Instead of reassurance, Emmy’s tears came harder—silent sobs shaking her, wetting her cheeks. Unease whispered down Daria’s spine.
“You needn’t worry,” Daria said softly. “We are—and always will be—friends. And I believe my husband, Lord Rutherford, and the Duke of Craven can find their way back to friendship too.”
Immense sorrow swept over Emmy’s delicate features.
“What is it?”
Emmy bit her lower lip. “I am no longer able to see you.”
Daria stared, confusion blanking her expression. She shook her head. “What? But what of our friendship? What of my husband’s alliance with your brother-in-law?”
“The Duke of Craven has barred me—and my family—from having anything to do with you. As long as you are married to the Duke of Argyll,” Emmy may as well be reading through one of Daria’s Shakespearian scripts. “We are not to have any contact and the duke has enough guards watching my family that I cannot defy him.”
A chattering filled the stark quiet. Daria clenched her teeth to stop it.
“We are best friends. Andyou are here now!” she reminded. “We will manage to see one another at events and we can help build an alliance between our fam—”
Emmy angled her head, her gaze slipping past Daria’s shoulder.
Daria followed it.
Edith stood at a distance, her kind eyes sorrowful, apologetic.
“His Grace is outside. He has said he would rather slit his own throat then form an alliance with the Duke of Argyll and Lord Rutherford” Emmy whispered. “Goodbye, Daria.”
Goodbye? Just like that.
Except she needn’t ask. Her friend was already marching off. “That is all you’ll say, Emmy,” she cried. “You are not a good friend and…and your brother-in-law is an even worse one!”
Speaking those unkind words didn’t make Daria feel better. Only worse.
Then, one of her only friends in the world, was no more.
Alone, Daria drew herself erect when the trembling started.
What was it about her that people could not love?
With a rasping sob, Daria buried her face in her hands.
“If this is not the very same reaction, I have to all these events.”
That smooth interruption brought Daria’s gaze flying up. Gasping, she turned to face her intruder.
An intruder whom she knew. In fairness, everyone knew him. The same held true foralldangerous dukes.
“Your Grace,” she said.
The raven-haired Duke of Rothesby wore an effortless white smile.
“Your Grace,” he returned. “May I join you?”
Chapter 24
Positioned at the red velvet dais at the center of Forbidden Pleasures, Argyll took in his kingdom of sin.
Barely clad beauties carried trays of champagne flutes high above their heads and squeezed in narrow openings to deliver drinks to those in need of a second. Or third or fourth. Spirits flowed freely to keep the coins flowing even more freely.
From faro, hazard, and whist, to vingt-et-un, macau table, and piquet, there wasn’t a spare seat. Flushed, drunken gentlemen deep into their cups tossed down—and lost—fortunes. Behind them, ladies and noblemen with champagne flutes dangling from their fingers waited for the next vacant seat. Everyone merrily vied at the chance to lose a fortune to the house.
