Chapter 18 #3
He let go of her skirts and steadied her against the wall just as Colhoun got back.
“Your Grace, they insist you are needed now.”
Bloody hell.
“Can you not tell them a man is busy—”
“Mr. DuMond asked I inform you that there is time for ‘that’ later, but you are needed now.”
Daria leaned up and whispered into his ear. “I think you must go,” Daria said gently.
“It appears that way,” he muttered.
“I shall be waiting in our bedchamber.”
His nostrils flared; his lust even hotter.
Our bedchamber.
The phrase alone sent fresh heat surging through him. “That is right: our bed.”
Before he could reconsider—again—voices intruded.
“What in hell is keeping you?”
Kilburn.
DuMond joined him moments later.
“Your Grace.” DuMond bowed to Daria. “A pleasure.”
“At least one of you remembers his damned—” Argyll broke off at the seriousness of their expressions.
“I insist you call me Daria,” his wife offered. “I do not care for Duchess.”
Kilburn shot Argyll a look that spoke volumes.
“I’ll join you shortly, Daria,” Argyll said, already reading the tension in his partners’ faces.
She lingered a moment longer, sensing it too. Then she left, casting him one last troubled glance.
The moment the door closed behind her, Kilburn shoved open the butler’s office with such force it struck the far wall and rebounded. “Is this how you intend to spend your time?”
DuMond shut the door behind them, slower, more deliberately.
Unease scraped his spine; Argyll turned right off. “My sisters?”
“They are fine,” DuMond said. “For now.”
Kilburn cut in. “There has been a development. You were instructed to seek us out upon your return.”
Argyll’s stomach pitched. “Diggory.”
Kilburn’s mouth thinned. He said nothing.
That was answer enough.
“And yet,” Kilburn added coolly, “you were otherwise occupied with a woman you’ve but m—”
Argyll moved before the words fully left the man’s mouth. He fisted Kilburn’s jacket and slammed him back against the door, the impact rattling the hinges.
“You will not speak of my wife as if she is someone common,” Fury pounded in his veins. “If you do, I’ll make a widow of my sister,” he said low and lethal, with an illusion of calm.
For a heartbeat, Kilburn did not respond.
Then—slowly—he lifted his hands. Not in surrender. In acknowledgment. Something like approval flickered in Kilburn’s cynical gaze. “Very well,” his brother-in-law said evenly. “But do not mistake my restraint for indulgence.”
DuMond reached into his jacket and produced a folded note.
Argyll read it once. Then again.
Deals are made with the Devil, Duke.
You are less than Job—and you will fare no better than he.
Satan does not punish in Hell. He acts upon the earth.
Your reputation is not that of a praying man.
You would be wise to become one. Soon.
Signed,
The Devil
His fingers crushed the paper.
“Given the timing,” DuMond said carefully, “we believe it best our wives be moved soon.”
Argyll’s agreement was automatic. “Of course.”
“Kilburn is seeing to the security adjustments and details. Until the threat is gone, the wives will reside at Kilburn’s house in London.”
Both men were staring strangely at Argyll. Did they believe he’d challenge the security protocol.
“What?” As soon as Argyll asked, he understood. He drew back. “Not all the wives.”
Another look passed. “Argyll, you must know that among us, Kilburn is the steadiest hand when it comes to guarding our wives.”
“Speak to me in those patronizing tones again, DuMond,” Argyll vowed. “and I will make you swallow your teeth.”
His best friend didn’t take the bait and give Argyll the fight he craved. Naturally, his brother-in-law, the Assassin, obliged. “What is this about?”
Welcoming an outlet for his frustration, Argyll squared off with Kilburn.
The knowing glint in the hardened man’s eyes caught him unawares. What did the other man suggest?
Unnerved, Argyll moved between his partners. They both wore the same bloody expression. He straightened; every line of him hardening. “This is not about me wanting her here.”
The speed and sameness with which the pair spoke made liars of them.
“No one said it was.”
“Not at all.”
To DuMond’s credit, he at least made the attempt.
Kilburn drew out the three syllables in a taunt. “What constrained you earlier? Hmm? When Colhoun summoned you—not once, but twice. You had your wife backed against the wall—”
Argyll rushed for Kilburn’s smirking face.
DuMond wedged himself between them. “Enough!” He backed them away from one another. “My God, we’re in the middle of a bloody war and you two cannot put aside your animosity.” The look DuMond reserved for Kilburn, however, placed blame where blame was due. This time.
“We do not have time for this,” DuMond declared. “Not only do we have a business to worry after, we have family whom we love who are in need of protection.”
Love?
Argyll withdrew his gaze for a moment; his composure held fast.
“He is right, isn’t he?” Kilburn’s cold smile begged for the fight they’d been denied.
“That puling emotion you speak of?” Argyll met hardened eyes with his even harder ones. “Is precisely why Her Grace would be best served here. You don’t have the head about you. Furthermore,” he said, the subject settled. “The duchess serves a purpose your wives do not.”
Silence met his cool, emotionless statement—as did their condemnation, and it echoed with Daria’s whispered words on their wedding night.
“…I do not want to be duchess, Gregory…I want to be your wife….”
An unwelcome warmth spread beneath his sternum.
“My wife stays with me,” he repeated so it was clear.
“What uses do you have for the duchess?” DuMond asked, his gaze coldly disapproving.
His jaw tightened at the phrasing.
“You’ve failed to speak with us about any plans.” The marquess glanced Kilburn’s way. “Unless I’m the only member of our triumvirate unaware of the scheme?”
The dead-eyed earl shook his head. “I know nothing.”
“The Duchess is close with the Caldecott family. She will bring us closer to Craven.”
“Craven?” DuMond repeated. “Craven whom we cast out? You cannot mean the man who nearly saw my wife killed.”
From the other man’s thinly suppressed rage it couldn’t be clearer why certain decisions must fall to Argyll. “We knew him years ago. He made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” DuMond laughed a harsh, empty sound. “Feeling forgiving, are you?”
As Kilburn hadn’t yet been a partner at the time, he reserved his silence off to the side.
“Hardly,” Argyll assured. “Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei.”
“My friend, the enemy of my enemy?” DuMond’s went still. “Did you just quote me an ancient proverb.”
Bloody DuMond and his inability to see reason. “In less than a year, Craven built a rival venture, that took us years to achieve.”
“We were in university,” DuMond’s bellow sent the crystal sconces tinkling.
Kilburn rested a hand on the other man’s sleeve and steered him away from Argyll.
While Argyll’s brother-in-law worked to calm the other man down, Argyll masked his pity. God help him if he ever fell into such a state—he lusted after his wife, even enjoyed her company. That was the extent of it. He would never be undone as those two men were.
“Ah, yes, well, I’ll be sure and do you the favor of reminding you after someone nearly kills your wife that it is in our best interest to maintain an alliance for the sake of greater profits at our club.” DuMond inclined his head. “Duly noted.”
“Go to hell, DuMond.”
“Gentlemen,” Kilburn’s quiet commanding tone was stronger than a shout. “this isn’t productive.”
No. What would be is Argyll heading above stairs and finding his wife—
DuMond turned to their newest partner. “I am too close to it, Kilburn. And even as Argyll seems to have forgotten this is a partnership, I welcome your outside position.”
Argyll’s brother-in-law ran a hand down his jaw.
“Diggory is not on par with what you two have faced,” he said quietly.
“He deals in death. He has kidnapped, raped, and burned parts of London to the ground. That degree of ruthlessness is unmatched—and until this threat is dealt with, I advise we do not turn upon one another.” He gave DuMond a regretful look.
“I know this is not what you will want to hear, DuMond.”
“No. I…needed this,” the other man said, checking himself.
The look he fixed on Argyll was hard. “All of this assumes you are capable of persuading a man whose wife you seduced that you merit partnership.”
Argyll inclined his head. “I have no concerns whatsoever.”
“Do tell your wife that.”