“As in, you did it with the sole intention of—”
“I know what manufactured means, Miss Kearsley.” A dull flush ran the sharp line of the duke’s cheekbones.
“Then, why did you—?”
He slammed his drink down on table between them. The stem snapped under that force. Crystal tinkled, heralding the mournful loss of the glass.
As the duke fetched himself a new glass, a cryptic silence descended over the office.
The tick-tock tick-tock of the gilded Charles Baltazar clock punctuated each passing second until his return.
The Duke of Argyll possessed a dangerous air to him, and yet…in the same way Lord Kilburn’s aura failed to menace, so too did Gregory’s.
When he reclaimed his seat, Daria pushed her hood all the way off. “I should also mention I have a brother,” she said, loosening the fastenings of her cloak.
His Grace snorted. “Not a very good one.”
“On the contrary, he is the best.”
“That is doubtful, given you’re keeping private company with London’s worst rake.”
“Who, for that matter, is not fully decent,” she added.
“Are you asking me to dress for your sensibilities, Daria?”
He sounded amused.
“No.” She stared at him in confusion. “I’m merely pointing out you’re not only the worst rake, you’re also only partially attired, which is undoubtedly even worse.”
The duke stilled. A glimmer sparkled in his eyes, a radiant brightness that transformed the duke’s jaded visage. Daria’s chest leapt in the oddest way. Her heart jumped and hovered in a place other than where the organ should beat. What was this sensation? Not unlike the otherworldly sensation to come with her premonitions. Except where those portended darkness, a mystifying light folded around her.
“Miss Kearsley,” the duke’s murmuring swirled around the dazzling sensation.
Daria fought her return from whatever splendorous place she’d landed.
“Miss Kearsley?”
Daria didn’t want to return. She wanted to stay—
“Miss Kearsley!”
The Duke of Argyll stared at her, his gaze absent of its usual annoyance and disdain. In their place, a flicker of some emotion she couldn’t identify, only that it left Daria dizzied all over again.
“Your brother?” he said impatiently. “Is a tedious bore and keeps company with equally staid fellows. What has he anything to do with your edification on rakes?”
He’d returned to the same underwhelming allure of before.
“I stumbled upon him and his friends in various states of—”
Argyll slammed a hand down on the arm of the sofa. The leather gave a noisysnap. “Good God, Miss Kearsley!” A muscle bulged at the edge of his temple.
“I’ve offended you.”
“Too many times to count,” he said. “Offering a chap marriage, while mentioning he reminds you of yourbelovedbrother isn’t going to fetch you a husband, sweet.”
“Oh, you don’t remind me of my brother.”
“That is reassuring, little rav—”
