Will had sensed her mood, and by mid-morning sent her home again, telling her to have a long weekend and get some rest. His sympathy for her plight touched her, but she knew this could not go on. Will deserved better than a secretary who spent her days mooning over a relationship that didn’t even exist. He offered his carriage, but she refused. Perhaps, if she walked far enough, she’d sleep well for once.
It frustrated her that she was acting the fool. She had nothing to complain about. Her work with Will was interesting and varied and living with Erasmus and Rupert was certainly never dull. Erasmus was becoming a respected artist and there was a constant parade of visitors to the house, from the wealthy and titled to the famous and infamous. Yet, beneath her busy life, beneath the pride and enjoyment in her work and her friends, there was Ranleigh. When she lay in bed at night and sought sleep, it was his warm, brown eyes she saw, glinting with amusement.
No matter that she told herself she was a fool, her feelings persisted. No matter how much she scolded herself, her thoughts returned to him over and again. It was simply impossible to fall in love with someone in a matter of days, she reasoned. Yet a normal courtship might last for months, with meetings of only an hour at a time, strictly chaperoned. She had been alone with Ranleigh from early morning to late at night for six full days, and Ranleigh was not a man for keeping secrets, despite her protests. She knew him and, with a sense of hopelessness, she knew she was falling for him. It had begun sometime between watching him fall on his arse beside the river and sharing the confines of the carriage, the air between them heavy with confidences and trust. His trust.
It was in this state of restless unease that she looked up as a carriage reined in beside her. A familiar dark head appeared beside the window as it opened.
“Well, well, the elusive Mr Archibald,” Ranleigh said, his dark eyes glinting in the afternoon sun. “I was beginning to think you a figment of my imagination.”
For a moment she just stared, as though she’d conjured him. “Your imagination’s not that good,” Archie replied in all seriousness, earning herself a bark of laughter.
“Damn you, you intolerable cub,” he cursed, shaking his head and flinging open the carriage door. “Get in.”
For just a moment, she hesitated. It was stupid, reckless even. She had avoided him successfully for three months… and God how she missed him.
Archie got in the carriage.
Ranleigh looked her over, his gaze critical as she sat herself down. “You’ve lost weight,” he said, a little accusing.
It was true, she knew it. She was restless and too distracted to bother with eating unless Erasmus nagged her.
“This fellow you work for,” Ranleigh continued, frowning now. “Is he treating you right? Paying you enough?”
“No,” Archie said mournfully, as she put the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic pose. “He whips me and beats me, and I work dawn to dusk for a farthing a week.”
Ranleigh’s eyes narrowed and Archie sighed, folding her arms.
“He gave me the rest of the day off,” she said, shaking her head at him. “What a monster.”
The duke brightened at that. “Excellent. A fortuitous turn of events,” he said grinning now, mischief glittering in his eyes. “In that case, you can accompany me.”
It was Archie’s turn to frown. If she were honest, she was prepared to follow Ranleigh to the end of the earth if he wanted to go, but she knew that was not a sound plan for her future health and happiness. “Accompany you where?” she asked, wishing her heart hadn’t picked up in anticipation.
“Newmarket,” he replied rubbing his hands together with glee. “The Town Plate is tomorrow, and I have a beautiful chestnut filly who is looking very promising.” He watched for her reaction, his pleased expression falling away. “Oh, come along, Archie,” Ranleigh said in response to her frown, a wheedling tone to his voice. “What could be more pleasant than a fine autumn day at the races, especially spent in the company of a beautiful creature like Miss Skirmish?”
Archie stiffened. It had been on the tip of her tongue to agree, and damn the fact it was a terrible idea. Spending a weekend with one of Ranleigh’s light o’ loves in tow, though? That did not appeal to her.
“Miss Skirmish?” she repeated, her voice dull as she wondered if that was a stage name.
Perhaps the wretched creature was an actress, or an opera singer.
“My horse,” Ranleigh said, dry as sand and with a curious look in his eyes.
Archie relaxed and let out a huff of laughter, feeling a fool. “Oh.”
“Come along. It will be like old times,” Ranleigh said, his desire for Archie’s company palpable, and damn if that wasn’t a tantalising prospect. “We’ll be there in time for dinner, spend tomorrow at the races, and I’ll bring you back Sunday. You’ll be home in time for early bed,” he added, sounding a little impatient and as though he was talking to a fractious nephew, or perhaps an elderly aunt.
The longing to spend time in Ranleigh’s company fought with good sense. She should stay clear of him. The aching need to reach out and touch him, to sit close beside him and lay her head on his shoulder… all of that warned her to stay clear, to make an excuse, to run.
Longing won out.
“All right, then,” she said in a rush, before her brain could catch up and convince her of just how terrible an idea this was. “But I’ve not got a thing with me.”
Ranleigh waved this off as a trifling matter. “My valet always packs enough for three men on a grand tour. It won’t be a problem.”
And as easy as that they were on their way.
Chapter 7
“Wherein temptation rides for a fall.”
Newmarket was a seething mass of humanity, most of it set on enjoying itself, the remainder set on relieving as much money as possible from those doing the enjoying. Archie kept a sharp eye out for pick-pockets.
Ranleigh showed her about and introduced her to Miss Skirmish. He was right, she was a beautiful creature. Her chestnut coat gleamed in the sun and she nudged at Ranleigh’s arm with her sleek head, seeking another caress. Ranleigh supplied it, crooning his admiration in a way that made Archie feel a little breathless as she watched his big hand smooth over the horse’s glossy neck.
What would it feel like, to have his hands on her, to hear that soft murmur of adoring words sent in her direction? For a moment she imagined it, those large hands on her skin, and the weight of his body against hers. Ranleigh looked up to find her watching him and Archie turned away, praying he’d not seen the depth of her blush.
Damn it, Archie, this was a bad idea. The worst.
They inspected the stalls while they waited for the first race. There would be several heats, each of up to thirty runners. The five winners from each heat would then meet in the final contest. Unlike many races, the Town Plate was a little different. Most races were ridden by professional jockeys, but the Plate could be ridden by owners too. Archie found herself astonished to discover Ranleigh’s fiercest rival was the Duke of Rothborn, and that he would ride his own horse.
Excitement built in the air as the appointed hour of the first race drew nearer. Tension thrummed through the crowd as they made their own way to start point. They watched the riders gather at Thomond’s post, the starting point for the race, and Ranleigh pointed the duke out. He was a handsome young man, perhaps the same age as Archie. She wondered if Ranleigh had guessed her age. She looked younger than her twenty-five years, that much she knew. Most people guessed Archie to be twenty-one at most.
Rothborn’s horse was doing its best to take chunks out of the competition and Archie watched as the young duke did his best to keep her out of biting distance.
“That’s Virago,” Ranleigh said, nodding at the foul tempered, ebony beast. “And Miss Skirmish’s competition. She’s an ill-humoured beauty, but there’s no denying her quality. She’ll walk this first round.”
Ranleigh’s words were proven correct and they w
atched the duke bring Virago in for an easy win. When Miss Skirmish arrived at the post, Archie found herself more interested in watching Ranleigh than the race. He was enjoying himself and it was evident in every aspect of him. She had noted in the past—at the few grand occasions she’d attended where she’d observed such things—that the rich, and especially the nobility, seemed to make a point of not enjoying themselves. They adopted a world-weary air of sophistication that implied that there was little their jaded palates had not tasted, nothing they hadn’t already seen and done, and nothing would impress them.
Ranleigh was the polar opposite of this pretentious façade. He took pleasure in small things, such as a meat pie eaten hot from its paper wrapping like any common fellow, and in grander ones, like standing here, the proud duke, watching his beautiful horse leave the opposition standing. It was all experienced with the same exuberance and delight as Archie imagined he might have found as a boy. What was both better and far worse was the knowledge that much of his enjoyment came from sharing it with her. He’d not have found as much fun in the day if he’d been alone. The truth of that settled in her heart, a desperate desire taking root there to ensure that he was never alone again.
The more she watched him, the further she fell under his spell and the more she knew she had to get away. Her fingers burned with the desire to reach out and touch him and her skin ached with his closeness. The more time she spent in his presence the harder she fell and the closer she came to her own destruction, and a scandal that would hurt those around her. She had to leave.
Ranleigh was delighted by the win but frowned as he watched Miss Skirmish led back to the stables
“What is it?” she asked, following his gaze.
“I’m not sure,” he said, his gaze sharpening. “I think she’s hurt.”
To his dismay, Ranleigh withdrew Miss Skirmish from the final heat. Though disappointed by this, it didn’t seem to diminish his enthusiasm for watching the winners and he seemed genuinely pleased that Rothborn had won the Plate.
“I thought he was your biggest rival?” Archie said, watching him with interest as they walked at a leisurely pace back to the stables. The duke wanted to check on Miss Skirmish once more before he left. The head groom had assured him there was no lasting damage but Ranleigh wanted to take another look, just to be certain.
“He is,” Ranleigh said, laughing at her surprise. “But he’s a decent fellow. A good sport, too. Though he can’t stand me, I’m afraid.”
“Really?” Archie couldn’t keep the astonishment from her voice. Ranleigh was so damned likable she couldn’t imagine anyone unable to do so.
“You flatter me,” he said, grinning at her as Archie struggled to hide a blush. “But it’s my own fault. I was rather overbearing in trying to give the fellow good advice once.”
“Never,” Archie said, her voice ringing with sarcasm as she realised exactly how it could have happened. No doubt Ranleigh had been trying to help. “You? Overbearing? I don’t believe it.”
Ranleigh narrowed his eyes at her. “Ha ha,” he said, trying to look affronted, though his smile was in his voice. “Anyone would think you believed I was pushy and interfering.”
“You are pushy and interfering,” she replied, with feeling this time.
Ranleigh shrugged, looking a tad sheepish. “I mean well,” he offered, something that looked like doubt in his dark eyes.
Archie couldn’t help but smile at that comment, a helpless swell of something pushing at the confines of her chest. “I know,” she said, her voice too warm. “And I’m sure Rothborn does too.”
“Speak of the devil.”
She glanced back at Ranleigh and followed his gaze. A knot of people stood about the handsome young Duke of Rothborn and with dismay she realised Ranleigh intended to speak with them. Deciding she had enough trouble handling a single duke and a marquess without adding another grand title to the set, Archie fell back and feigned an interest in fussing over a handsome bay. The animal whickered with pleasure at her approach and she stroked its soft muzzle, watching Ranleigh greet his rival with interest.
“Congratulations, Rothborn,” he said, as he drew closer.
She was too far away to follow the conversation after that, but she could see that Rothborn was not pleased to see him.
“What the devil are you playing at, Archie?” she murmured, before giving the horse one last pat and wandering off. She could catch up with Ranleigh later back at The Rutland Arms where he had taken rooms for the weekend. For now, she needed to keep her distance.
***
“Where the devil did you get to?”
Archie turned before she reached the staircase to find Ranleigh coming down the corridor behind her.
“Just wandering about. You seemed occupied with your friends, so I thought I’d leave you to it.”
Ranleigh rolled his eyes at her. “I told you, Rothborn can’t stand me. Anyway, did you have a good afternoon? You didn’t have to tackle any more pickpockets, I take it?”
“No,” Archie replied, amused, though less so when Ranleigh frowned at her cravat.
“You could have fooled me, look at the state of that. I can’t let you go down with….”
He waved a hand at the offending article.
Used to Will’s lectures on how to tie a proper cravat, Archie just submitted with a sigh, allowing him to tug and primp the thing into something he approved of. She closed her eyes as his hands brushed her throat, too aware of his proximity. Don’t blush, she commanded herself. Don’t you dare blush.
“Well, it’s better,” Ranleigh said, though he looked unconvinced.
“Can I go down now, or do I need to eat in my room?” she demanded, raising one eyebrow.
“You’ll do, cub,” he said, smacking her on the back.
They walked down the stairs together and were shown to a private parlour, where the sound of a convivial gathering greeted them.
Archie did her best to hide her dismay on discovering it would not just be her and Ranleigh supping together. A large and jovial party of strangers sat before her, and Archie tried to look jovial in return. It was hard. As much as she’d known an evening alone in Ranleigh’s company was a bad, bad idea, she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed.
“Not my doing,” Ranleigh said, perhaps picking up on her discomfort. “I met a few acquaintances, most of whom were already putting up here and before I knew it….”
He shrugged, and Archie dared to wonder if he was as dismayed as she was, but that was ridiculous.
“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “The more the merrier.”
There was worse to come. Ranleigh was seated between two beautiful young women and looking to be perfectly content with the arrangement. Archie was opposite, with an exquisite creature on her left and, on her right, a young man who bore a marked resemblance to a sweet face cherub.
With resignation, Archie allowed herself to be introduced to Thomas Tindall, who was the Earl of Stanthorpe. Of course he was, Archie thought with a sigh. She didn’t have one of those. The earl, or Tommy as the young man insisted he be addressed, was charming and every bit as sweet-natured as the tumbling golden curls that framed his guileless face would suggest.
Archie did her best to keep quiet, determined she was not—repeat not—going to make friends with an earl. It wasn’t easy. Tommy was funny and easy going, and great fun to be around.
Miss Constance Preston was another matter.
It was clear that Miss Preston knew Ranleigh. It was blatantly obvious that she wanted him. A beautiful creature of perhaps twenty-two, she had ash blonde hair, and wide glittering eyes that danced a line somewhere between a delicate pale green and a soft light blue. Ranleigh’s attention, however, was focused on his immediate companions who were greedily demanding every second of his time.
Worse than that the women were funny, engaging and beautiful, clever. Everything a duchess ought to be. As the evening continued Archie began to hate
them for their perfect faces and flirtatious banter. They laughed and followed Ranleigh’s attempts to draw her into their conversation, but Archie’s head ached from the constant tittering and giggling which sounded akin to nails on a blackboard to her ear. Jealousy made her stomach tight and she knew her growing dislike stemmed from this unjust emotion but could do nothing to stop it. Irritation simmered beneath her skin and despite her best efforts her jaw tightened further with each passing moment.
She glanced at Ranleigh, wondering how he stood it, or if he really was enjoying himself as much as he appeared to be.
Did the women really like him? Want him? Did they really see him? Did they just want to be the next duchess? Of course they did. Yes, to every question. Ranleigh was a good man, the best of men. Any woman would want him, titled or not.
Was Ranleigh interested in any of them?
She couldn’t be sure.
Was she just jealous as hell?
Archie didn’t answer that one.
Ranleigh’s pleasure in the evening seemed genuine enough, but then what man wouldn’t enjoy having three beautiful women fighting for his attention? Archie swallowed down an unwelcome stab of bitterness. He didn’t even realise there was a fourth, albeit far from beautiful.
Having failed to gain more than a few words of conversation with Ranleigh under the weight of competition, Miss Preston took another tack. Archie jolted as a caressing hand slid over her arm.
“I understand you’re a friend of the duke’s?” Miss Preston purred, turning thickly lashed, limpid eyes on Archie. “You accompanied him here?”
“Er, yes, that’s right,” Archie replied, trying to rein in the desire to stab the girl’s hand with the fork she was clutching. Though she knew she was no rival for Ranleigh’s affections, could never be a rival, the limits of what her jealous heart could endure had been reached. This girl could be rival, she could take his attention. “Though… I don’t know him well,” she added, hoping this might put her off. Archie wasn’t so clueless as to believe it was her that Miss Preston was interested in.
Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Page 8