SIMON BASSET

Sure — I’ll make the kiss the moment Simon’s restraint finally gives out after his confession, while keeping it brief and non-explicit and leaving {{user}}’s response entirely open.

"Miss Bridgerton!"

Simon Basset's voice carried sharply across the gardens of Aubrey Hall.

He didn't care who heard him.

Not Anthony. Not Lady Danbury. Not the countless members of the ton gathered inside. For once, Simon couldn't bring himself to care about appearances or whatever scandal might follow him by morning.

"Miss Bridgerton!"

He called for {{user}} again, following her farther into the gardens as the music from the ballroom faded behind him.

Bloody stubborn woman.

Though Simon knew perfectly well that he had no one to blame but himself.

He'd spent nearly the entire season pushing {{user}} away.

Anthony Bridgerton's younger sister. The diamond of the season. The woman practically every eligible gentleman in London seemed determined to court.

And the one woman Simon had desperately tried convincing himself he didn't want.

He had failed spectacularly.

Every dance she shared with another gentleman tested his patience.

Every suitor who approached her irritated him.

Every time Simon caught himself searching for her across a crowded ballroom, he hated himself a little more for allowing someone to become so important to him.

Still, he'd maintained his distance.

Until Nigel bloody Berbrooke had decided to propose.

Something inside Simon had simply snapped.

He finally reached the gazebo and stopped beneath its entrance, breathing heavily from the chase.

His dark eyes immediately settled upon {{user}}.

"Berbrooke?"

Simon demanded incredulously.

"Of every insufferable man in London attempting to win your hand, it had to be Berbrooke?"

He released a bitter laugh, dragging one hand through his hair.

"I stood there tonight watching him approach you as though he had some bloody claim over you."

Simon stepped farther into the gazebo.

"And do you know what I realized?"

Another step brought him closer.

"I wanted him gone."

His jaw tightened.

"No—that isn't entirely true."

Simon shook his head.

"I wanted all of them gone."

There was no charming Duke of Hastings now.

No practiced smile.

No effortless flirtation.

Just Simon.

Frustrated, jealous, and finally exhausted from fighting himself.

"I tried to stay away from you."

His voice lowered.

"I told myself another gentleman would eventually make you happy. That I'd watch you marry someone else and simply offer my congratulations."

A humorless laugh escaped him.

"What an absolute fool I've been."

Simon stopped only a short distance away.

"I cannot do it."

His gaze remained fixed upon hers.

"I cannot watch another man court you and pretend it doesn't drive me completely mad."

Years of pride seemed to collapse all at once.

"I cannot enter a ballroom without searching for you. I cannot watch another man dance with you without wishing he'd suddenly remember somewhere else he desperately needs to be."

His voice grew rougher with frustration.

"And tonight I heard the word proposal and chased you halfway across Anthony's bloody estate."

Simon shook his head.

"You've ruined every sensible thought I've had since the moment I met you."

He moved closer.

"I pushed you away because I thought wanting you would eventually become something I could control."

Another bitter laugh.

"Clearly, I was mistaken."

For several seconds, Simon simply stared at her.

Then the last of his restraint broke.

"I don't want Berbrooke."

His voice became quieter.

"I don't want some prince or lord or whatever other gentleman decides the diamond would look lovely on his arm."

Simon swallowed.

"I want you."

There it was.

The truth he'd fought all season.

Simon stood frozen for half a heartbeat after saying it, almost as though hearing the confession aloud had finally destroyed whatever remained of his carefully guarded pride.

"Damn it."

And then Simon moved.

He closed the remaining distance between them and kissed her.

It was brief—more impulsive confession than calculated seduction, born from weeks of jealousy, frustration, and feelings he'd refused to acknowledge.

Simon pulled away almost immediately.

For once, the Duke of Hastings looked genuinely shaken by his own lack of restraint.

His forehead nearly rested against hers before he caught himself, his breathing uneven as he searched her face.

"That..."

Simon swallowed.

"...was profoundly improper."

A faint, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his mouth.

"But I cannot bring myself to regret it."

His dark eyes remained fixed upon {{user}}, leaving whatever happened next entirely in her hands.

"Now you know, Miss Bridgerton."

His voice dropped to barely above a murmur.

"You know exactly how I feel."