“You’re all-knowing. You see the future. You claim to know my thoughts. Figure it out yourself.” Letting out a fresh wave of curses, he stomped over to his Cellier and grabbed a bottle.
“I never said I am all-knowing, Gregory.” When he swung back, he found her eyes drowning in sorrow.
A lance struck between his ribs. Again, she’d allow him to feel guilty? He steeled himself against the sensation.
“I don’t want to hear anything you’ve previously said in the past. You are no different than every other woman, my dear.”
He’d lied. And by the way Daria’s nails frantically scrabbled with the sides of her thumbs, he’d done a bang-up job of it, too.
“Everything from your mouth has been a lie.” Letting loose a cold laugh, he gathered his bottle and lifted it her way. “While you have gotten everything you wanted.” He brought his hands together in an awkward clap. “Congratulations,Duchess.”
Had she flinched. Had her shoulders dropped or tears welled in her eyes, he couldn’t have felt worse than the stillness of her pale features.
But goddamn it. He had an erection that wouldn’t quit and the only woman who’d satisfy his hunger was this infuriating, stubborn, compelling minx who thought he’d been bedding another, when she was the only damned—
“I do not want to be your duchess, Gregory,” she whispered. “I want—”
“It would have been helpful, madam, if you’d arrived at such a conclusion before you circumvented my marriage to the woman I actually wanted as my bride.”
“You to call me Daria,” she finished softly; clashing violently with his interruption.
Her words hung forlorn and hopeful.
His fell like the weight of a battering hammer. His chest grew tightened. He wanted to recall the words. And he couldn’t say for what reason, other than…one.
Guilt.
He had lived a life without regret. Until now. The sensation drew tighter.
Of a certainty, he did not like this wholefeelingbusiness.
Argyll set his bottle on the floor. “That was an unkind cut.” That was as close as he could get himself to an apology.
“No, it wasn’t, Gregory. That was you being truthful.” Daria lifted her shoulders in a shrug that could only be described as…sad.
His hands wavered at his side. He made them into fists.
Of all the emotions she didn’t show: happiness, excitement. The ones he didn’t rouse her to: desire, longing. It was this? It should be a hellishly disarming sadness that crept through her unflinching composure.
His heart knocked dull against his ribcage.
Oh, what delight the Devil must be finding in all this.
I need to get out of here now.
Away from her.
Away from the heinous feelings she roused.
But before he went, by God, he’d say his piece. “Do not speak to me now about our heartbroken children.” Precocious babes with eyes as vast as their mother’s, and the same spirit that would turn all of England upside down.
Daria’s eyes that were now stricken and unblinking on him.
Argyll stumbled, briefly forgetting himself.
He took in a breath and forced his thoughts to right. “You yourself proposed terms for…for…” The day she is no longer here. A sharp burning hit his chest. He measured his breathing once more. “Their future, should some fantastical curse come true.” Argyll unfurled his fingers from the tight curl they’d formed.
His attention narrowed to her. “Be honest, Daria. Your reneging isn’t about saving any child born to us from cruelty when you’re gone.”
