The little raven stayed silent.
Determined to shake her of her stoicism, he spoke in silken tones. “Very well, Daria.”
“Your Grace?” she asked, her voice wavering, the dark silver specks of her eyes glittering with confusion.
What color would those dark eyes take when he had her crying out in passion? Oh, he’d enjoy freeing her of all the cages she kept, and teach her the pleasures of actual ones.
“Devil take it.” He jumped up. “Let’s be about it.”
His unconventional bride-to-be stood on unsteady feet.
Ah, not so stoic, was she?
Argyll headed for his desk. Withdrawing several sheets of parchment from the front center drawer, he collected a pen, dipped it in ink, and penned a quick note. Followed by another. And one more still.
“That…is all?”
Amused, he lifted his gaze. “Looking to change my mind, little raven?”
“N-No.” Her voice trembled a touch, making an absolute mockery of the air of solemness she cloaked herself in. “I am just…”
“Surprised by why I’d marry you.”Of all peoplereally needn’t be spoken. He wasn’t a completely cold-hearted rake.
Daria hesitated; she gave a slight nod.
“I need a wife and do not wish to be bothered courting a virginal miss.” Argyll picked up with his note to the archbishop. “You have connections to Craven, and as you pointed out, he’s more likely to reject any reunion if I bed his sister-in-law,” he said, scribbling off several more lines. “You have no pretenses about who I am. You are certainly no romantic.” Thank God for that. “As such, you’ll do.” Finished, Argyll tossed his pen down.
“The sooner—”
“The better?” he finished for her.
She nodded.
“Afraid I’ll change my mind?” Folding his arms at his chest, Argyll perched a hip on the edge of his desk. “Or afraid you’ll change yours?”
“I’m not the flighty sort, Gregory.”
No, she wasn’t. Her confidence was strangely compelling.
Daria continued. “My brother rides every day at dawn.”
“Fitting,” he drawled.
“And my mother enjoys her sleep in the morning,” she said, not missing so much as a beat. “As such, I suggest seven o’clock as the absolute latest.”
Argyll made a mental note of “resourceful.” A woman married to him would have to be. With the amount of time he spent at his establishment and philandering, she’d have to look after herself. “We will meet—”
“Here,” she interrupted. “In your office.” She glanced about, her eyes lingering on the pink and green Aubusson floral carpet. “I know this room,” she said from a faraway place.
Unfurling slowly to his full height, Argyll strolled over to meet his strange bride-to-be. “You’ve thought of everything, little raven.”
Some six or so inches shorter than his own six-foot two frame, Daria was forced to tip her head back to meet his gaze. As he’d intended with his positioning, it gave him the vantage of her long, swan-like neck that fascinated him.
Argyll trailed his index finger along the obstinate point of her chin. “Should we seal our betrothal with a kiss, Daria?” he infused a husk to his voice.
The stoic chit’s eyes remained coolly devoid of emotion. “I believe that part is reserved for the marriage. That is, as how I remember from my siblings’ weddings to their current spouses. Good evening, Gregory.”
He’d barely shut his gaping jaw before Daria took it upon herself to end their exchange.
