From the other man’s thinly suppressed rage it couldn’t be clearer why certain decisions must fall to Argyll. “We knew him years ago. He made a mistake.”
“Amistake?” DuMond laughed a harsh, empty sound. “Feelingforgiving,are you?”
As Kilburn hadn’t yet been a partner at the time, he reserved his silence off to the side.
“Hardly,” Argyll assured. “Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei.”
“My friend, the enemy of my enemy?” DuMond’s went still. “Did you just quote me an ancient proverb.”
Bloody DuMond and his inability to see reason. “In less than a year, Craven built a rival venture, that took us years to achieve.”
“We were in university,” DuMond’s bellow sent the crystal sconces tinkling.
Kilburn rested a hand on the other man’s sleeve and steered him away from Argyll.
While Argyll’s brother-in-law worked to calm the other man down, Argyll masked his pity. God help him if he ever fell into such a state—he lusted after his wife, even enjoyed her company. That was the extent of it. He would never be undone as those two men were.
“Ah, yes, well, I’ll be sure and do you the favor of reminding you after someone nearly killsyourwife that it is in our best interest to maintain an alliance for the sake of greater profits at our club.” DuMond inclined his head. “Duly noted.”
“Go to hell, DuMond.”
“Gentlemen,” Kilburn’s quiet commanding tone was stronger than a shout. “this isn’t productive.”
No. What would be is Argyll heading above stairs and finding his wife—
DuMond turned to their newest partner. “I am too close to it, Kilburn. And even as Argyll seems to have forgotten this is a partnership, I welcome your outside position.”
Argyll’s brother-in-law ran a hand down his jaw. “Diggory is not on par with what you two have faced,” he said quietly. “He deals in death. He has kidnapped, raped, and burned parts of London to the ground. That degree of ruthlessness is unmatched—and until this threat is dealt with, I advise we do not turn upon one another.” He gave DuMond a regretful look. “I know this is not what you will want to hear, DuMond.”
“No. I…needed this,” the other man said, checking himself.
The look he fixed on Argyll was hard. “All of this assumes you are capable of persuading a man whose wife you seduced that you merit partnership.”
Argyll inclined his head. “I have no concerns whatsoever.”
“Dotell your wife that.”
Chapter 19
Sprawled on her stomach, Daria made no attempt to hide her interest as she watched the entrance to the shared chambers she and Gregory occupied.
She wanted him here with her. Wanted to be in his arms—talking with him, laughing with him, making love with him—and why bother pretending otherwise?
Oh, she understood very well that flirtatious women played coy games. But Daria had neither the patience, the inclination, nor the know-how to feign emotion. It was a bothersome chore. Tedious, too—much like the way women were forced to don white lace gowns and stand—or, in her case, sit—like animals in a menagerie for the inspection of would-be patrons.
Gregory had made her feel things she had never known before. In that shop, in his carriage, in the corridor—wherever she found herself in his arms, she was undone.
She had learned that many women felt shame in lovemaking. Such knowledge came from having a mother who encouraged free thought in her daughters. And she had attended the Mismatch Society—where women spoke freely of what transpired behind chamber doors, and sometimes beyond them—only because she and her sisters had sought to coordinate a match between Clayton and his now-wife.
But no lesson given, no conversation shared, no literature read could capture what it truly felt like to be held by Gregory.
I’m flying.
That was how she had felt after Gregory pleasured her with his mouth. And it was how she still felt now—arms spread wide like a bird’s—nearly an hour later.
“I’m flying,” she murmured again, a smile curving her lips as she stretched her arms over the thick coverlet and lifted them, slow and playful, as though testing wings.
He was coming.
