Page 147 of Pride: The Rogue
The Duchess of Argyll stopped before him. “Mr. Latimer, I do say, you seem a world away,” she said with a bemused smile.
Latimer was. The only place he wished to exist was within Livian’s shadow, so close their souls moved and walked in harmony.
“I’ve come to ask after Miss Lovelace, Your Grace,” he said bluntly. What else could he say, given the fact she’d walked upon him about to storm Livian’s room?
“Ahh.” She inclined her head in understanding. She arched a blonde eyebrow. “Mr. Latimer, surely you know, you could have just sought me out to do so.”
Hers wasn’t a question. But then, people like her, didn’t ask questions. Given her lofty rank and bloodlines, she made assertions.
“I’m here now,” Latimer said coolly. “I can verify for myself.”
He made another grab for the door handle.
“I’m afraid you can’t do that, Mr. Latimer,” the duchess said, a frown in her voice.
A servant exited one of the guest chambers down the hall. When she caught sight of the lady of the house speaking with Latimer, the girl dropped a curtsy, ducked her head, and hastened in to the very room she had just left.
Alone, the duchess glared. “I know you were not born within theton, Mr. Latimer,” she said, in frosty tones. “But you are about to make a scene, and embarrass me mightily. Everyone knows we are to be married. I will not have you gazing at another woman’s door like a lovesick swain. You can fuck whoever you want when we are married. Even beforehand. But I demand your discretion. Or I will absolutely ruin you.”
Fury should follow such a direct threat. No one spoke to him so. Men like him knew better than to let anyone make a threat against them.
The certain-to-be-bad discussion due between them regarding Latimer’s decision to not join with her in marriage would require some delicacy and couldn’t,and wouldn’t, happen outside Livian’s door.
“Your Grace—”
“Miss Lovelace is fine,” the duchess said brusquely. “I spoke with her at length last evening, and she displayed stoicism, grace, and strength throughout.”
God, I love her so much.What the hell was wrong with Latimer that had taken him so long to see it? Except, he knew. He’d never known love and, as such, hadn’t believed such an emotion existed until Livian.
“Thank you for sharing with me, Your Grace.”
“But you have no intention of leaving.”
“I have no intention of leaving,” he said, even though hers had been more of one of those non-questions.
“She is not here.”
His mouth tightened. He’d rather she’d led with that.
Livian had seen Latimer crazed and contorted into the bloodthirsty monster that lived inside of him and had since his birth to some unknown whore on the streets.
“If you can tell me where I can find Miss Lovelace, I would like speak with her,” Latimer said, not even bothering to mask his impatience.
“I would, if I were able to, Mr. Latimer.”
Given her lack of forthrightness thus far, he found that assurance rather impossible to believe.
“If you will excuse me then, Your Grace?” He’d already wasted enough time speaking with her.
“Mr. Latimer?” the duchess squeezed an extra syllable into his name, and with the slight up tilt, transformed hers into a question meant to stop him.
“What is it, Duchess?” he squeezed those words through gritted teeth.
The sly widow curled her lips into a feline-like smile, and he was to be her bloody mouse.
She took her damned time answering.
“What is it?” he snapped. God, and here he’d believed he could spend the rest of his life living with a woman who danced around words to gain control. Unlike Livian, who shared Latimer’s ability to not sugarcoat or play games about her thoughts.
