His jaw locked and lust died.
“Leaving, Miss Kearsley?” he jeered. Good. The sooner she went, the better.
“No.”
Taken aback, Argyll observed the lady. With an ease and boldness to be admired, she fetched that decanter and carried it back.
His annoyance redoubled.
“Do you intend to conduct a full-study, Miss Kears—?”
The soft rush as spirits flowed into her emptied glass, ended his mocking inquiry.
His queer nighttime visitor set the decanter down, and sipped from her glass. All the while, she watched Argyll with oddly compelling eyes. She took him in the same way she had the drink she thought tainted.
The rest of his patience whittled away.
Holding her unswervingly direct gaze, Argyll quirked an eyebrow. “Well, Miss Kearsley? Do you find yourself overcome with passion, and afire for my kiss.”
“It is negus with a splash of brandy,” she correctly placed—and impressed the hell out of him. She pondered her beverage. “Perhaps it’s simply that you don’t have a need to seduce me.”
“Nor a want, Miss Kearsley,” he muttered, in only half-truth this time. Miss Kearsley possessed a peculiarity which was fast calling to him.
“Now, regarding the matter of Craven,” he said bluntly. “How can you get me Craven?”
“You seek to reconcile with your friend and build an al—” She gasped.
Argyll was over her so quick, his arms framed on either side, trapping the lady. In the delicate but deep hollow of her neck, her pulse pounded. It betrayed her. Giving her fear away and shredding to pieces the cloak of imperturbability she wore so well.
“How do you know that?” he whispered in satiny tones.
Miss Kearsley’s fair, smooth, vulnerable throat moved. “It does not take much to deduce, Gregory. Based on your interest in Emmy.”
“Why not revenge? Hmm?” he demanded, when she thought her answer sufficient.
Her long, shadowy lashes swept slowly up and down with a languor more bored than afraid. “You value your business and barely tolerate ton functions. As such, you are not a man to waste his time on mererevenge, not unless it somehow benefited your club.”
Argyll didn’t move his gaze from her face. Then, straightening, he resumed his seat.
He smiled. “You’re not completely stupid, are you?”
“I would say not at all stupid, Your Grace.”
Yes, he was fast arriving at that conclusion.
Eager to be done with this already drawn-out exchange, he got to the only detail of note. “How do you expect you can smooth my relationship with Craven?”
“If you ruin his sister-in-law, you’re only reinforcing all the reasons he has to hate you.”
Argyll’s mouth fell agape. He instantly closed it, compressing his lips into a dangerous smile. “The reasons Craven has to hate me? Craven handed Lady Rutherford over to be killed.”
A flicker of astonishment disrupted her calm. “I didn’t know that.”
He let himself chuckle. “How would you, child?”
Rosy color splashed across her pale pallor. It tripped up the sharp slashes of fragile cheekbones.
Since boyhood, he’d possessed a voraciously sensual appetite. It did not take much to rouse his lust, but this lady existed outside his purview of what was desirable. Miss Daria Kearsley didn’t possess any of the attributes to stir him. Perhaps that was why her rosy blush compelled him. It was as much a mystery as the woman herself. It fed fascinating questions. Like what would she look like stripped bare for his lustful worship?
