That was when Delia realized she and Daria werenotalone. Her younger sister surveyed the trio of commanding gentlemen and then discreetly crept her hand into Daria’s.
“Where we are,” she said from the corner of her mouth, “there’s daggers in men’s smile.”
Daria looked from her bridegroom to his friends. “They are not smiling, Delia.” What was she seeing?
Her twin spoke from between gritted teeth. “I know, Daria. That is the point. Their smiles are false.”
Catching Daria’s wrist, Delia dragged them away from gathering. “What do you do here, Daria?”
“It behooves me to point out everyone passing by the window is of the same question,” Gregory drawled.
Daria and her twin glanced at the floor-to-ceiling lead panels they’d accidentally positioned themselves at.
Snatching the embroidered curtains on one side, Delia dragged the drapes closed. “The fool doth think he is wise,” she muttered as she saw to the other panels, “but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.”
The duke sputtered. “I beg your pardon?”
Gregory’s youngest sister whispered for all the room to hear. “I like her.”
Daria and Delia ignored the affronted duke and resumed communicating, without words, where eyes and expressions were all they needed.
“I likebothof them,” Lady Millie clarified in awestruck tones.
Delia’s lighter gaze bled with hurt and a sense of betrayal that cut Daria to the core. Daria willed her to forgive.
Delia looked away.
She was besieged by a grief so great that the only thing to keep Daria on her feet was the feel of her sister’s hand still clasped in her own. As long as she held firm, they remained close, their connection secure. The world didn’t understand Daria, but her sister was the other half of her soul. There could be no world Daria lived in where Delia shut her out.
Daria lightly squeezed her twin’s hands. “Though those that are betray’d, Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor stands in worse case of woe.”Please forgive me.
“Be not as extreme in submission as in offence.” Delia freed her fingers from Daria’s.
As her beloved sister turned and finally paid note of their audience, a vicious spasm wracked Daria’s heart.
Delia skimmed her gaze past Gregory’s golden angel sisters, lingered her attention very briefly on Lords Kilburn and Rutherford, and then, ultimately, settled on the duke.
Gregory’s hard lips formed a rake’s smile. The one that melted every heart—except Daria’s.
By the suspicion and ice to frost Delia’s eyes, her sister was of like opinion on that affected charm.
“All is not well,” Delia said, never taking her furious gaze from Daria’s betrothed. “I doubt some foul play.”
As if the Great Bard himself orchestrated a real-life play for her Shakespearean-loving sister, there came a hard knock at the door. A moment later, a well-built gentleman, all in disheveled black and several inches shorter but bulkier in muscle, entered.
“You’re late, Lyon,” Argyll said with the lofty impatience his title afforded him.
The gentleman’s garments bore wrinkles, and his unfolded cravat hinted at a man who’d been reluctantly pulled from bed.
What a… peculiar bunch of men her husband-to-be called friends. Each carried an air of mystery and darkness about their person, but something far more—stories. Unknown ones that likely they were alone privy too. Without a doubt, they’d existed in darkness.
“Forgive me.” As he approached, Lord Lyon sounded anything but apologetic. “I had vastly more entertaining things to do this morning.” When he reached the duke’s pedestal desk, he tossed down a tattered and worn book.
Delia cast Daria a questioning glance, one Daria avoided, lest she be forced to admit she didn’t have a clue as to the fellow’s identity.
“Doubtful,” Gregory’s youngest sister muttered, briefly attracting the gentleman’s attention. “I’d place a wager at Forbidden Pleasures you were off bedding some beauty.”
Millie explained for Daria’s benefit, “That is Lord Lyon, the Clandestine Chaplain. And that ridiculous nickname has nothing to do with his performing clandestine marriages, which you can probably tell by his state of un—”
