“What’s this?” Archer asked, even though she knew he had heard the exchange with Heed.
“You need to get something in your stomach other than drink.”
As Archer sipped some of the broth, Brynn took a deep breath. It was now or never. “The Kensington Ball is two days hence. We should plan to go.” He frowned at her, and she rushed to get the rest of her thoughts out before she lost her nerve. “I will wear the Bradburne diamonds and make every effort for it to be known in all the ladies’ circles, no matter how vulgar such boasting may appear. If our bandit is indeed a gentleman, this will be a prize not to be missed. We will lure this imposter to us and clear Brandt’s name.”
Archer stared at her, a muscle starting to tick in his jaw, his eyes going glacial. “Absolutely not. I won’t have you risking your neck for mine.”
“It is our only chance,” she argued. “We will leave separately, and you will follow the coach. Once he attacks, you will be able to catch him.”
“No.”
“You needn’t worry for my safety. I will have my pistol with me, and as you are well aware, my marksmanship is excellent.” She said the last with a smile, one that faded at the violent look on his face.
“No.” Archer rose in slow motion and walked to where she stood on the other side of the desk. She stared up at him, refusing to give up on her plan as they faced each other nose to nose. Her breathing hitched at his nearness and the clean scent of his freshly scrubbed skin.
“No,” he said more gently. Archer leaned down as if he meant to kiss her, but a moment before their lips touched, he turned away to return to his seat. Brynn felt bereft of him, her body utterly desolate at the loss. He met her eyes, his voice a pained rasp. “The imposter has a tendency toward violence. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”
His whispered words made her heart clench. Archer did care about her. She had wondered after he had touched her so intimately; Brynn was new to navigating the waters of seduction, but not naive. She had no illusions that the duke loved her, though she also knew he wouldn’t be so adamantly against her plan if he didn’t care for her a little. That tiny knowledge gave her a boost of much-needed confidence.
“That’s it, then, we are agreed.”
“We are not.”
“Archer.”
“I forbid it.”
She smiled at him, despite the low warning in his voice. “We are not yet married, my dear duke, and as such, I do not require your permission, nor am I forced to obey your wishes. Should we escape the gallows and agree to swear by our marriage vows, I will endeavor to be your ever obedient wife. But until then, my will is my own.”
She almost laughed at his look of shocked incredulity. “Now eat. I shall take myself for a stroll where I will declare to all and sundry my intention to wear the Bradburne diamonds to the Kensington crush. Wish me luck.”
Impulsively, she walked around to the side of the desk and placed a swift kiss atop his head, not noticing the hand that snaked around her waist until she tried to step away. Brynn swore under her breath. She should have left, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it without touching him just once. Unable to move with his hand clamped around her, they stared at each other in charged silence. Brynn could see the turmoil in his eyes, and, without thinking, she leaned down and sealed her lips to his.
Archer reacted after a half beat of frozen surprise, sweeping her into his lap and claiming her mouth with desperate urgency. His tongue dueled with hers as she dug her fingers into the soft linen of his shirt and pushed her breasts tight to his chest. She was as greedy for him as he was for her. The interior of his mouth tasted faintly of whiskey and mint. The combination was intoxicating, and she clung to him, unable to get enough.
What was it about this man that made her want wildly indecent things?
All it took was the press of his lips and the reckless thrust of his tongue, and Brynn found herself ready to capitulate to anything. He made her weak, and yet, in his arms, she’d never felt more powerful.
After a long interlude, Archer lifted his head and stared at her in baffled wonderment. “What am I going to do with you? You are infuriating, maddening, impulsive, and so damned stubborn it takes my breath away. I cannot deter you from this foolhardy plan?”
Brynn stared at his face, her heart in her eyes. “No,” she said softly. “You cannot.”
“Why?”
Her answer was the same as the one she had given him before, although this time her voice trembled with the force of the emotion behind it. “You know why.”
Archer may not love her, but Brynn knew that what she felt for this man was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was all-consuming, exhilarating, terrifying, and it filled her body and her heart to bursting. She didn’t know if it was love, but she did know that if anything happened to him, her life would be forever altered. She couldn’t imagine seeing him punished for crimes he did not commit. Brynn would do whatever she could to prevent that from happening.
Archer didn’t speak as he pulled her toward him, cradling her head in the hollow where his shoulder met his chest. She fit perfectly, her body molding itself to his. Brynn didn’t speak, either, but she could feel their heartbeats aligning, and that felt more perfect than any words ever could.
Brynn stood in the front sitting room at Bishop House and smoothed her gloved hands over the layers of the emerald green chiffon. The gown she’d chosen for the Kensington Ball was a favorite among all her dresses and gowns for the season, and she’d wanted to save it for a truly special evening. She hadn’t imagined that such an evening would include catching a thief and a killer.
Braxton had just announced the arrival of the duke, and her palms were fairly sweating.
This was it. There could be no turning back now.
Her parents had declined the invitation to the Kensington Ball in favor of another that they had previously accepted and had already left for that affair. Unfortunately, Gray had been charged with escorting Brynn to the Kensingtons’ and representing the Dinsmore name, which had left Brynn scrambling to concoct a diversion to keep her brother occupied until after she’d left for the ball—alone. Of course, Archer would be trailing her on horseback, so she would not truly be alone. It would seem that way to only the imposter, should he have heard the rumors that the Bradburne diamonds were out and about for the evening.
She took a deep breath and glanced at herself in the beveled glass. Her hair had been twisted into a loose chignon with a few strands left free to fall in heavy ringlets down her back. The style displayed the Bradburne diamonds to perfection. The ostentatious gems glistened at her throat, the last tier falling into the hollow of her breasts.
Mary, one of the undermaids, had outdone herself with the elegant hairstyle. Lana had not been at Bishop House when Brynn had started to prepare for the ball, and for good reason. She had whispered a desire to travel to the ball alone, without alerting or alarming Gray, and Lana had promised that she would see to it. So far, her maid had been true to her word. Brynn had not seen hide nor hair of her brother or her maid since late morning.
Brynn, too, had played her part well and had flaunted her intent to wear the priceless necklace yesterday at a tea hosted by Cordelia and her mother. Not one invited lady had declined, including Archer’s sister, which meant the tearoom in Lady Vandermere’s home on Grosvenor Square had been overwhelmed with women, young and old, all of whom sat agog while Cordelia accounted her lurid tale of the attack on her carriage in Hyde Park.
Brynn had sipped her oolong while sitting beside Eloise, listening to Cordelia’s timorous voice but thinking of Archer and his friend Brandt, instead. All eyes had been on Cordelia, her teacup shaking in her hand until she had finally needed to set it down. However, Brynn still felt as if she were hiding in plain sight, and that at any moment, one of the ladies would look at her and just somehow know. Of course, no one did. No one yet knew who the man arrested in Hyde Park was—he had purportedly not given his i
dentity and was being held in Newgate. Brynn imagined he was being questioned heavily by Thomson. She didn’t want to consider what more was happening to Archer’s trusted friend inside that abominable stone fortress, though she imagined Archer had been able to think of nothing else.
Despite cringing inside at how shallow she appeared, Brynn had found a way to bring up the Bradburne diamonds and her plans to wear them to the Kensington Ball. Most of the younger ladies had simpered along with her, but she had seen vaulted brows from some of the more experienced ladies of the ton and had felt the sting of their contempt. Eloise had not said a word, though she had been more reserved for the rest of the afternoon. Granted, discussing fashion and diamonds so soon after Cordelia’s harrowing tale had been gauche, but she could not waste time caring about what anyone thought of her.
“I can do this,” she whispered to herself in the glass.
Braxton stepped into the sitting room and announced the duke. Brynn turned from the mirror and caught her breath as Archer filled the entrance. As he strode farther into the room, she felt the strangest reaction: her palms grew even more hot and damp, and yet the nerves churning her stomach instantly settled.
Having him here put her at ease, even if she wasn’t completely comfortable being left alone with him as Braxton took his leave. It didn’t make any sense, and yet there it was.
He stared at her, a slow, appreciative grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
“Well, you’ve done it. No thief worth his salt will be able to resist that display.”
His eyes glittered as they took in the diamonds and the expanse of décolletage they rested upon. The skin there grew warmer under his gaze, and Brynn, without thought, touched the tips of her fingers to the lowest tier of jewels.
Archer’s breathing hitched and his jaw shifted as he followed her movement. “You take my breath away.”
She flushed at the amorous look in his eyes as they devoured her, sweeping to her breasts and then back to her face. She lowered her hand. “Thank you, my lord.”
He was clad in raven-black attire from head to toe with the exception of his shirt and cravat. Brynn hadn’t thought it possible that he could be any more attractive, but he had somehow managed it.
He lowered his voice and came closer to her. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I won’t lie,” she admitted. “I am terrified this plan of mine will succeed in drawing the imposter out. But your friend in Newgate must be even more terrified than I.”
Archer grimaced and cut his eyes from her. “You don’t know Brandt. He doesn’t scare easily. Still, he will not be there much longer.”
No, she did not know Archer’s friend well at all. However, she had come to know Archer, though she didn’t know how or when, exactly. “You plan to turn yourself in.”
He wouldn’t look at her as he crossed the room in the opposite direction of her, toward a divan near the hearth. The fire was small in the grate, and it threw weak light over his figure. He stood with his back to her, the fingers of his right hand twisting the duke’s signet ring upon the third finger on his left hand.
“I will not allow him to rot in that filthy hole. And if Thomson recognizes him as the man my footmen dragged in at Hadley Gardens the night of my father’s murder…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Brynn could suddenly feel how tenuous the whole situation was. The tightrope Archer had been walking the last few days. She felt a surge of empathy and wished she could do more to lessen his burden.
“You care for him,” she said as she walked toward the hearth. He continued to stare into the flames.
“He is a brother to me,” he replied, still twisting his signet ring. He was always so cool and unflappable, and this nervous twitch of his was the first bit of vulnerability he’d shown her.
Brynn wanted to reach for him. To take his restless hands and hold them firmly in her own. The urge was so keen it left an ache in her.
“I haven’t changed my mind about tonight,” she said. “Catching the imposter is the only way through this.”
He turned his ear toward her but stayed facing the hearth. “There is another option.”
Brynn gave in to her craving and settled her hands lightly on the broad width of his back. “Even if you were to turn yourself in, the imposter would still be out there. The robberies will continue, and he’ll keep harming people. We are the only ones who know he is not the true bandit. We must stop him, Archer. I know you don’t want to allow Brandt to rot in Newgate, but I won’t allow you to be escorted to the gallows.”
He lifted his head at her touch and stopped twisting his ring. His body went rigid under her hands, his ribs expanding with a held breath.
“Only a coward would let another man take the fall for his own crimes. I am many things, but a coward is not one of them.”
Brynn swept her hands up to where his shoulders widened, curving her palms around each muscled one. He was so big and strong. She wanted to cling to him, if only to stop him from marching to Bow Street and turning himself in to Thomson.
“But you have not committed the crimes worthy of hanging—the imposter is the violent one, not you.”
There was a difference between the two bandits, as clear as the divide between night and day.
Archer laughed. “I am a highwayman, Brynn, and last I knew, that was crime enough, worthy of the noose.”
She let go of his shoulders and circled around to stand before him. “You do not keep what you take. You give it to the poor—”
“The magistrate would not give a damn about that.”
“I give a damn!”
She sealed her lips the moment the curse was out. The man made her want to swoon and swear in equal measure. Archer’s tensed shoulders softened. Firelight reflected in his eyes as he cupped her cheek, his gloved hand sliding like silk against her skin.
She gathered a breath and held it.
“I mean, I…I care. I don’t want anything to happen to you or your friend. Not when you were only trying to do some good,” she said, adding, “as misdirected as it was.”
His mouth quirked into a half grin before falling somber once again. “Why do you care? I’ve been a beast to you.”
Brynn shook her head. Archer’s fingers raked lower, down the slope of her neck. She didn’t know how to answer. Why? It was a fine question. One she wasn’t quite certain how to answer.
Honestly, when Archer had confessed his darkest secret—that he was the Masked Marauder—she had felt a slap of repulsion. Explaining what he did with the items he stole had allayed that feeling, though only slightly. She’d wondered at his endgame. Did he not think he would ever get caught? What kind of fool acted so recklessly, without a care for his own title and lands?
At some point, without even realizing it, the answers had struck her: a man who did these things was a man who cared deeply and passionately—a man who was willing to risk himself and everything he had in order to make a difference in the only way he knew how. If Archer’s father hadn’t sunk the Bradburne dukedom’s finances to such depths, Archer would have given everything to his cause. A cause Brynn found herself caring for—simply because he did.
She had heard whisperings from the Countess of Thorndale at Cordelia’s tea about several mysterious and large donations that had been received for the new children’s hospital on the outskirts of London. Brynn suspected the donations had been from Archer and, even though thievery was wrong, she had to admire his skewed sense of nobility.
Archer stroked the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through her loose ringlets. Brynn’s lids fluttered shut at the delicate sensation.
“I suppose I’ve come to understand what you intended to do. And you aren’t a beast,” she whispered, a delectable shiver unfurling deep in her stomach. “Not when you touch me like this.”
He scraped his fingers around her nape and tensed them. “I am a wolf, and you know it.”
She opened her eyes and found h
e’d angled his head lower. Instead of alarm, Brynn felt anticipation.
“Well, perhaps you are,” she said, her eyes on his mouth. “But wolf or not, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His expression pinched. “You have your pistol in your reticule?”
She pulled back at the question, the mention of her pistol jarring. His grasp at the back of her neck wouldn’t let her go far.
“If we must carry out this plan, I need to know you will shoot the bastard if anything goes wrong.” He tugged her closer, until the tips of their noses brushed together. “I need to know you will be safe.”
Brynn nodded, beset by the intensity of his request, of his stare and the possessive hand clutching at her nape. It was as if he never wanted to release her.
“I promise,” she said. Before she could take another breath, Archer kissed her, the pressure of his mouth just as demanding as his request for her to use her pistol well.
He parted her lips with his tongue, and stole inside with savage need. He’d called himself a wolf, and this kiss had a dangerous edge. But she knew in her heart that he wasn’t trying to be a beast. He clung to her, devouring her with his kiss, because he was afraid. He wanted to shield her from harm, and tonight he feared he wouldn’t be able to do so. That knowledge, she knew, was gutting him.
Brynn opened to him, allowing him to sink deeper, closer. How had she learned so much about this man? To know the distinctions between his kisses, and what each one meant underneath their passionate surface, frightened her.
I know him as I never thought I would, she thought as his hands traveled down the back of her gown and over her rump, crushing her against his body.
I love him as I never thought I would.
Heat and shock flared inside Brynn’s chest, and she gasped against his mouth. Archer pulled back.
“What is it?” he asked, concern leaping in his gaze.
“I just…I think we should get on with things. Before I lose my nerve,” she answered, her eyes falling away. He took a deep breath and nodded upon releasing her.
My Rogue, My Ruin Page 31