Page 129 of Pride: The Rogue
The prospect soured his stomach.
When he didn’t respond, an unbecoming splotchy blush filled her taut cheekbones. “Do you expect me to believe…you do not desire—?”
The other guests, at last, and loudly, settled on a new parlor game, saving Latimer from any further haranguing.
With everyone drawn vigorously into the latest one, the duchess renewed her wheedling.
“I see.”
A memory slipped in of a time when a different woman spoke those words.
“And what is it you think you see, Your Grace?” he said flatly.“What exactly is it you think you see, ‘darlin’?”
The duchess flashed a smile. “You fear I’ll betray you with Argyll.”
Like a praying nun in church, Livian folded her hands. “You, Lachlan, are afraid to speak with me.”
“Sweetheart,” he drawled. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“I didn’t say you were afraid of me,” she clarified, “but rather, you are uncomfortable around…”
The duchess’ cloying affected tones robbed Latimer of the rest of his remembrance. “Legends swirl about the Duke of Argyll’s prowess,” she purred in a useless attempt to incite Latimer. “I trust knowing he wanted me in his beddoesincrease your excitement with mine and your arrangement, Mr. Latimer?”
“Argyll beds so many women it’s a wonder his prick hasn’t rotted off.”
The Duchess of Argyll laughed; the throaty sounds of her amusement blended with the raucous crowd who’d at last managed to correctly guess the two women prancing about were, in fact, cats.
“We have that in common, do we not, Mr. Latimer? Our loathing for the current Duke of Argyll.”
That was the only thing they had in common.
Unlike Livian, who knew something of struggle and being an outsider to the peerage and—
“You and I are very similar, Mr. Latimer,” the duchess inaccurately noted from the corner of her lips.
“Are we?” he asked evenly. Quarreling with the woman who’d secure his position in the next great gaming empire was hardly a promising start to their future.
A suggestive glimmer entered her eyes.
“Is there, perhaps, some other fun we might sneak off in search of for ourselves?” she invited.
He opened his mouth to issue a polite declination when another clamor filled the room; all the guests present openly deciding who should be the first chosen for the newest parlor game.
His gaze caught on the Earl of Wakefield, who’d been just as distracted and disinterested in the night’s entertainment.
“Her Grace!” a young woman cried, followed by a flurry of like cries, clapping hands, and stomping feet. “You must be first!”
Glowing under the sudden adoration turned upon her, Lady Argyll touched a palm to her chest, and gracefully demurred. “As your hostess, I mustn’t.”
Bloody fabulous. The duchess was as tenacious as poison i—
“Ah, but I say as our hostess, you must lead us in Blindman’s Bluff, Your Grace.” The Duke of Roxbury’s deep, commanding voice cut through the noise and silenced the room.
At that moment, with all eyes on the commanding bachelor duke, Lord Wakefield climbed to his feet and quit the parlor.
Latimer cursed under his breath and contemplated his move.
The duchess, mistaking the reason for his annoyance, slanted a coy glance at Latimer, and then sailed gracefully to her feet. “If you must insist, Your Grace.”
