Argyll’s frown deepened. They were all the same thoughts he’d himself had about his bride, but hell, St. John speaking in that condescending way about the lady sent his teeth grating.
“You aredifferent…”
Enough with the “different” nonsense, St. John. Or I’ll stuff your teeth down your bloody throat.
He breathed in slow through his nose.
His new bride must have sensed Argyll’s fast-eroding patience.
“Would you please say whatever it is you intend to say, Clayton?”
“A polished rake like Argyll won’t understand your oddness. He’ll tire of…whatever game he’s playing with you. He’ll send you away.”
A red haze blanketed his vision.
He dimly registered the sharp bite of his nails against his palm.
“I love you too much to allow your marriage to that blackguard to stand.”
St. John spoke over his sister’s sputtering.
“Given the union has not been consummated, I will see it annulled. It will be handled with discretion, but marriage to him? It is out of the question.”
Something snapped tight in his chest. Have the marriage annulled?Like hell he would. Argyll was on his feet before he knew he’d moved.
“Are you going to fight for her?”
Ignoring Little Eris’s question, Argyll moved past the gaggle of sisters and grabbed the door handle.
His molars set, and a sharp pain radiated along his clenched jaw.
He’d show them a bloody fight.
Chapter 12
The door opened, not with a thunderous boom but a faintclick.
Her heart pounding viciously against her chest, Daria whipped her attention to the front of the room.
On the cusp of breaking—overwhelmed, aggravated, hurting, and besieged by her brother’s attack—the volatile energy left her on a soft rush.
Gregory.
He filled the entrance with all the command of a man who owned the space.
But then whatever space he stepped into, be it ballrooms, terraces, or her brother’s own office, he did so with the ease of a king and the authority of a field master.
To be that confident in one’s skin. She equal parts marveled by such a wonder and envied him mightily that strength.
The sight of him, this man, a stranger, compelled a calm within Daria, one not even her own twin managed.
Her heart picked up a quickened rhythm in a beat driven not by fear or panic, but some other emotion Daria could not name.
Gregory flashed a smile. It was an affected one, as she’d identified and marked so many of his smiles.
Her brother remained stuck kneeling at her feet.
She’d venture thirty or forty years from now, when she was not even a memory he carried, and the Duke of Argyll was all white and finally allowing himself the use of a good pair of spectacles, he’d still strike a room silent with nothing more than that manufactured grin.
