Her deadly serious, pale features didn’t waver. “Yes.”
A sigh pulled from his chest. Ceding the battle and not the war, he stepped away from his wife.
“I don’t know, Daria.” Discomfited, he headed for the Hepplewhite cellarette and reached for the Bristol blue brandy decanter. “I haven’t thought about the bloody endearment.”
As his fingers touched the stopper, his gaze caught upon Daria’s reflection in the mirror.
“Is that what it is?” she asked softly.
He stared perplexedly.
“An endearment?”
Argyll blanched.
His wife, this night, all of it was too much. All he wanted to do was to seat himself between his bride’s supple legs, and instead she wanted to speak about his past seductions.
He hastily tugged the metal ring and uncorked the bottle. “If you’re looking for affection and warmth from me as a husband, Daria, you are destined for disappointment.” He splashed several fingerfuls into his snifter.
“I’m not looking for affection, Gregory,” she said so simply he actually believed her—or he at least believed she’d convinced herself.
Argyll finished his pour. The way he saw it there were only one of two ways this conversation with his bewitching bride ended: either with the quixotic miss thoroughly and properly bedded and wedded and his lust for her sated.
Or, Argyll shut out of her chambers, with an erection that wouldn’t cease.
Argyll carefully plugged the bottle and set it upon the marble top.
Prepared to win the battle to bed her, he faced his expressionless bride. “My dear.”
Daria tipped her head, displaying the long, graceful length of her neck. A green-blue vein stood out as a stark invitation. That slightly curving line begged for his lips and teeth.
Taking in a slow breath through his nose, Argyll took a drink. “You want to know how I’ve referred to my past lovers, do you not? My dear is one way.” He gave the contents of his glass a little swirl. “Darling. My pet.”
“Is that all?’
He quirked a brow. “Would you like to spend our wedding night creating a fresh set of terms for my future lovers?” he asked cruelly.
Daria flinched; her gaze slid away from his.
So much for a rake’s charm. Wryly shaking his head, he took another sip.
“I believe it would be wise to discuss the terms to our arrangement, Gregory.”
Argyll instantly regretted his swallow. He choked once around it.
When he managed to breathe, he narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
Daria nodded.
In addition to sarcasm and rhetorical questions, his wife also failed to properly detect menace.
“I do not believe it wise for us to make love.”
Here was a first.
The first woman in the course of Argyll’s entire rakish existence—at that, the lady he was married to—who’d rejected him. He would roar with laughter. If he wasn’t fit to be tied with desire and fast-climbing fury.
It was on the damned bloody tip of his tongue to say they needn’t bother with love; that just a well-enjoyed consummation would do.
