On top of that, DuMond warned him.
“Do you have nothing to say?” Daria asked haltingly.
Which did she seek? A promise he’d not been in the arms of any woman but her today? An assurance of his fidelity?
He’d give her neither.
“There is also—”
He forced a bitter laugh. “There is more?”
Daria’s cheeks pinkened, that same dusty hue of her nipples he’d played with moments ago.
God rot her for this.
“I believe it might be best we not have children.”
He laughed outright. “At this rate, that is the last worry you and I shall ever have.”
“I’m going to die,” she said softly.
Argyll snatched the ends of his hair and yanked. “This again?” He cursed a lengthy stream of profanities.
His bride remained unmoved.
Had he bloody imagined how she’d come alive in his arms? Twice?
“And I had not considered until—”
“I was off tupping some whore,” he jibed.
Daria jerked like he’d struck her.
Argyll curled his hands into sharp fists.By God, I will not be made to feel bad.Not for this.
Daria stretched a hand out. “If we have children, they will be sad if I’m gone and there is no—”
“Enough,” he said quietly.
“No one to share their lives with and the only way—”
“I said enough, Daria,” he said quietly, with a calm he did not feel inside.
This time, she complied.
“You are attempting to punish me for, as you see it, beingunfaithful?” He almost choked on the word.
The bloody fucking irony.
Her lips formed a small frown. “I am not vindictive, Gregory. I am your wife.”
“No,” he said, folding his arms at his chest; his muscles popping with tension. “You are my bride. We are nothing in the eyes of the law and church…until I bed you.”
Her face crumpled. “I have hurt you.”
“I cannot be hurt,” he said frostily, and factually.
She stretched a palm towards him. “Then, why are you—”
