“What?”
“Nothing,” she said, folding her arms. Ranleigh could flirt or dally with whomsoever he chose. It was none of her affair.
“That is a blatant lie,” Ranleigh said, pouring two glasses of ale and placing one in front of her. “I’ve had enough of lies and half-truths, Archie. You’ll speak plain or not at all. Now spit it out. What’s put you in such a bad skin? I was almost certain you were glad to see me and now you look like you want to throttle me.”
Archie knew she should hold her tongue. Knew it with certainty, but she couldn’t stop herself. “How is the Duchess of Rothborn?”
Ranleigh stilled and then let out a little huff of laughter.
“You think it’s funny?” Archie said, her temper rising as she got to her feet, too annoyed to sit still. “Bloody hell, Ranleigh, you said you liked Rothborn, that you were sorry you’d messed things up, but there he is, newly wed and you sweep in and steal his wife away. If that’s the kind of friendship you’re offering, well….” Archie hesitated, knowing this might finally send him packing. “Well, you can stuff it.”
Ranleigh stood too, his expression dark now.
“Sit down,” he said, his tone severe. Archie did as he asked, aware that he was bloody angry but finding her own temper more than matched his. “I’ll tell you what happened,” he said, the words a growl. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That’s never stopped you!” Archie retorted, folding her arms and glowering at him. Bloody man. If he thought he could come over all dukish and commanding now, he had another think coming.
Ranleigh glowered a bit more and then sat down with a sigh. “Oh, devil take it, Archie. I’m not having an affair with Rothborn’s wife.”
Archie frowned, unconvinced, even as Ranleigh looked up again and met her eyes.
“Every bloody newssheet in the country is convinced you’re in love with her,” she said, wishing she wasn’t aware of the heightened colour in her cheeks. “They say she’s beautiful and fascinating.”
“And so she is,” Ranleigh agreed, unwittingly sending an arrow shaft straight to Archie’s heart. “And yes, I could be tempted in that direction. She’s an extraordinary creature, like no one I’ve ever met before.”
Archie swallowed hard, forcing back the hurt, the tears that burned hot behind her eyes.
“Then what the devil are you doing here with me? Why not run back to follow at your extraordinary creature’s heels like a lamb?” Archie snapped, repeating something she’d heard in one of those papers, jealousy a living thing beneath her skin, twisting the arrow in her heart a little deeper with each word he spoke. The duchess was beautiful and extraordinary. Oh God, she wanted to die.
“Because I’m not in love with her, nor am I having an affair with her!” Ranleigh shouted, incensed. “And know better than to believe everything you read, blast you.”
The maid came back in, oblivious to the atmosphere and Archie turned her back, leaning on the mantle and staring at the fire to hide her expression. She blinked back tears, trying hard to compose herself and avoiding looking at the maid. Instead she tried to hold onto his words, to believe him. He wasn’t in love with the duchess, he wasn’t having an affair with her. Had it just been a flirtation, then? Had he been toying with her? That was almost worse.
She took a deep breath, striving for calm even though she knew it didn’t matter. At some point there would be a woman, whether he loved her or not. Ranleigh had to marry and provide lots of little baby Ranleighs for the succession. It was a matter of time.
Archie heard the door close.
“Rothborn is a bloody fool and left his new wife alone and unhappy for reasons that are entirely private, and I will not divulge to you. So, I flirted with the young woman, and yes, I made a cake of myself in public, for her benefit. So that her pig-headed fool of a husband would see what he was about lose and come back and claim her before someone with less scruples than I have did it for him.”
Archie frowned and turned back to see that Ranleigh was annoyed, and more than a little offended.
“I would have thought you might think better of me than that,” the duke added, proving her right.
Archie bit her lip, considering the man as he cursed and took a deep drink before setting it down again. “Look, she tempted me,” he said, frustrated now. “I admit it. She’s lovely and she was lonely and unhappy, and God damn it so am I, but I’m not such a blackguard as that, Archie. Surely you know that?”
“Yes,” Archie said, wishing her voice wasn’t so thick. “I know that.”
Ranleigh sighed. “Well. Good. I hope that’s cleared up that little misunderstanding?”
Archie nodded, though she knew nothing had really changed except that she could put the blasted man back on his pedestal. Which helped her not at all. The duchess had tempted him in a way that Archie never would. She was not beautiful, she wasn’t fascinating, and she certainly wasn’t extraordinary. Well, perhaps she extraordinary, she conceded, only not in a good way. Only in the way that might make people laugh and whisper and point at the freak.
So, nothing had changed. She wanted what she couldn’t have, and so she had to leave to guard her heart and her secrets. Ranleigh was here, though, and she would try to enjoy his company while she could, and then… then she would tell him goodbye.
***
The meal passed in a stilted fashion, their conversation rather forced and awkward and Ranleigh cursed, frustrated. So far, he’d achieved nothing but clearing his own name and was no closer to unravelling the enigma that was Mr Archibald.
He’d been a little startled by the force of his anger at the rumours about him and the Duchess of Rothborn. Once again it had been on the tip of his tongue to demand if Archie was jealous, but he knew better than to voice that opinion aloud again. Was that it, though, he wondered? He’d been the subject of schoolboy crushes in his youth, and the idea did not trouble him, so long as Archie didn’t expect him to reciprocate.
It occurred to him to wonder if perhaps this was what lay at the heart of everything: unrequited love. And then he thought he was a conceited ass and it was unlikely he was at the heart of anything at all. Archie clearly had secrets and troubles that he was unwilling to share for whatever reason. That he felt Ranleigh undeserving of his confidence was a lowering suspicion, but likely far closer to the truth.
They walked back to the house where Archie was staying, neither of them saying much as Ranleigh cursed his wretched temper. He’d come here to get the truth from Archie, and the only person who had done any confessing was him. It was impossible to get the fellow to open up while still in such a stew, and he was certainly stewing, that much was obvious. Ranleigh eyed his stiff shoulders and tense poise with misgiving. He may have been cleared of any wrongdoing with the duchess, but he still felt firmly lodged in the doghouse.
The cottage was charming, all lopsided angles and roses about the door. It was typical of the Sussex style, partly whitewashed and the rest tile hung, with leaded light windows that sparkled in the afternoon sun.
“How lovely,” Ranleigh murmured, pausing to approve the delightful rural picture it presented.
Archie cast a fond eye over it and nodded. “It’s isn’t a Prodigy House or even close, but it is very pretty. I should like to own such a place one day.”
Ranleigh smiled and wondered how it would feel to have no home of one’s own, no vast estates and no family tree that could be traced back almost to the dawn of time. Would it be liberating, or terrifying? Perhaps both.
“The housekeeper is away until this evening,” Archie said as he opened the door and stepped back, gesturing for Ranleigh to enter.
Ranleigh did so, ducking the low lintel to be confronted with a dark, narrow entrance hall with a tiled floor, much of which was obscured by a woman’s dress, apparently abandoned in a fit of passion.
Ah.
He turned, raising one eyebrow. “Well, scapegrace? It seems you’ve been calling the kettle bla
ck.” Reaching down he picked up the dress between finger and thumb, about to enjoy teasing the lad a little more, as he’d gone the most remarkable shade of scarlet, and then he had an awful thought. “Good God, she’s not still here? Archie, forgive me. I had no idea. I’ll get out of your way.”
If it were possible the poor boy’s cheeks scalded a deeper red.
“No!” he exclaimed, quite obviously horrified. “You’ve got it wrong, I haven’t… there isn’t…. Oh, God in heaven, Ranleigh. You’ve not interrupted a thing, just… just go in, will you?”
Ranleigh watched, a little perplexed as Archie screwed the dress into a ball and stomped up the stairs with it. What the devil had that been about? Nonetheless, he did as he was bade and walked through to a rather cosy sitting area which had a far-reaching view over the countryside, the glitter of the sea a darker stripe of blue in the distance beneath a clear sky.
Still a little perplexed by the discarded dress, he was relieved to note a decanter and glasses. Without awaiting an invitation, he poured himself a large whisky and swallowed it faster than was prudent. The housekeeper wasn’t here, and the obvious reason for that would also explain the dress. Except Archie’s response had been rather vehement in its denial and Ranleigh was inclined to believe him. Added to which, he’d hardly be off walking alone if his lady love was at the cottage… unless they’d had a tiff? Yet surely the girl hadn’t left without her dress? What was it he was missing? There was something, he could sense it. It felt like it was on the tip of his tongue but damned if he could work it out. Frustration simmered under his skin. Today had not gone quite as he’d hoped. He’d missed Archie’s company and had wanted, if nothing else, to make amends. Yet their easy friendship seemed to be a thing of the past. Still, there was time. He hadn’t been sent off with a flea in his ear just yet.
“Give me one of those,” remarked a terse voice as Archie reappeared. He’d shed his coat and was in his shirt sleeves and waistcoat.
Ranleigh obliged.
“Henshaw’s a blasted stick in the mud, isn’t he,” he said, hoping to begin a conversation of some sort and break the uncomfortable atmosphere. “He looked at me like I’d crawled out of cheese when I went around there,” he remarked as Archie sat down.
The comment did not meet with the warm reception he’d expected. He’d assumed working for the starchy marquess to be something of an ordeal for an irreverent soul like Archie, but the lad leapt to the man’s defence.
“He’s nothing of the sort,” Archie retorted, his indignance on his employer’s behalf remarkably fierce. “He’s the kindest, most decent man I’ve ever known and, moreover, he’s my closest friend. He was doing his best to protect me, no doubt, so I’ll thank you not to say any more.”
“He’s your…?” Ranleigh gaped at him, genuinely shocked. Not because Archie was friends with a marquess, he had no time for snobbery and he was a duke after all, but to discover that Henshaw wasn’t a bloody snob, now that was a surprise. Your what?” he demanded, aware that he was repeating himself but too shocked to care.
“He’s my closest friend,” Archie repeated, and Ranleigh felt there was a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he spoke. To his own chagrin, Ranleigh felt a surge of jealousy. Good Lord, this was beyond everything. What was he, five?
Ranleigh frowned, watching Archie down the drink in short order. The young man’s hands didn’t seem entirely steady. “Wait a minute,” he said, feeling a swell of resentment. “He knows.”
Archie stiffened as Ranleigh went to pour himself another drink. Well, bloody hell. He took a mouthful, savouring the burn, and then swung around, aggrieved now. “Henshaw knows what this is all about, doesn’t he?” he said refusing to acknowledge that he was hurt more than annoyed. Why did Archie trust Henshaw and not him? If the lad was in trouble, Henshaw was far more likely to be shocked and scandalised than he was.
Archie’s jaw tightened and he held out his empty glass. Ranleigh filled it, scowling as he did so. He waited for Archie to speak again.
“He knows some of it, yes. Not all.”
“Well, that’s a damn sight more than I know,” Ranleigh snapped, sitting down and wondering if this was hopeless after all.
Perhaps he ought not to have come. If Archie truly didn’t want his help, there was nothing he could do to force him, and if he had Henshaw on his side then he wasn’t as alone and vulnerable as Ranleigh had feared. He clearly had powerful friends. Archie didn’t need him at all. Ranleigh folded his arms, jaw clenched, trying to figure out why he felt so bloody aggrieved. Though aggrieved didn’t feel quite the right word. Why did discovering Archie had confided in stuffy old Henshaw and not him feel like a kick in the guts?
“I wish I could tell you.” Archie’s voice was low and to Ranleigh’s horror it sounded as though he was on the verge of tears. “I would, if it were just me but… but it isn’t and….” Ranleigh’s chest constricted as he saw the young man’s distress. Archie blinked hard and looked away from him. “It’s cold in here,” he said, changing the subject with speed.
“No, it isn’t,” Ranleigh objected, not wanting him to divert the conversation. Whatever was going on here? “Archie….”
“I’m cold.”
Before Ranleigh could say anything further, Archie had turned away from him, no doubt to hide his face. Ranleigh felt wretched, the last thing he’d wanted was to cause hurt or upset. God, but he was making a mess of this.
Pondering the dilemma of what to do next, he watched as Archie got to his knees before the hearth and busied himself, preparing kindling and lighting it. Ranleigh saw him swipe at his eyes with his sleeve and felt a brute for having caused such pain. He carried on watching, not knowing what to say or do and feeling despicable and perplexed, until his gaze was suddenly and forcefully arrested.
He had always liked women and enjoyed especially their curves, the softness of them. He was always particularly attracted by a shapely bottom. Archie’s bottom was encased in skin tight breeches and was, quite frankly, spectacular. A rush of unexpected heat coursed up Ranleigh’s neck, making his cravat feel as though it was choking him.
Good Lord. Surely not…
Ranleigh turned away, forcing himself to stare at the wall. Something akin to panic bloomed in his chest.
Denial.
A refusal to accept that he knew himself so little.
Another explanation, Ranleigh.
What other explanation could there be though? His mind fumbled through a haze, refusing to accept the fact that he’d been obsessed with Archie from the first.
Don’t panic. You’re a rational man. You can deal with this.
Assuring himself it was nothing more than a technical study, Ranleigh allowed his gaze to return to the bottom that had so unsettled him.
Pert.
Damn it.
He rubbed a hand over his face and found his cheeks scalding.
Was that shame?
No.
Embarrassment?
Perhaps.
Confusion?
Yes, absolutely.
For a moment he allowed himself to consider Archie’s hands on him and didn’t know what he felt. His eyes flitted to the hands in question. Such small, slender hands.
Delicate almost.
Archie was delicate though. Fine boned. Pretty.
Almost feminine.
Was that why?
Was that why he felt the desperate need to protect him?
His eyes drifted back of their own accord and he swallowed, quite unable to tear his riveted gaze away, Ranleigh studied harder, trying to unravel the tangle of his thoughts, his desires.
The dress, thrown aside and snatched up with embarrassment came to mind unbidden.
It seemed important.
God, those fitted breeches left little to the imagination, encasing slender hips and, as Archie leaned further forward and the waistcoat rose up, displaying a very tiny waist.
Almost feminine.
Ranleigh stared, his
blood rushing in his ears.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
He felt like he was holding his breath, his heart hammering in his chest so fast he felt a little dazed. His mind flitted over a dozen conversations and picked out the moments that had puzzled him or seemed a little… unusual. He remembered Archie’s jealousy that night in Newmarket, and it had been jealousy, he’d known it then. He remembered the remarks about the duchess and how upset Archie had appeared when Ranleigh had admitted to his attraction. It had been quickly hidden, but Ranleigh had seen it.
Of course, his first suspicion could still be correct… except for those delicate hands, and that dress in the hallway.
The reaction to that dress had been surprising, something close to panic.
Cast aside and left on the floor.
The blasted dress!
But maybe Archie liked dressing as a girl?
Ranleigh forced himself to consider the idea.
Archie turned back to reach for a log to put on the fire as the kindling blazed, and Ranleigh noted once again the slender hands, and admired a fine profile. He remembered helping with a cravat and noting a smooth, elegant neck with no trace of an Adam’s apple. Archie had always seemed a little on the pretty side for a boy. Too pretty.
His eyes returned to those pretty hands, remembered again the smooth neck, smoother skin. He’d wager that delicate skin had never seen a razor in its life. It was late in the day and even a young man like Archie would show some sign of needing to shave, surely?
Ranleigh knew there was a far simpler explanation than the one that was currently circling his brain and yet he couldn’t let the idea go. It made sense. In an odd and extraordinary way, it made complete sense.
Archie wasn’t a boy at all.
Good God.
Without saying a word, Ranleigh got to his feet and reached for the decanter. At this point he realised he hadn’t finished the last drink, rectified this error, and refilled his glass. His hands were shaking.
What the bloody hell….
Mr Archibald was a woman.
Archie… was a girl.
He kept repeating it to himself, but as much as it made sense it made no sense at all, yet if he stole a glance at her now… he could see it. He could see it so clearly, he was stunned he’d been fooled this long. That’s why she was running away. She feared he’d expose her, make her a figure of scandal and ridicule. Good God, he could ruin her, and Henshaw by association. Well, perhaps not ruin the marquess, but a scandal of this nature would be ugly, and Henshaw was notorious for guarding his privacy and his dignity. The man would be humiliated in public and, if he was truly Archie’s friend, she’d avoid that at all costs. They both would.
Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Page 12