He watched as her back swelled like a bellows with her breathing.
She whirled on him, face white with fury.
“How would you have any idea what it’s like to sacrifice for a family? You, who have no family and can’t be bothered to marry!”
Oh,welldone, lass, he could have said. Such lashing scorn.
But for a second or two he could not speak or breathe.
“Maybe I don’t,” he managed quietly. “But believe it or not, I have a code, too, Daphne. I treat people accordingly. And no one recognizes a swindle better than I do.”
Her face spasmed with pain for an instant.
“Oh, what can you possibly know about any of this? How could you possibly know what you would do? You’re not even a gentleman. You’re a... you’re just aheathenfrom St. Giles. You haveno one.”
They stared at each other in shock.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
For a few moments the only sound was the fire, cracking and popping as it consumed the stockings.
He didn’t quite slam it. But the door shook in its frame when Lorcan closed it behind him.
Chapter Nine
Fuming, dazed, a trifle surprised by the turn of events, Lorcan stalked through the passage that connected the annex to the rest of The Grand Palace on the Thames.
What the bloody hell had just happened?
He was all the way in the foyer when he realized he hadn’t a key to the suite.
He swore softly.
Returning now would ruin his dramatic exit.
He would also be damned if he would go and knock on that door and beg her to let him in.
And damned if he would return with her scornful words still echoing in his ears. He simply couldn’t imagine doing it. And while it wasn’t as though she’d experience his absence as some terrible punishment, it would still make a point of sorts.
Although... he was beginning to think he deserved to be locked out.
He sighed, heavily. Swiped his hands down his face.
Why? Why couldn’t he have just let it be?
He was contemplating how he was going to manage to pass the night when he noticed a shadow thatresembled an egg on legs moving with impressive stealth and grace up the stairs.
“Ho, there, Delacorte,” Lorcan stage-whispered.
Mr. Delacorte froze midstep. “Ho, St. Leger,” he replied on a whisper, sounding pleased, and thereby revealing that Lorcan’s silhouette was easily recognizable, too. “What are you doing wandering the halls? Can’t sleep?”
Lorcan quietly moved over to the stairs. “A bit of to-do with me wife. I can’t go back tonight. So I’m roaming like a ghost.”
Delacorte made a sympathetic clucking sound.
“I expect she needs a little time without me,” Lorcan said. “And I without her. What’s your excuse?”
“You’ll not tell Brownie or Goldie.”