Why that annoyed her so much, she didn't know. Maybe it was because she knew a man like him would never be interested in a woman like her. Maybe it was because she felt like the veriest frump sitting there on the floor in his splendid presence. Maybe it was simply because he was standing there laughing as if she were some sort of circus amusement.
     
     But whatever the case, an uncharacteristic peevishness rose within her, and her brows drew together as she asked,
    "Who are you?"
     
     Simon didn't know why he didn't answer her question in a straightforward manner, but some devil within caused him to
    reply, "My intention had been to be your rescuer, but you clearly had no need of my services."
     
     "Oh," the girl said, sounding slightly mollified. She clamped her lips together, twisting them slightly as she considered his words. "Well, thank you, then, I suppose! Pity you didn't reveal yourself ten seconds earlier. I'd rather not have had to hit him."
     
     Simon looked down at the man on the ground. A bruise was already darkening on his chin, and he was moaning, "Laffy, oh Laffy. I love you, Laffy."
     
     "You're Laffy, I presume?" Simon murmured, sliding his gaze up to her face. Really, she was quite an attractive little thing, and from this angle the bodice of her gown seemed almost decadently low.
     
     She scowled at him, clearly not appreciating his attempt at subtle humor—and also clearly not realizing that his heavy-lidded gaze had rested on portions of her anatomy that were not her face. "What are we to do with him?" she asked.
     
     "'We?'" Simon echoed.
     
     Her scowl deepened. "You did say you aspired to be my rescuer, didn't you?"
     
     "So I did." Simon planted his hands on his hips and assessed the situation. "Shall I drag him out into the street?"
     
     "Of course not!" she exclaimed. "For goodness sake, isn't it still raining outside?"
     
     "My dear Miss Laffy," Simon said, not particularly concerned about the condescending tone of his voice, "don't you think your concern is slightly misplaced? This man tried to attack you."
     
     "He didn't try to attack me," she replied. "He just...He just...Oh, very well, he tried to attack me. But he would never
    have done me any real harm."
     
     Simon raised a brow. Truly, women were the most contrary creatures. "And you can be sure of that?"
     
     He watched as she carefully chose her words."Nigel isn't capable of malice," she said slowly. "All he is guilty of is misjudgement."
     
     "You're a more generous soul than I, then," Simon said quietly.
     
     The girl let out another sigh, a soft, breathy sound that Simon somehow felt across his entire body. "Nigel's not a bad person," she said with quiet dignity. "It's just that he isn't always terribly bright, and perhaps he mistook kindness on my part for something more."
     
     Simon felt a strange sort of admiration for this girl. Most women of his acquaintance would have been in hysterics at this point, but she—whoever she was—had taken the situation firmly in hand, and was now displaying a generosity of spirit that was astounding. That she could even think to defend this Nigel person was quite beyond him.
     
     She rose to her feet, dusting her hands off on the sage green silk of her skirts. Her hair had been styled so that one thick
    lock fell over her shoulder, curling seductively at the top of her breast. Simon knew he should be listening to her—she was prattling on about something, as women were wont to do—but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off that single dark lock of hair. It fell like a silky ribbon across her swanlike neck, and Simon had the most