Weak, his mind dulled and his body singularly obsessed with possessing the dark-haired beauty staring at him like—
His body recoiled before the storm. His cold rake’s heart knocked in his ears.
“Gregory,” she whispered, her whisper its own enthralling song.
Argyll caught her by the waist.
He was too late. It was too late.
“I love you.”
An odd warmth washed over him; the foreignness of those words; compelling for the believing way in which they were spoken.
“No,” he snapped. His pulse sped up. He went to remove her from him.
Daria clung to him; refusing to release him from her tenacious limbs. His determined wife inched her way closer, so that their noses touched. “I do, Gregory.”
“You do not even know me, Daria.”
“Because we’ve known one another only days?”
“Yes!”
Daria scrunched her brow up.
There was some reason left in her still, which meant there was also hope she’d realize she’d mixed lust up with love.
“Well, that is silly,” she muttered.
Relief slammed through him and died with her next breath.
“Sometimes there are no explaining things.” Daria reached between them.
Struck dumb, he stared blankly as his innocent wife collected his shaking hand in her steady one. She drew his palm between to her chest.
His fingers trembled.
Hers held firm.
And while her heart beat steady and calm, with the surety of one assured in their beliefs, Argyll’s skittered out of control.
“Sometimes, Gregory,” Daria’s murmurings found their way inside him. “Destiny and fate—”
Argyll jumped up, his wife landed with a small bounce upon the feather mattress. “The illusion of destiny and fate are the same as silly curses,” he said, flexing his jaw.
“They are no illusions. Illusions only in that you can’t see them, but real.”
Before Argyll could give them the distance, they both needed, Daria got onto her knees. Unrelenting, she grabbed his hand and used a mighty strength too great for her being to drag him back. “I saw us, Gregory. From the start. I saw your office and the people present the day we were married.”
Gritting his teeth, Argyll easily divested himself of her hold. “You sought a love match with the dashing Duke of Argyll.” He forced a bitter laugh. “That’s what this was always about.”
“No. Just the opposite. I didn’t find you dashing. I found you despicable.”
At her raw honesty, a smile threatened through the storm.
Hope flared in her eyes.
He shuttered his face. How did this woman see so much?”
