He was willing to bet Brynn knew it, as well.
Archer reached for her cloak clasps. She jerked away, but his hands were faster. They closed around the buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you out of your cloak,” he replied, slipping the first of the four clasps free. “Something Heed would have done had you entered my home through the front door and not, where? The kitchens?”
She lifted her chin again, holding still this time, though more out of annoyance than gratitude.
“The ballroom,” she answered. “Eloise saw me in.”
She glanced toward the doors, the very ones she had closed. Hoping for Eloise’s return, he was sure. His sister would not come, though. Instinct would keep her away. Archer worked the next three buttons quickly and then walked behind Brynn to pull the cloak from her shoulders. As the velvet slid away, her clean, fresh spring scent hit him. The confusion and irritation of the last several minutes cleared, and all he could focus on was the exposed skin along the slope of her neck. Her sunset gold hair had been coiled up high, a few loose tendrils left to tickle the tops of her shoulders. Archer came back to stand in front of her.
“Thank you,” she whispered and began to step away.
His hand moved of its own volition, capturing her fingers with his. She stilled with a small, sharp breath as he raised her hand. Before she could speak, he gently tugged the tip of one gloved finger. The dark gray silk slipped like butter, loosening around her other fingers. He pinched the tip of another finger and tugged again. He wanted to see her hands. Wanted to slide his palm against hers.
Her chest heaved. “Please, sir, this is highly—”
“Sir?” Archer echoed. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed by her guileless innocence. It had to be an act. Enough women had thrown themselves at him over the years for him to recognize chicanery when it was being flaunted in his face. No one could be as innocent as she pretended to be and manage to arouse this kind of inebriating lust inside him. No one.
“This is hardly a proper time or place,” Brynn said, her breath coming shorter as he finished sliding her silk glove from her hand. He laid it upon the closest surface—the back of a chair—and lifted her bared hand to his mouth, turning it palm up at the last moment.
He watched her closely as he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her eyes stared in shocked wonder at his mouth as it caressed the petal-soft skin there. Her lips parted as he touched his tongue to her pulse, but the intake of breath he heard was not one of revulsion.
“My lord, you cannot,” she protested, but there was none of her usual strength behind the half-formed command.
“Can’t a man kiss his betrothed?” he asked.
Or at least sample what he’d been inadvertently coerced into.
“You may not.” She stepped backward, pulling her hand from his as if sensing the leashed anger that snaked beneath the surface of his outwardly calm exterior.
He followed her movement, keeping a thin amount of space between them. A hot rush of color bloomed in her cheeks as she shifted one more desperate look to the door. Archer advanced, and she retreated again, until she had backed up against the wall. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the irony of it.
“Tell me, my lady, how does it feel to be trapped?”
“Whatever do you mean? I have not trapped you in any way.” Brynn’s flush deepened, and Archer almost smiled—she truly was a magnificent actress.
“If that is the game you want to play,” he said, drawing ever closer. “I am willing to match it.”
Her lip trembled. “Lord Hawksfield…Your Grace, you must not…we mustn’t. You cannot.”
“Cannot what?” He braced his hands against the wall at either side of her head.
“Look at me like that,” she said.
“And how is that?”
She raised limpid eyes to his, making him want to eliminate the remaining space and the pretense between them. “Like you want indecent things.”
She licked her lips, drawing his gaze there.
“So sweet,” he murmured, trailing his hand along her downy cheek. His thumb tugged her full lower lip, and her eyelids grew heavy. “Or are you just a woman in search of a prize and a title?”
She blinked, alert again. “I beg your par—”
He silenced her with his lips, claiming her open mouth with his.
Brynn’s entire body went slack, but not with desire. With indignation. He could see it in the flash of her eyes, and her sudden, controlled lack of response. It infuriated him, but he released her mouth. They stood in charged silence, her breaths coming in short, frantic bursts as she stared at him.
“I do not desire a title,” she said in a clipped tone. “And you would be the last thing I would consider a prize.”
Archer’s thumb grazed her smooth chin. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
His knuckles reached forward to skim the underside of her chin and the velvet column of her throat, his voice a murmur. “You could have fooled me.”
Oddly, Brynn made no move to extricate herself from his embrace, but instead continued to regard him with a measured, assessing glance, as though trying to separate his cruel words from his tender touch. It felt like she could see right through him, and her thoughtful perusal made Archer want to kiss her again.
Giving in to the desire, he bent his head slowly, allowing her the time to pull away if she so chose. However, other than a sharp intake of breath, Brynn did not move. She met the tentative pressure of his kiss, and within moments, he found himself being seduced by the sweet warmth of her mouth. With infinite care, he plied her with expert and confident nudges, tracing his tongue along the seam of her lips. When she gave in, it was with a sigh and a shy moan that traveled through his blood and instantly made him tight with desire.
Brynn was soft and responsive under his mouth and hands, and she tasted like the sun shining through rain. How easy it would be to give himself over to the lust coming to a head inside him. It would take little effort to block out the rest of the world and simply let their mutual attraction run its course. His feverish thirst to bury himself deep inside her until he found release was as appalling as it was arousing, so much so that his lips and tongue could hardly keep pace with his lewd fantasies. And yes, as she had said, they were indecent.
They involved the lady, the boundary of her skirts removed, every inch of her bared to him and spread out upon his bed like a feast. Brynn drove him senseless, moaning in his arms as if she, too, craved the release that only one thing could bring. But his bed was not here. All they had was a carpeted floor. And not nearly enough privacy.
Bracing one hand on the wall, his body pressed against hers, his other hand slid up her side. The feel of her was utterly drugging, and it had tossed his senses—and reason—to the wind. His palm skimmed up the fine wool dress, and without a moment’s hesitation, he cupped her breast boldly through the material. She leaned into his hand with a whimper as his tongue continued to tease hers in a torturous rhythm.
Archer’s mouth slanted on hers with relentless urgency as he succumbed to the need building deep in his core. She was not immune, either. Brynn trembled against him, her body coming alive in his embrace. Moaning against his lips, her hands slid around his neck, anchoring herself to him. With a muffled growl, Archer drew her closer, lost in a dizzying haze of passion, though a small, logical voice within him warned that he was going too far.
Just one more sweet taste, he thought, and I will stop.
Archer drew his mouth across her cheek to her ear, sucking the velvet lobe into his mouth. Her head fell back, and his lips found her throat, his hands roving in restless hunger over her body. He caressed the length of her spine before returning to graze her flat stomach. His hands drifted upward to tug on the square neckline of her dress, drawing down one sleeve from her shoulder and baring a breast to his greedy gaze.
She was even more perfect than he had imagined—her skin
like cream, petal soft, and tipped by a rosy nipple. He lowered his head and closed his mouth over the silken point. She gasped against him, her fingers tangling in his hair. Archer fought for control, nearly as lost as she was. The voice inside his head warned that he was taking advantage of her innocence, but he could not slow down; could not help himself, especially not when Brynn was so pliant in his arms, bewitched by the same sensual spell ensnaring him.
His tongue swirled around the tip of her breast, and then he suckled it deep. Baring the second with an easy tug on the gown’s neckline, Archer licked and nudged his way across the fragrant valley to lavish the same attention on her other breast. He wanted to make her moan his name. Damn, she was perfect. Her breasts were everything he had fantasized and more—full, lissome, and delectable.
Drawing her to him, he sought her lips again, consuming her sweetness with the hunger of a deprived man. His tongue reached deep and withdrew in an explicit rhythm, and Archer crushed her hips to his. He ground the bulging evidence of his arousal against her.
Brynn’s eyes snapped wide at the intimate contact. Something flared in them, and she pushed wildly against his chest. Had he frightened her with his ardor? Archer inched his hips away, watching as her eyes dropped for one fleeting look before skittering away, a fiery blush suffusing her already heated cheeks. He grinned at her sudden shyness. If he had his way, there would be no barriers between them, least of all clothing.
But in a moment of delayed clarity, he knew he should stop before his sister returned from seeing Thomson out and Briannon’s dignity was irretrievably shattered. Reluctantly, he tugged her bodice back in place. He pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, his tongue sweeping in for one last sweet taste. With a groan, he pulled away from her as she opened bemused, stunned eyes the color of stormy jade.
“You are full of surprises, my lady,” he remarked, straightening his back and putting a sliver of space between their bodies. Brynn inhaled sharply, looking as if she’d just been doused with a bucket of icy water.
She did not respond. The only thing that broke the electric silence between them was the soft cadence of her breathing. She licked her lips, the action unconsciously seductive. Archer couldn’t help himself. He bent his head toward her, only to be stopped by the push of her hands against his chest. She turned her lips away, her voice a mortified whisper. “Please, you have to stop. Lady Eloise will be back at any moment.”
“We are engaged, are we not?” he said, inexplicably irritated at having started this in the library instead of in his rooms. He nudged her chin back toward him. “And Eloise has seen enough closed doors to know what they mean.”
She froze at his overtly suggestive words, her face flaming again. “You are not a gentleman,” she whispered in an accusatory tone.
“I never claimed to be.”
Her eyes flared, flashing fire for a moment before lowering. If looks could kill, he would be floating in the Serpentine. Before Archer could guess her intent, she ducked beneath his outstretched arm and walked briskly to the door. He frowned at her tight-lipped expression, confused by her swift change in demeanor.
“I am certain that His Grace has been behind more than enough closed doors,” she said in a mocking tone. “I, however, have not. And I beg you to find it within yourself not to dishonor either of us any further than I already have by coming here. I bid you good evening.”
Archer should have let her go and be done with it. But the glimmer of shocked hurt in her eyes made him hesitate. He had thought her a schemer, but now doubt leached through him. Despite his own accusations, he couldn’t believe she was “out to catch a duke.” If that were the case, she would have fallen at his father’s feet as every other title seeker had for the past decade, regardless of his advanced age. But why had she gone to such lengths, then? Unless she truly had come here and stormed into Thomson’s interrogation out of some selfless, if inane, desire to save him.
He scrubbed his hand over his cheek, a bedlam of emotions raging through him. He’d been more than angry that he had been caught in her ruse, but the intensity of what they had just shared had been as staggering to him as it had been to her. His blood still raced from the heat of it. And now, the truth was, he didn’t want her to leave. Not like this.
“Please, don’t go,” he said quietly.
He watched her hand stall on the doorknob, her body shaking. Her lip trembled as her eyes lifted to his. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms and kiss away the hurt he’d put there. Archer felt like a fool for letting his guard down whenever Brynn entered his presence. She made him forget himself, forget his detachment, forget that the only female company he sought was to warm his bed, nothing more. The woman made him consider dangerous things, and the ludicrous engagement was the most dangerous of all. She had risked much coming here unescorted and admitting to being alone with him last night. As it stood, she was caught in this diversion as much as he was. If she doubted herself and called off the betrothal now, it would not bode well for either of them.
He cleared his throat. “I do not intend to dishonor you, Brynn, and let me assure you, you have done nothing more than impress me.” Her fingers clenched on the doorknob. She was fighting him—he could see it. “It may have been rash coming in here and saying what you did, but it was also bold. It is also done, so let us discuss it rationally.”
He took a deep breath and said the words he never thought he’d say. “If this betrothal is the course we must pursue, then there are some things that we need to speak about.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I promise to keep my distance, if that helps you make your decision.”
She met his eyes evenly, and Archer almost grinned at her display of pride. He didn’t, however. She would likely view it as condescension on his part. God, she was beautiful when she was angry.
“I don’t have much longer before I am discovered missing from Bishop House.”
Archer strode to the door and signaled to a waiting footman. “Please ring for Lady Eloise. And bring two glasses of sherry for the ladies.”
He took a seat on the sofa and invited Brynn to do the same. The sherry arrived before Eloise.
“I do not wish to be married,” he said bluntly as soon as the footman left.
“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” she replied.
He nodded. “But neither of us can deny that there is something between us.”
“If you say so.”
He stared at Brynn, a lingering, slow look that swept from the top of her head to her breasts to the hands that rested neatly folded in her lap.
“I do.”
She blushed fiercely, but set her lips and stared him down with her frostiest glare. “That is neither here nor there. Physical attraction has nothing to do with anything. It is lust, nothing more.” She didn’t even flinch at the vulgarity of her language. If she was trying to shock him, it would take more than a few choice words. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze mocking. She tore her eyes away. “And if you touch me again, you’ll be lucky if you escape this situation with your neck unscathed, I promise you.”
Eloise entered, her apprehensive gaze drifting between the two of them like a frightened bird. Archer was quick to put her at ease with a gentle smile. He noticed that Brynn did the same, patting the empty seat beside her as she hastily composed herself.
“Thank you, Eloise, for joining us,” he said. “I will be brief. Neither Lady Briannon nor I wish to be married. However, it appears that this charade has become a necessity.”
“Brother—”
“Hear me out,” he said in a businesslike tone. “Despite my reluctance, I will agree to this engagement for now, at least so that we can focus on finding the real killer, which means we will have to post banns and have an official announcement in the papers. We shall be forced to see this farce through to the end if we are to be successful.”
“This farce is as much an inconvenience for me as it is for you,�
� Brynn glowered. He stared at her, but said nothing. Lady Briannon was turning out to be unlike any other woman he had ever known—infuriating and maddening to the point of distraction.
“And we must plan an engagement ball,” Eloise was saying, her voice meek as if sensing his black mood. Archer stared at her grimly, but nodded. A ball was a natural event to follow such an announcement. “I am happy to begin the preparations,” Eloise added. “May I suggest a masquerade?”
“It is de rigueur this season,” Brynn said with a smile, her tone holding none of the anger it had moments before—anger he knew was directed solely at him. Archer couldn’t help noticing his sister’s grateful look. They both knew that she would enjoy the ball more if she wasn’t the only one covering her face.
“Lovely,” Eloise said. “We could always say you fell in love at a masquerade. The Gainsbridge one…if anyone asks, I mean…” She trailed off in uncomfortable silence.
Archer frowned. His sister was an incurable romantic, but there would be no talk of love. Marriages in the ton occurred for reasons of convenience, just as this one would. However, instead of a title or a fortune, the matter of convenience happened to be his neck.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Anything else?”
“You will need to speak with my father,” Brynn said. “Although he will be the least of our problems. In the wake of the late duke’s death, I fear that an announcement of our betrothal will draw more attention than necessary.”
Archer nodded again. “I will attend to your father as soon as possible. As far as attention goes, that would have happened regardless. I have been particularly vocal in my desire not to wed, but should I be interrogated on the matter, I shall simply say that it was my late father’s wish.”
“And the killer?” Brynn asked.
My Rogue, My Ruin Page 25