Already knowing the conclusion he’d reached, she rushed to assure him. “It wasn’t Craven. Nothing happened.”
His gaze remained still.
Daria didn’t even realize she’d dug her nail into her cuticle but for Gregory stilling her worrying.
“You’ve given me everything, Gregory,” The swallow she took was painful. “But I could not help you.”
She had to make herself look at him. “The Duke of Craven he will not forgive and…and I am sorry.”
The pregnant silence was unendurable.
And she couldn’t even bite at her fingers because her stoic husband kept his hold fast upon her.
“Pfft. To hell with Craven. It will be his funeral.”
Believing she’d misheard him, misjudged his response she peered at him.
Her husband’s features were at their smooth, unbothered set; his usual half-smile—the real one.
Her eyes widened all the way. “That is…it?”
Gregory lifted his broad shoulders once.
“Surely you must have some disappointment? That is the entire reason you married me.”
“Ah, yes, love.” Gregory’s dashing rogue’s smile deepened. “That is precisely the reason I cannot be disappointed. Craven did something good in his rotten life.”
He darted his tongue out and teased the shell of her ear. “Now, little raven,” he breathed.
Daria’s lashes fluttered.
“Would you like to take our place at the throne of society?” Gregory dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat. “Or fly… away together?”
Light flashed behind her closed lids. She gasped. Her body jolting.
Together.
“Yes.” Gregory’s low rumbling laughter drifted in and out of focus; the sound distorted. “That is my choice, too, love.”
His voice, a husky murmur, retreated further and further.
Ink black crept forward.
Fly…
“…No…No…No…”
“Daria?”
Her husband called from afar.
“Crying,” she rasped, her warning.
“…Love…?”
Life left Daria’s legs.
Trapped in her immobile body, the earth spun fast without her.
