Here he had been, executing a seduction perfected over years of indulgence and sin, and she had met it with all the enthusiasm of a woman mildly inconvenienced.
At the quiet slap of her slippers behind him, he lengthened his stride.
Persistent little devil.
She darted around him with surprising speed and came to a halt directly in his path. “Stop.” Her palms lifted, an unmistakable command.
Argyll bypassed her.
“Blast it, Your Grace, would you just…stop?Please.”
The lady’s frustration stretched across the terrace.
Your Grace.
Pleading?
That first real display of emotion proved particularly intriguing. And, oddity that she may be—no,was—Miss Daria Kearsley exhibited a remarkable poise and strength that stirred even Argyll. Which recommended her, as Argyll wasn’timpressed by anyone and couldn’t dig forth a memory where he had been.
If he were the kind of gent whom those admirable traits mattered to, then he’d give her an actual consideration.
Slowly, he turned with predator’s steps. A familiar rake’s grin curved his lips out of habit alone. This one never met his eyes. Something colder, far less charming, stirred within him. “Trying to trap me, are you, my aspiring duchess?”
“Never. I would not want us to marry like that.”
Too add to Miss Kearsley’s believability, her voice didn’t contain any actual fervor.
“There is at last something we can align on,” he muttered. “neitherone us wishes to wed the another.”
The steady, perceptible unease deepened. Argyll searched the porch.
By God, let the lady’s big brother catch them. Argyllstillwouldn’t wed the dotty wallflower.
“That is encouraging, Gregory. We’re already coming to think in accord.”
He paused to recall his last words. “Is that ajest?” Disbelief crept his voice up an octave.
“Not a good one. But yes.”
Folding his arms at his chest, Argyll stared icily back.
The lady took this as the invitation it wasn’t. “I understand this is all highly—”
“You may put your hands down, Miss Kearsley.”
Her huge eyes nearly swallowed her face. Which was good. The chit desperately needed some color. Argyll could list no fewer than one thousand things he’d do to the lady to make her blush every shade of pink to red.
Immensely enjoying this reversal of roles, he held his hands up mockingly and demonstrated.
Miss Kearsley’s inky lashes moved in a slow up-and-down sweep.
Wordlessly, she dropped her arms to her side.
“You were saying?”
Her eyes. It was Miss Kearsley eyes. Specifically, the lady’s long, silky eyelashes. They did the same work as her revealing tones, expressive irises, and long-winded words. The rapid flutter displayed confusion.
She chewed lightly on her thin, colorless lower lip.
