“You didn’t answer my question, Daria,” he purred, seizing her name as his, owning her in this small way. “How does marriage to you help smooth things with Craven?”
“Ruining Miss Caldecott only deepens his mistrust and the rift between you.”
“Whereas you…?”
“Whereas I am a dear friend to Emmy and the Caldecotts.” And through them, closely linked to Craven.
Argyll folded his leg atop his opposite knee. “You would take on the role of peacemaker.”
“Icould.”
The lady remained silent. He drummed his fingertips on the side of his leather boot, contemplating her offer.
Contemplating her.
He could use being diverted. Of a certainty, this one would never fail to divert him. He tapped his fingertips along the sides of his glass. What she proposed, smoothing his relationship with Craven and reopening the lines of communication between them, was something of great value.
Determined to test the full extent of the lady’s mettle, he unfolded his knee. He parted his legs and placed his palms on his thighs. “What else will you do for me?”
Her unblinking, implacable gaze—as intended—fell to his impressive erection.
An enchanting little wrinkle found the place between her eyebrows. “Do you mean conjugally?”
That’d kill a cockstand.
With a silent curse, he refolded his legs. “A scintillating seductress you are not—shocking.”
“You want me to seduce you?” A question crept into her always modulated tones.
Argyll winged an eyebrow. An image crept in. One of Miss Midnight on her knees. Her head tipped back, with that long, graceful, pale white neck of hers exposed, as she awaited permission to take his cock in her mouth. His breeches grew tighter. His breathing came slightly slower. Coarser.
He came back to her question. “Would you?”
“I…thought seduction and conjugal relations would be your territory, Your Grace.”
The chit sounded so mystified; she had Argyll questioning his own abilities.
He’d definitely not be getting a biddable bride in this one. Suddenly, the prospect didn’t leave the unpleasant taste in his mouth that it had. Turning her from befuddled virgin into a wicked wanton would be no difficult task. Quite the opposite.
“I’m growing impatient,” he said testily, annoyed by her inexplicable appeal. “What else do you bring me, Daria?”
The lady sat upright. “I could manage your household.”
“I have a staff for that. A very reliable one. Next.”
“I will spare you from having to worry about marriage-minded women.”
Now, there was something. Not having to worry about potential megrims and duels, on account he possessed a duchess. He cocked his head.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“You will not have to worry about me being unfaithful.”
Argyll waved her off. “As I said, after you provide me an heir and spare, you’re free to carry on with whomever you wish, as long as you are careful and discreet.” He flicked a piece of lint from the leg of his otherwise immaculate black trousers. “I have too much pride to raise some other man’s by-blow as my heir.”
Daria darted the delectably pink tip of her tongue out and traced it along her lower lip. “I don’t know if I can promise that, Gregory.”
Utterly transfixed by the unbelievably erotic distracting gesture, it took a moment to register what she’d said.
