“I do so hate a scene,” he said, giving Archie a rather apologetic smile. He looked a little shaken. Archie didn’t blame him. She felt somewhat shaken herself.
They continued to walk back to the house in silence and spent the next half hour readying themselves for the journey. Not that Archie had any belongings to gather. She wondered what had happened between the poisonous beauty and Ranleigh. Had they been lovers? Had she expected him to marry her?
None of your affair, she scolded herself. Ranleigh had been kind, kinder than she’d had any right to expect. She would not believe ill of him. He had a good heart, that much was clear, and she was only too prepared to despise the woman who had threatened him. Ranleigh seemed well capable of dealing with the dreadful creature and that was good enough. Archie put her out of her mind.
Settled in the carriage, and with Ranleigh’s imposing home drawing out of sight, the duke spoke.
“Aren’t you curious?” he asked, curiosity of his own clearly behind the question.
Archie turned her attention from the scenery to Ranleigh.
“Curious?” she repeated, frowning.
Ranleigh let out an impatient huff. “Oh, come now. A woman slaps my face in fury in front of you and issues threats? Don’t you have questions?”
“Questions of the Duke of Ranleigh?” Archie remarked, dryly She raised one eyebrow. “No. I thank you. I don’t.” She’d put her curiosity aside. Ranleigh could keep his secrets, and she would keep hers.
Ranleigh frowned at her, looking a little put out. “You are a strange fellow.” He folded his arms, scowling.
Archie couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so adorably irritated.
“Because I won’t try to dig for gossip?” she said, mocking him a little, though not unkindly.
Ranleigh shrugged, his large shoulders drawing her attention at the movement. “Perhaps I want to tell you,” he muttered, folding his arms.
Archie stilled. “That would be a rather foolish thing to do,” she said, daring to scold him. Duke he may be, but he was far too trusting. “You don’t know me.”
Ranleigh nodded, his frown deepening. “I know that.” He sounded almost frustrated by the fact. “I know, only….” He shook his head.
“Only?” Archie echoed.
She waited, feeling the strangest sensation as the silence stretched between them.
The duke let out a breath, almost but not quite a laugh. “Only I feel like I do know you.” He gave Archie a twisted smile. “Yes, I know how that sounds too. I think I have been too much alone of late.”
“Alone?”
An aching sensation filled her chest as she recalled the look she’d seen occasionally on Ranleigh’s face before now. Only for a moment, but it had been there. He’s lonely, she’d thought then, certain she was right. Now that certainty grew, and she felt a ridiculous burst of concern for him. Ridiculous because… he was a duke, and what the hell could she do about it?
Once they got to London they would go their separate ways and Archie would never see him again. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the duke would want to pursue this unequal friendship. Archie wasn’t fit to polish his boots, let alone claim acquaintance. For all his egalitarian manners towards her, the man had to know it would not be like this again. Not when the world intruded and judged Archie to be a nobody, and that was the best-case scenario, assuming the world took her at face value and accepted her as him.
“She tried to trap me into marriage.”
Archie’s thoughts snapped back to the present as Ranleigh’s words sunk in. He gave a laugh, a bitter sound that tugged at her heart.
“There was a message. From a friend—I believed,” he said, seeming matter-of-fact on the face of it, though Archie sensed how deeply he’d been hurt. “But when I went to meet him, she was there, and… and then there were witnesses, of course.”
“Of course,” Archie said, feeling rather ill.
She watched as Ranleigh stared out of the carriage window and wondered if he was seeing the view as it rolled past. She thought not.
“I thought I was used to it,” he continued, almost as though he was talking to himself. That friends, people you trusted, would use you for their own ends. That friends were not friends because they liked you, because they knew you and valued you, but because you have a title and wealth and power, and they want some of it for themselves. Sometimes it’s just to claim an intimacy, to tell their friends, oh, the duke said….” He grimaced a little. “Sometimes it’s rather more than that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it, knowing only too well that it was hard when you couldn’t trust people just because you wanted to.
Ranleigh looked back at her, his gaze assessing. He smiled. “Thank you.”
“So, what of the witnesses?” she asked, afraid for him now. No matter that he’d appeared to have the upper hand. A woman like that would find a way to hurt him. “What now?”
He shrugged, looking away again. “I’ve silenced them. Some with money, some with threats of my own. It’s… unpleasant. Distasteful. I do not enjoy using such tactics and it makes me angry that I am driven to it, but….” There was another lift of his shoulders. “Feeling sorry for me yet?” he demanded, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes now.
“Pfft,” said Archie.
Chapter 4
“Wherein the duke must find a bride, and Archie must guard her heart.”
The talk, after that, moved to pleasanter topics: books, art, and the theatre. To her relief, Archie discovered she could hold her own, though Ranleigh stretched her knowledge to its full. He was an intelligent man, she realised. Educated too, naturally. When he found a hole in her schooling, which was inevitable, he was neither smug nor condescending, but handed her the knowledge she was lacking with pleasure.
Although Archie had open about her upbringing, about the education she had been lucky to receive from a kindly neighbour, she had perhaps not illustrated quite how hard she had studied for her own pleasure. Books were a joy, knowledge the key to unlock people and places, and situations.
When she had come to London and found herself drawn to the artistic community, those books, and that love of words, had served her well. It had made her friends. Good friends, who knew the truth about her. They knew, at least, that she was Jennifer Archibald, not Archie, and miraculously had remained her friends. There were few of them, perhaps, but they were worth their weight in gold. It was something she had, she realised, that the duke did not.
They paused around midday to eat and change horses, but the light was fading from the sky as they reached Bath. Streaks of pink and soft apricot blazed across the horizon as the sun sank, and Bath appeared gilded by it, all elegant lines and fashionable facades glowing as if touched by Midas himself.
Archie concentrated on that lovely sky and averted her eyes as the duke stretched out his long limbs after too many hours of confinement. Watching his broad shoulders move under the fine cloth of his coat was not good for her equilibrium. She admired him, though, and not only his striking looks and physique, but in the same way she had admired Will: for his intelligence, wit, and good nature.
This was different. She knew it, knew how dangerous it was, too. Ranleigh wasn’t prickly and easily offended. Talking to him about personal matters, or anything even resembling an emotion, was not like stepping around brambles and waiting for the scratch you hadn’t anticipated but knew was coming all the same. He was open. Too open. She had remonstrated with him for telling her too much more than once now. It was foolish of him to be so trusting of her, but he seemed determined to do it all the same.
It was too easy, the man too likable. He was getting under her skin and she needed to get away from him, but the longer she spent in his company the less she wanted to do so. She really needed to get away from him.
They spent the night at The Westgate, one of the main coaching inns in Bath. They had the best rooms.
Archie felt a pang of guilt as she took in the qu
ality of her own bedchamber. She’d gotten this under false pretences. No, damn it. She cursed under her breath. She had not. Helping the duke hadn’t been calculated. Archie had saved him from a pickpocket and the fellow had taken a liking to her. He liked her. She’d never told him she was a man, he’d just assumed. It wasn’t a lie.
Yes, because that argument had worked so well with Will. Bloody hell.
Dinner was simple but excellent. They played cards and Archie beat the duke three times out of four.
“Wretch,” Ranleigh cursed, throwing the cards down in disgust. He reached for his drink, eyeing Archie with frustration.
“Don’t be a sore loser.” Archie grinned at him, gathering the cards together again and shuffling them with obvious skill.
“You know,” the duke observed. “You could have fleeced me several times over if you put a wager down.”
Archie frowned and shook her head. The duke had invited her to make things more interesting several times, offering to give her enough to play with until she’d won enough to pay him back. Archie refused. She liked beating the man because she could. It was fun and she enjoyed his frustrated amusement, knowing he couldn’t best her. If there was money involved it would change things. It would seem as if she played for her own ends, not because she wanted to, because she enjoyed playing him.
“For heaven’s sake, you bottle-headed creature. You’ve lost your belongings and all your money.” Ranleigh sighed. “And I’m a very wealthy man. I can afford to pay any winnings, I assure you.”
“Most of my money,” Archie corrected, placing the neatly shuffled pack down and folding her arms. She gave him a look that suggested he’d bore her with the topic.
Ranleigh shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”
“Never asked you to,” Archie replied, a little sharp as she picked up the cards again and dealt a new hand.
She could feel his dark eyes watching her, trying to figure her out, and she smiled a little.
Good luck with that.
“How much?” the duke asked at length and she looked up, a little frustrated to discover this conversation wasn’t over yet.
“How much what?” She knew what he meant, but if he would persist, she would be obtuse. It was only fair.
“How much do you have left?” he asked, his smile bland though his eyes danced with humour, and she knew damn well he was laughing at her annoyance.
With a tut of irritation she slid her own cards from the table and shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “It’s very bad ton to discuss money. Did no one ever teach you that, your grace?”
One elegant eyebrow arched.
“God, you’re stubborn,” she muttered under her breath. “A little over ten shillings. Enough, with your help getting back to London.” She relented a little, knowing he was only pushing because he was anxious for her. “I have friends there, I’ll get work easily enough.” He looked far from reassured and she felt a burst of annoyance. “Stop worrying about me. Worry about yourself and your backstabbing friends.”
Ranleigh flinched a little at the words and she regretted them at once.
“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing up from her cards at him. He waved her apology away and reached for his own.
It was always like this. She was never sure how much help she ought to accept from friends. Her friends had always been generous to her, but she hated being in anyone’s debt and rarely accepted. Except that she had come to realise that part of being a friend was to allow them to help you. Now and again, anyway, but Ranleigh was not her friend and never would be. A pang of regret burst open in her chest at that idea, but she pushed it down. Even if Ranleigh wanted it, even if she allowed it, it would be Will all over again and that had hurt them both too deeply, not to mention Selina. No. She would take nothing from the duke past the generosity of his company and the cost of delivering her to London. That he could well afford, and she had little option but to accept, like it or not.
The trouble was, she did like it… a good deal.
***
The next morning was dull and drizzly, but they were both in good spirits as they ate a hearty breakfast and settled into the carriage for the next leg of their journey.
Far from being a tedious affair, the morning flew by, and she thought the duke was just as surprised as she was as the carriage drew up at the inn to change horses. Archie wondered if she had ever laughed so much in her life. Ranleigh seemed to delight in telling her tall tales. They often seemed to cast himself as the fool, poking fun at his lofty position; something in which he took a wry pleasure. The more outrageous the story, the more inclined she was to believe it was true. She could picture him in each ridiculous vignette he painted and laughed until tears ran down her face.
That she had made him laugh too had given her a private little burst of pride and pleasure.
The carriage drew up to change horses and allow them to eat and stretch their legs and Archie stepped down, looking around the place with interest. The innkeeper at The Old Crown in Swindon had been almost beside himself when he learned there was a duke among them, as he’d just given his private parlour to a large party comprising among their number an earl, two viscounts and a baron. Ranleigh had made a dry remark about having an ace up his sleeve before assuring the anxious looking fellow he was quite happy to eat in the public rooms. He was, too. Archie could tell he wasn’t the least bit high in the instep.
She smiled a little as she knew Will would have balked in horror at the idea… though mostly because he dreaded being the subject of public interest, rather than out of any real snobbery. It was a busy place on the main London road, but the atmosphere was convivial and the room cosy, and the scent of food enough to make Archie salivate.
As they made their way inside the crowded inn, Ranleigh turned as a voice hailed him across the chatter and bustle of the room.
“Ranleigh? I say, it is you. Well, well, coz, fancy seeing you here! Slumming it?”
Archie turned at the sound of the overly loud and rather cut-glass voice to see a young man of startling appearance walking towards the duke. The only word that came to mind and echoed resoundingly in her head was tulip.
He was exquisite, from his over complicated cravat, to the towering points of his collars and the frankly eye-watering shade of violet that graced his silk waistcoat. Gilt buttons gleamed and fobs dangled, jewellery flashing on his fingers and a large ruby glinting in the folds of his cravat. Archie blinked in astonishment. The duke was every inch sophisticated understatement. His attire screamed quality, wealth, and entitlement from every perfect seam yet there was nothing the least bit ostentatious about him, and… he was related to this?
Archie turned to see the effect of this apparition on her companion and noticed his face shutter up just a little. Where there was warmth and amusement for Archie, a rather more sardonic expression now entered his eyes.
“Jeremiah,” Ranleigh said, inclining his head in recognition as the young man drew nearer.
“Wish I’d known you would be here,” said the tulip, looking a trifle indignant. “We’re just on our way now.”
“A pity,” the duke replied affably, though Archie thought he was more than a little relieved.
She knew she was. There was an air about the fellow she didn’t like. Ranleigh turned to her and there was something between laughter and apology in his eyes when he spoke.
“Mr Archibald, may I present my cousin, the honourable Mr Jeremiah Bagshot? Jeremiah, Mr Archibald.”
Archie greeted the fellow with perfect politeness, but Mr Bagshot, whilst not being overtly rude, made it clear he was little interested in her acquaintance.
“Going back to town?” he enquired of Ranleigh who agreed that he was. “How have you been? Been thinking of calling on you this past sennight or more. Heard you was holed up at Highwood. Blue devilled or bilious?”
Archie started a little at the question, which was impertinent at best.
“Ah, well,” Ranleigh said, adopti
ng a rather weary and mournful tone that had Archie staring at him in astonishment. “When one gets to my age, too much company becomes tiresome. The headache plagues me too, and such a pain in my back. I had to have the doctor attend me most days during that last wet spell.”
“Really?” Bagshot said, perking up as his eyes glittered with interest.
“Really,” Ranleigh repeated with a sigh, ignoring Archie incredulous expression. “Now, if you would excuse me, I really must sit down. This standing around talking is so fatiguing.”
Ranleigh moved away, bearing a pained expression until they were out of sight and earshot of his cousin.
“What the devil was all that about?” Archie demanded as they sat in best seat in the room, after the innkeeper had shooed the last occupants away with haste. She watched as Ranleigh settled himself and peered across the room to check his cousin had gone.
“Wretched devil is my heir,” he said with a snort of amusement. “He gets so dejected if he discovers me in good health, I feel quite guilty about it. Don’t like to depress the foolish boy too badly, not when he has waistcoats like that to contend with.”
Archie stared at him, sceptical, and then gave a bark of laughter that had the ladies at the table beside them turning and giving them disapproving glances. Ranleigh just grinned, unrepentant.
“He was rather awful,” Archie said, enjoying herself. “And that waistcoat was nothing short of nauseating.”
“Ghastly,” Ranleigh agreed. “Imagine the title being attached to violet silk. It’s enough to make me want to retch.”
Archie nodded, feeling in perfect accord with this sentiment. She could just imagine that mincing dandy lording it over everyone if he became duke. “He’s really your heir?” she asked, doubtful how such a thing could have come about. Ranleigh’s towering size and ruddy good health seemed to share no common bloodline with the dandyish Mr Bagshot.
Ranleigh grimaced but gave a nod. “A serious of unfortunate circumstances, and a lack of forward planning has arranged things nicely for Jeremiah. Sadly, for him I am a rather large fly in his ointment. It gives me feeling of foreboding every time we meet, which is as seldom as I can arrange it, I assure you.” He gave a heavy sigh and then sat back as a serving maid came with a pitcher of wine and glasses.
Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Page 4