“Fine,” she answered through clenched teeth.
Rafe didn’t wait for another word. He tugged her wrist and pulled her along behind him through the drawing room doors and into the corridor. Once they were alone, she ripped her hand from his grasp and spun away from him. “I cannot believe you did that. I thought you meant that we should meet there later. The entire room must have seen us leave together.”
“I’m certain they did. Your aunt is probably smiling right now. But the damage is already done so you might as well come with me.” He turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor toward the library, leaving Daphne no choice but to pick up her yellow taffeta skirts and follow him.
By the time Rafe pushed open the door to the library and strode inside, she was a bit winded keeping up with him. Her hands hadn’t yet stopped shaking, either. What else could he possibly have to say to her? He’d already made clear his demands and the fact that he had no intention of leaving the party.
He strode into the middle of the room and then turned and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down the length of his nose at her.
“Well?” she said, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.
“Well?” he echoed.
She clasped the back of the settee with both hands. “What did you want to say to me?”
“You said you refused to continue our conversation in the ballroom. I thought perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”
“We don’thaveto have any conversation.”
“I say we do.”
“What else is left to say?” She put a hand up to her forehead to swipe away a curl. Her reticule dangled crazily from her wrist.
“Quite a lot, actually.”
She put her hand to her hip. “Really, that’s amusing. I thought I said it all when I found that blond doxy in your bed.”
“Damn it, Daphne. I told you a dozen times, she wasn’t—”
“She wasn’t what? Blond? A doxy? In your bed? Which one of those things isn’t true?”
Rafe gritted his teeth. “Individually, they are all true, but—”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses.”
“Fine. At least I’m not attempting to engage myself to a bore.”
Daphne gasped. “A bore! How dare you?”
“You heard me. The man is a bore. A social-climbing bore.”
“He’s not a bore.”
Rafe pursed his lips. “But he is a social climber?”
Daphne tossed a hand in the air. “Some people in our Society find social status important.”
“And some of us find it boring.”
Daphne took a deep breath. “There’s no need to argue. You have your blond. I have my baron.”
“She’s not my blond. I—”
Daphne raised her palm. “No. No. Please spare me. You were quite clear on the subject. We were married due to a business arrangement only. And our annulment will be yet another business arrangement. There’s nothing more to say.”
Rafe’s eyes were flashing ice-blue fire when he stepped closer to her. “Perhaps, but what if there is more?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you mean? I told you I’d go with you on Sunday night.”
