My Rogue, My Ruin

by Amalie Howard; Angie Morgan

  “The hour is late, Briannon!” Lady Dinsmore gasped and turned to her husband. “Herbert, do something! She’ll catch her death.”

  As her father grappled for a reply, dabbing a napkin at the corners of his mouth in order to stall for time, Brynn walked around the table and leaned down to press a kiss to her mother’s furrowed brow. “No, Mama, the fresh evening breeze will do me a world of good, trust me.” She smiled at her father and brother who were both staring at her with identical expressions of astonishment as they, too, stood. “Papa, Gray, please excuse me. I need some air.”

  “Bravo,” Gray mouthed to her, his hands mimicking a clap as she swept past him.

  Leaning against the paneled wall of the outer room, Brynn closed her eyes and took in a slow breath, pressing her palms to her trembling middle. Inside the dining room, she could hear her father attempting to pacify her aggrieved mother, but Brynn didn’t care to intervene. Or apologize. She’d shot a marauder, endured a kidnapping, and escaped a killer, all without collapsing. If she’d learned anything at all from recent weeks, it was that she—and her lungs—were more than capable of weathering anything. That included the tempest in a teapot that was Lady Dinsmore.

  Gray’s soft voice at her ear made her jump. “Well done.”

  “Is Mama very upset?”

  “She’ll survive,” he responded dryly, taking her arm and escorting her down the carpeted hallway. “I am proud of you, sister.”

  “For what?”

  “For fighting for yourself.”

  Brynn stared up at her brother, her frazzled emotions breaking free of her tenuous hold on them. Her hands shook as she clutched her skirts. Gray was wrong. She hadn’t fought for a damned thing, not even when Archer had cancelled the banns. When he, too, had decided what was best for her.

  “No,” she whispered. “I’ve done nothing.”

  Gray stopped at the bottom of the staircase and drew around her to face him. “Why would you say that?” He held her stare, seeing past an excuse she was searching for and failing to find. “Is it because of Hawk’s announcement?”

  Brynn flushed at the thought of the man who was no longer her betrothed. She had guessed that Archer would make an announcement in the Times, but she hadn’t expected how much it would hurt. There was nothing between them any longer, nothing left to hold them together now that the imposter had been found.

  She hadn’t seen him since Eloise’s funeral, although he had called upon them briefly before the service. His manner had been distant and preoccupied, which was to be expected, and Brynn had given him the space to grieve. Despite his sister’s ultimate treachery, she knew Archer mourned the loss. Now that his name was cleared and the true killer known, Archer was free to live his life. And she hers.

  She only wished the idea didn’t make her so miserable.

  “You are better off without him,” Gray said, seeing her expression.

  “No, I’m not.” Overwhelmed by despair, Brynn’s voice broke. “You don’t know him like I do. No one does. I’m better when I’m with him. I don’t feel weak or useless, and at least he doesn’t treat me like a fragile porcelain doll.”

  “You’re not useless,” Gray replied. “It’s normal to come to…care for someone after sharing a traumatic experience.”

  “It’s more than that, Gray,” she said quietly.

  His grip tightened on her arms and then relaxed. “You’re too—”

  “Too what?” she interrupted. “Too young to love? Too sick to live? Too weak to hope for normal things?” Her laugh was empty. “Surely you of all people don’t intend to patronize me as Mama does. I know my own mind and the truth of what I feel.”

  His mouth opened and closed and then, to her surprise, he pulled her close. “You’re right. I am sorry for suggesting otherwise. You’ll find love again, Brynn. And if you don’t, well…rest assured that you can always age into spinsterhood with your interminable bachelor of a brother.”

  Ignoring the sharp twinge his words elicited, Brynn laughed into his neckcloth. “Not if Mama has her way.” Gray groaned, lashing his arms about her and kissing the crown of her head. Brynn couldn’t help teasing him more. “Soon she will renew all her efforts to find you a suitable wife, which means I will finally be left in peace.”

  “Heaven help me.” Gray released her and clasped his hand to his chest with an aghast look. “A hellish torture, but one I will gladly endure if only for you.”

  “You truly are the best brother.”

  Squeezing Gray’s arm with the first real smile she’d had in days, she climbed the stairs to her room where her lady’s maid, Lana, was waiting.

  “I’m going out for a ride,” Brynn announced. It would clear her head. And ease her bruised heart. She hoped.

  “A storm is coming,” Lana said as she selected a riding habit for her mistress. “Are you sure you want to go out?”

  Brynn stood at her window, trailing her fingers along the edge of the cool glass. She pushed a smile to her lips, despite the hollow ache that rested like a stone in her middle.

  Brynn studied the band of thunderclouds and sighed—she’d faced worse storms and knew that this one, too, would pass. “Of course. It’s a beautiful evening. Those clouds will fade, you’ll see.”

  “It’s good to be back, isn’t it, my lady?”

  Brynn turned, hearing an odd note in Lana’s voice. “You didn’t enjoy being in London for the season?”

  Lana shook her head. “It’s too busy, too many people. I prefer the solitude and the quiet of the country.”

  “But didn’t you live in the city while you were in Russia?”

  “We spent the winters there,” Lana said, nostalgia flashing in her eyes for a moment. “My mother was very busy during those months. With the dressmaking, I mean,” she added hastily. “But the rest of the time, we spent in the country.”

  Brynn shook her head. “You’re like Gray, then. My parents usually have to threaten him to attend social events. Homebodies, the two of you.” Lana didn’t respond as she helped Brynn take off the gown she had been wearing. “I do love being back,” Brynn continued with a wistful smile. “I will miss the balls and the parties, though. I would have enjoyed the spectacle of so many ladies being whisked off their feet by their gallant suitors.”

  “Like you were?” Lana asked.

  She forced a cheerful note into her voice. “Come now, Lana, you and I both know that was a farce, which is thankfully over. It’s official now.”

  “Is it?”

  Brynn smiled, pretending to be distracted. “Is it what? Official? See for yourself. It’s in the papers on the mantel.”

  “No, is it truly over with the duke?”

  As if she were standing on the edge of a precipice that had suddenly given way to the abyss below, Brynn felt her stomach plunge. Trust Lana to ask such a blunt, astute question. Her hands fluttered as she tried to steady herself, drawing a sharp breath into her constricted lungs. It was over. It had to be over. Archer had never wanted marriage in the first place. He had called her his love in the mews, and she had thought of that whispered word time and again the last few weeks, but Brynn knew he’d only been overwrought. He didn’t love her, and what she felt for him was her burden alone.

  She shrugged and forced a smile, even though she knew Lana would see right through it. “I expect so. We concocted the engagement, after all. His Grace does not wish to marry.”

  “I saw the way he looked at you at Lady Eloise’s funeral,” Lana said. “And it was not that of a man who wished to escape an unfortunate betrothal.”

  “He did not look at me once.”

  He’d been thinking of other, more important things to be sure.

  “He could barely take his eyes off you.”

  Brynn quashed the bloom of hope that unfurled in her chest. “You are an incurable romantic, Lana. I assure you, His Grace has no further interest in me.”

  “If my lady insists.” Lana shook her head, opening her mouth as if she had m
ore to say. She clamped her lips together but then turned around, her eyes flashing. “You English are so blind. When something is right in front of you, you cannot see it, even with your eyes wide open. How can you not see that you and the duke are perfectly suited to each other? In my country, if a man wants to court a woman, he does not give up until she is in his arms.”

  “And you know this from your vast experience with men?” Brynn said drily, but not unkindly. She and Lana were close enough in age for her to know that Lana was as sheltered as she.

  “No, it is because I have two perfectly good eyes.”

  Brynn grinned at Lana’s unexpected display of temper and threw her hands into the air in surrender. Sensing that she wouldn’t convince Lana otherwise of Archer’s intentions, she changed the subject. “I haven’t gotten a chance to thank you properly, by the way, for what you did at the mews. You saved my life, and the duke’s.” She paused, clearing her throat. “You were right to confide in Gray. It was a stroke of luck that brought you to Hadley Gardens.” Brynn shot her maid a circumspect look. “Though I can’t imagine telling him was easy, given his temper. He was furious with me for hours afterward. Was he very angry?”

  “No, my lady,” Lana said, the animation disappearing from her face as she busied herself with removing Brynn’s stays and securing her hair into a single braid. “Lord Northridge seemed more concerned with your safety. And it wasn’t luck. I’ve never seen him so deadly focused on anything. Once I told him of your plans with the duke, he was intent on pursuing every possible path. Hadley Gardens was simply the first. He would have left no stone unturned to find you.” Lana’s voice was soft, holding a strange warm tone as her fingers finished their task, tucking in the last of the combs.

  “He was splendid, wasn’t he?” Brynn murmured as Lana fussed with her hair. “I thought it was over, and then he showed up like a knight in shining armor. I’ve never been more pleased to see my brother in all my life.”

  “Lord Northridge does have his moments.”

  Brynn glanced up at the odd tone of pride in Lana’s voice but couldn’t see her face from where she stood braiding her hair.

  “There, that should hold,” she said, watching as Brynn then donned Gray’s old breeches and one of his old shirts. “Shall I put this riding habit away?” she asked, with a resigned look. She knew better than to argue with her mistress’s choice of dress.

  Brynn grinned at her wry expression. “You know I like to be comfortable.” She pulled on her riding boots and secured a lightweight wool cloak over her shoulders. She paused at the door. “Thank you, Lana,” she said quietly.

  “You are welcome, my lady. I did try my best to secure the braid, but it really is too slippery for the combs.”

  “No, not for my hair. For everything. For keeping my secrets and going beyond the boundaries of what would be expected of a lady’s maid. I hope you know that I consider you a friend, and you may ask me for anything, should you need it.”

  Something indescribable shone in Lana’s eyes but was quickly hidden as a smile shaped her mouth. She fell into a curtsy. “The feeling is quite mutual, my lady. Now go enjoy your ride before the thunderstorm makes an unwelcome appearance.”

  Brynn shook her head, pointing to the near perfect sky beyond the window. “You are surely imagining things.”

  But as Brynn raced Apollo across Ferndale’s expansive grounds, she realized that Lana’s premonition might come true after all. The clouds were rolling in, thick and dark and ominous. She wasn’t worried, though. She’d have more than enough time to return to the stables before it started raining.

  She stretched forward—her hair long since fallen loose from the braid and its clips—and nudged the stallion into a canter. After a while, she gave Apollo his head and sank low in the saddle, holding fast with her legs. Grinning with delight, she hung over his neck as he soared over the low hedges bordering Archer’s property. She knew Archer wouldn’t mind. A smile touched her lips as they neared the river, remembering how imperious she had been when she had warned him of trespassing. Now she was guilty of doing the same. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since the boar—a lifetime of stolen moments and false promises.

  A lifetime of lies.

  She slowed the horse, leading him to the river’s edge where the embankment flattened and dismounted. She hadn’t been alone since Eloise’s death. Hadn’t truly wanted to be. She feared the silence and the freedom to think about what had happened that night in the mews. Only she, Archer, Gray, and Lana knew the truth, and they had done their best to preserve Eloise’s memory. It all still felt like a nightmare to Brynn. That Eloise, so sweet and friendly and composed, could have been capable of such calculating and cold hatred for so many years was incomprehensible. Then again, love was such a capricious thing—it could lift one to the highest of highs and drag one to the lowest of lows. She stood there, wrapping her arms around her middle, and did the very thing she hadn’t allowed herself to do yet—she let the tears come.

  The slight rustle of the grass alerted her to someone else’s arrival. That, and a sudden deep throb of her heart. It was as if it had recognized him long before she had.

  “Lady Briannon,” Archer said softly.

  She quickly wiped her cheeks on her sleeve. “So formal, Your Grace.”

  “May I join you?”

  “I believe you may do whatever you wish,” she said, smiling through the remnants of her tears, her heart trembling in her chest. It was extraordinary how the mere brush of his voice had come to affect her so. “It is your property, after all.”

  “I do not want to intrude.”

  Brynn turned then, letting her eyes feast on him as he stood beside his horse. He looked tired. Tired, and heartbreakingly beautiful. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, but Brynn kept herself perfectly still. “How are you?” she asked instead.

  He frowned and glanced away. “As well as can be expected.”

  “And Brandt?”

  “He is recovering.” Archer hesitated before taking the few steps to stand at her side. He clasped his hands behind his back, and she held hers in a death grip. Every part of her body strained toward him, the draw to him magnetic. “He says to convey his gratitude, by the way. He is indebted to you.”

  “It was nothing.”

  After a few moments of silence, he lifted his eyes to hers. “Brynn—”

  The first clap of thunder rumbled overhead, silencing him. He brushed a hand through his hair as if fighting to find the words, and the tortured look in his eyes made everything inside her crumble.

  She swallowed and raised a trembling palm to stop him. “I saw the notice in the Times.”

  He frowned again, but before he could speak, she leaped to continue.

  “If you intend to apologize, please—there is no need. I am only glad things worked out in our favor. Didn’t we agree that it would be a ghastly union?” Brynn asked, attempting to smile. Her trembling chin wouldn’t support it. “And I know you never wanted to be saddled with a wife.”

  Her voice broke as the words tumbled out, leaving her empty and aching, but she’d had to say them. Before he did, at any rate. She still had some measure of pride left, and she wouldn’t let him strip it from her.

  Archer cleared his throat, his gaze sliding across to her. “You’re right, I didn’t. After what my father did to my mother and to Eloise’s mother, I thought I would be just like him. The apple not falling far from the tree, and all that.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to steady her quivering lips. He didn’t truly believe that, did he?

  “You are nothing like him,” Brynn replied fiercely. “Nothing.”

  Archer relented with a small grin. “I realized the same not too long ago. In part, I have you to thank for that.”

  The gruff and sensual timbre of his voice made her pulse scatter. She could sense him looking at her and felt herself crumbling beneath his gaze. Her battered heart could take only so much, and seeing
him now, being with him…sheer will alone was holding her together.

  Be strong, Brynn reminded herself. You have to let him go. It’s what he wants.

  But heaven help her—all she wanted was to hurl herself at him.

  “I’m glad,” she blurted out. “You are a far better man than any father could have hoped for. I’m so very sorry about Eloise, but your name has been cleared, and you can finally put this mess behind you. You can move on with your life.”

  “Brynn.”

  “And you needn’t worry about me,” she continued, ignoring the weight of his searching gaze. “In time, the gossip will die down, and people will replace it with the next new scandal that comes along. I will be fine.”

  “Brynn.” Archer turned her firmly to face him, but she stared determinedly at his shirtfront. “I don’t want you to be fine.”

  “You…you don’t?” He shook his head, and she frowned, looking up at him.

  “I want you to be happy. Deliriously happy,” he said. “And I want the chance to be the man who makes you so.”

  Another rumble of thunder cut into his reply. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. His words didn’t make sense. “But you called off the betrothal. You don’t want this…me.”

  “You think I don’t want you?” A strangled sound erupted from his mouth. He grasped her shoulders, his eyes dark. “Are you mad? You are the only thing I think about. All day. All night. Especially at night. I can’t get you out of my head. I put that notice in the Times because…it turns out, I am a coward.”

  “You’re not,” she whispered, her heart threatening to erupt from her chest. “You’re the most courageous person I know. You save sick orphans and widows and bring hope to the hopeless.” She smiled through the rush of emotion threatening to choke her. “Though I do question your methods, it’s clear your heart is in the right place.”

  Archer’s thumb grazed her chin as if he were touching something infinitely precious. “I’m not worthy of you, Brynn. But I want so much to be. I…”

  With an inarticulate groan, his mouth swooped down on hers as the first drops of rain fell. She gasped at the sweet urgency of his kiss. It reached deep into the very center of her body, Archer’s hunger sudden and fierce, matching hers breath for breath. Unwilling to leave a sliver of space between them, he fitted her body against his, his hand rounding her buttocks and pressing his thighs flush against hers. The possessive touch was her undoing. Brynn moaned and clung to him, winding her fingers in his coat, unwilling to let him part from her. She arched against him, her hands climbing up around his neck to draw him closer. She couldn’t hold a single thought in her head as his mouth pushed harder against hers, his tongue claiming hers with desperate need. They stood there, devouring each other, as the rain drenched their bodies and lightning cleaved the sky.