He frowned. “I wasn’t clear, Miss Kearsley?Sit.”
Daria inched her hood back the rest of the way. “I’m not a dog.”
“No, you’re not, Miss Kearsley,” He tossed back a large swallow and grimaced. “Dogslisten.”
When he resumed his duties at the sideboard, he did so muttering and mumbling to himself.
Daria eyed him dubiously.
This shouting, sloppy bully wastrulythe Duke of Argyll? The same gentleman ladies tossed their kerchiefs at and nobles of all ages wished to emulate?
And I’m the mad member of Polite Society?
He contemplated the vast bottles there with far greater seriousness than he had the whole of their exchanges about marriage.
The duke reached; his fingers lingered. He grabbed a different decanter.
With his snifter, and the second she took to be hers, he adroitly plucked a crystal decanter to go with them. The duke, his bounty firmly in hand, joined her.
They stood opposite one another, at a kind of crossroads. Setting his bounty down on the gleaming rose-inlaid table, the duke poured two drinks. He took the darker one and shoved the other towards Daria.
She eyed the pale amber contents with their ruddy tint, then shook her head.
“Sit. Don’t sit. Drink or don’t. Do whatever the hell you want, Miss Kearsley.” He chuckled. “Andyouwant to be my wife?” He lifted his glass in mock toast.
“Because you expect compliance in your wife?” she asked curiously. “For her to behave as… How was it you described it? A dog?”
“You were the one who brought up dogs, Miss Kearsley.” He motioned his snifter back and forth between them. “I just mentioned one of their favorable attributes.”
“Is that favorable to you in your female companions? Being biddable and well-trained.”
“Why?” Swirling the contents of his glass, he perched a hip along the back of the settee. “Will you transform yourself for me?”
“I couldn’t if I wished to, and I have no wish to be compliant and biddable.”
“Shocking, Miss Kearsley.”
Thatsoundedlike sarcasm.
Given their current level of engagement, and the longest they’d gone without his hurling insults or trying to run from Daria, she wasn’t inclined to ask and upset their balance.
Argyll drummed his fingertips against the sides of his glass. While he studied her, Daria examined him in like return. From within the hearth, a fire raged; the cool blue flames cast an ethereal white over the duke’s handsome features. Up close, his long lashes were even longer than her first take and a shade darker than his slightly longer-than-fashion-dictated, pale blond hair. If she were one moved by a man’s handsome face, the duke would certainly have stolen her heart long before now.
“Perhaps you’re not such an innocent after all,” he noted.
Daria tipped her head. “I don’t understand?”
He chuckled. “A woman playing at virginwouldsay that.”
As confused as fascinated, Daria found herself sliding onto the upholstered armchair near his sofa. “Why would a woman pretend to be a virgin?”
Stretching out, he let his legs fall open and peered at Daria from under impossibly long lashes. When the duke next spoke, he purred like a panther. “You are entirely too comfortable around a man in a state of dishabille.” He touched his eyes on a place beyond her.
Daria angled her head, straining for a better look.
Her eyes alighted on the midnight-black evening coat, matched black waistcoat, and cravat draped along the back of his leather armchair. “Ah, because you’re missing your jacket,” she said, again facing him. “Given you were properly attired when I saw you at the window and hastily disrobed before I arrived, your current state strikes me as more manufactured. The same way you opted to drink whiskey from a brandy snifter.”
The duke exploded upright. “Manufactured?”
