He took in the two of them in a glance, then returned his gaze to Daphne and straightened alertly. He gifted her with a slow and brilliant smile, warm and inviting, meant to bewitch. Likely every new woman he saw was treated to one of those smiles, and as there wasn’t a younger or more beautiful female in view, Daphne thought wryly, she would have to do.
It wasn’t ineffective. She wasn’t unmoved. But it was wildly inappropriate, given that her hand rested on the arm of a man who was hard to miss.
She just wasn’t certain what to do apart from smile uncertainly in return.
Lorcan was eyeing the young man speculatively.
“How do you do, sir,” he said politely. “I am Lorcan St. Leger. Allow me to present my wife, Daphne St. Leger.”
Hearing her name linked with his in such a fashion was a jolt.
“Lord St. John Vaughn.” Unsurprisingly, the young man’s enunciation was as refined as cut glass.
Bows and a curtsy were exchanged.
“And what do you do, Lord Vaughn?” Lorcan asked. Somewhat idly.
“Do? Ah, it’s in the name, rather,” St. John replied pleasantly. “The ‘lord’ part. I’m the heir to an earl.” He said this meaningfully to Daphne.
“I see,” Lorcan said gravely. “In other words, you mainly do what you’re doing now.” He gestured to the mantel against which St. John was leaning.
“More or less,” St. John replied.
A tense little pause ensued while they studied each other, and something St. John saw in Lorcan’s expression transformed his into something much tenser rather rapidly.
“You’re something to do with violence, I would guess,” St. John said to Lorcan. “Something vigorous.”
“Aye,” Lorcan said agreeably. “Killing. Maiming. Things of that nature.”
St. John blinked.
“I’ve a few interests. Chess. Fencing. Horses,”St. John offered carefully. His eyes darted toward Daphne nervously.
“Just as long as none of them are my wife we’ll get along just fine.” Lorcan smiled terrifyingly.
Daphne’s breath stopped.
This was about as frank as things got between men before seconds were named, and Lorcan had done it in an offhand eyeblink.
“Perhaps you and I could practice fencing if you get bored during your stay.” Lorcan trailed a meaningful look behind him as he escorted Daphne away from the wide-eyed St. John.
She felt Lorcan’s arm tense beneath her hand.
And then she realized it was because she had gripped his arm tightly.
He looked down at her hand. His eyes met hers, somewhat uncertainly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Did I frighten you?”
She wasn’t certain how to answer. More accurately, the answer was “no” and she suspected it should be. Instead, a sort of darkly brilliant thrill glowed in her chest. She understood two things: what the word “my” meant to Lorcan. And a shocking sort of primitive exhilaration of being boldly, unequivocally claimed:my wife.
That this realization should occur within the confines of a sham marriage made her throat tight.
“No,” she managed finally. “He’s probably harmless but he was indeed a bit disrespectful. I suppose I’m simply unaccustomed to such...” She searched for words. “...thrilling dialogue.”
He gave a soft laugh. “I see. I expect an actualgentleman might have used a few dozen more words to convey his meaning, but I find it’s best to be efficient about letting that sort know where I stand.” He paused. “And he clearly made you uncomfortable, which I could not possibly let stand.”
It seemed an astonishing thing to say. “Thank you,” she said, humbly.
“I wouldn’t really kill him, when it came right down to it,” he reassured her. “Perhaps just trim off his eyebrow with the tip of me rapier.”
