Miss Kearsley bowed her head. “My apologies.” She didn’t sound bloody remorseful. She didn’t soundanything. “I should have asked if you wanted to know about your death. I oftenforget people fear death. You needn’t worry. I do not have the details.” The tip of her button nose moved up. “Yet.”
His death. He narrowed his eyes. He’d gotten his confirmation. Unfortunate for his enemies, Dynevor and Diggory, they’d enlisted a mad woman’s services. “A threat, Miss Kearsley?”
“Athreat?” she echoed. “Why would I threaten you?”
Argyll fixed an icy glare upon the weird chit. “Who sent you?”
The lady cocked her head. “Gregory?”
“Craven?” he snapped.
Her gaze revealed nothing. “No.”
“Dynevor?” he peppered, searching for a glitter of recognition.
“No one.”
“Latimer?”
“I said no one, Gregory.”
Good God, her tenacity.
Her timing here coincided with the Duchess of Argyll’s visit this evening. There were no coincidences in life.
In one swift motion, Argyll spun the lady, and trapped her between him and the Doric column. “Who. Sent. You.” He ran a predatory gaze over her.
Not even a flicker of fear crossed her ghost-like face.
At her silence, he propelled her against the pillar with force enough to shock, but not harm. “Diggory?”
Her eyes, speckled with silver, caught a sudden freezing light. Her gaze went sightless.
She sagged.
Cursing, he caught her by her shoulders to keep her from her faint.
The Devil himself, Diggory, had her in his snare.
“It is him,” he said sharply.
Her legs remained limp, leaving her already insignificant form completely weightless.
“It makes sense,” Argyll jeered. He shook her harder. “A creature with the look of death should be compelled by a man who kills for joy.”
A sweat popped up on the lady’s slender arms. Her breath came in wild, rapid spurts. Dark emotion ravaged her sightless eyes.
Such terror could not be feigned. And this chit didn’t have it in her to dissemble.
Argyll ran his palms in slow, smoothing circles along her arms. Dread slowly eased from the lady’s eyes.
Strength restored Miss Kearsley’s spine, returning the lady’s stiffly erect carriage.
“How did Diggory get his hands on you?” This time, he employed his silken rogue’s tongue to extract information he required.
“He has…not.” The lady blinked slowly. “I do not know a Diggory.”
Argyll gave her a look and then laughed. “You expect me to believe you’ve had that visceral reaction to a man you’ve never heard of?”
