If he were a better man, he’d have felt a shade of remorse.
“If you’ll excuse me. I have my actual future-bride to court.”
After Argyll dropped a cruelly mocking bow, he took his leave.
The Lady in Black’s chillingly empty gaze followed Argyll until he’d gone. And it lingered, even longer, after.
Chapter 4
The night was not getting off to a promising start. That went for Daria’s second attempt to meet with the Duke of Argyll, and, well, her whole “courtship” of the gentleman itself.
“Out of the carriage.Now.”
Emmy lingered a moment at the door of the hackney. “I am sorry, Daria,” she said softly.
Daria waved away her worrying. Neither Emmy nor any woman need make apologies for domineering men.
She stared on regretfully as Emmy was escorted back towards the Caldecott townhouse by a burly man better suited to the role of guard than footman. Emmy’s eldest living sister, Edith, Duchess of Craven, collected her sister by the arm. As Emmy scurried off and disappeared from sight, the heavily pregnant duchess paused.
The Duke of Craven conversed with a pair of tall, impressively built men in coal-black uniforms. Daria glanced past them to Edith.
Night’s darkness did nothing to conceal the older woman’s regretful expression before she closed the door behind her.
Daria sighed. Selfishly, she’d wished to have her friend there for company. Not for Daria’s actual appointment. Just…there in the carriage, waiting. So that someone was there when Daria’s meeting concluded.
She rapped the ceiling, signaling it was time to go. Settling back onto her bench, Daria gathered the wool riding blanket and set it down across her lap. While she fiddled with the fabric, she sang quietly under her breath.
“…The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true…”
She frowned. Whyever, weren’t they going? Daria lifted a fist and gave a harder, sharper rap.
The faint light cast by the street lamps glow dimmed, then sputtered out and, along with its light, the little warmth conferred by the blanket.
The Duke of Craven’s powerful figure filled the doorway. “Unquiet as the grave, you are not, Miss Kearsley,” he said coolly.
Her appreciation for Emmy’s frosty-eyed brother-in-law improved some. “You know the ballad.”
He sharpened a dangerous stare on her. “Miss Kearsley, I’ve not come to exchange discourse with you on children’s songs.”
“I do not suggestThe Unquiet Gravefor a young babe, Your Grace.” And here, men believed they knew everything. “I would recommend youThe Fox, as it is a cautionary tale…”
The duke caught the top of the carriage and slung himself inside.
Her words trailed off as he settled onto the opposite bench.
The door slammed shut, leaving Daria alone with Emmy’s notoriously evil brother-in-law.
One of the benefits to come from knowing details of one’s demise was that one didn’t shirk from shadows or figures cloaked in danger.
If Dariawere, however, one to fear anything, the Duke of Craven would be it. Between the ice-cold ruthlessness in his otherworldly blue eyes and golden hair, he possessed the dazzling good looks of God’s favored but fallen angel, Lucifer.
And right now, the devil was mightily displeased with her.
Craven.Argyll. She sighed her boredom.Get in line, Your Grace.
