Page 110 of Pride: The Rogue
Struggling to digest that revelation. “But her brother-in-law…” The nobleman…
“What of him?” the duchess asked.
“Nothing. I…”Can’t make sense out of anything.
The duchess gave Latimer a censorious look. “As I wassaying,” she continued. “Given our mutual goals and aspirations,”their betrothal and marriage,“Your reputation and how others treat you, and how they look upon you,verymuch affectsme, Mr. Latimer.”
Possessed of the requisite curls and flaxen curls, the Duchess of Argyll had the look of an angel. But the glint in her eyes revealed a darker, more sinister lining underneath. As such, hecarefully considered his response, knowing what he said would directly impact Livian’s relationship with the duchess.
“I wouldn’t say the lady shamed me, Duchess,” he said, shrugging. “I’d say Miss Lovelace appeared more shocked than anything at my presence here, which is the obvious reaction any one of your fine guests would have met me withifthey were capable of an honest reaction.”
“Me thinks you defend her far more than she deserves.”
“I don’t know the lady,” Latimer said. He lifted his shoulders. “You, on the other hand, invited her and claim you’ve shown her generosity. As such, it would strike me, given your benevolence, there had to be something by which the lady recommended herself to you before now.”
“She is not a lady,” Dynevor muttered.
Latimer whipped a furious gaze in the forgotten-until-now earl’s direction. To hell with The Devil’s Den and any partnership, he’d kill the little bastard here and now.
“And, Dynevor?” the duchess asked in whiny tones better suited to a cantankerous child.
“Like myself, or Latimer here,” the earl gestured his snifter in Latimer’s overall direction, “ain’t no gentleman.”
That was, with the exception of the title the little brat had been born with. To keep their future business plans intact, Latimer shut his mouth tight to keep from pointing out that not-so-insignificant detail the future marquess all-too-often forgot.
LordDynevor tossed back a swallow. “We’ve got an affinity for the ones like us,” he explained to his captive audience of the duchess. “Not the way you did Steele.”
“Steele?” Latimer asked, all too happy to steer the conversation anywhere that was away from himself.
“The duchess’ sweetheart,” Dynevor explained. “Before he went and married my sis—”
The duchess sluiced a murderous look on the young man. “Your point?”
“You hadfeelingsfor a man outside your station, but men like me and Latimer here? We don’t suffer the headache of caring aboutanyoneinany way.” Dynevor looked to Latimer to back him up. “Isn’t that right, Latimer?”
“There’s some truth there,” he murmured. There should be more.
After the only men he’d let close and called friends betrayed him, Latimer had been damned certain he’d never again worry about anyone but himself.
“See,” Dynevor said to the duchess. “People like me and Latimer, we don’t like anyone.”
“Why, thank you, Dynevor,” the duchess said dryly. “I’m endeared.”
If I’m no different than Dynevor or Argyll, what accounted for this bloody infernal obsessive worrying about Livian?
“Bah,” the earl scoffed. “You don’t like anyone, either, Duchess. That’s why you, me, and Latimer get on so well.”
The duchess appeared somewhat mollified by that.
“What Latimer and I do have is a kindred connection to people who know something about having lived on the streets or had a hungry belly andnofancy connections to keep us safe.”
In Dynevor’s reasoning, the earl, just like that demonstrated not only what set him apart from other gentlemen, but a maturity and understanding of the world that could only be taught by the London streets.
“Ah,” the duchess sat back. “You are saying Mr. Latimer holds a soft spot for Miss Lovelace because she is a common person?”
Latimer’s gaze drifted back to Livian, who’d said something that had the men around her in stitches.
The lady was about as common as Queen Cleopatra of years past.
