“I am quite aware of the fact that I’m in danger,” Perdita said, her knuckles white as she clenched her hands in her lap. “And of course I don’t wish to put you all in danger. It would be reckless and selfish of me to do so. Besides, it didn’t matter if you were buried in rural Yorkshire or in the middle of London or Bath. He still managed to find you. Why on earth would I lead him to your homes when he can strike just as well there as he can here?”
“I don’t like it,” Isabella said, her eyes filling with tears. “I cannot bear to think of you here dealing with these attacks alone. It is terrifying, but I had Trevor there to help me. To offer me his protection.”
“I have Dunthorp,” Perdita argued, knowing as soon as she said it that she no more trusted Dunthorp to keep her safe than the man in the moon. He was a nice enough man, but hardly someone she’d put her trust in. Archer’s image flashed for a moment in her mind and she knew without a doubt that he would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
As if she’d read her friend’s mind, Georgie laughed. “Dunthorp is hardly the kind of man one trusts to protect one from physical attack. I’ll bet he ran away from you yesterday rather than to you.”
“I don’t know,” Perdita said with a frown. “I cannot remember anything until just before we left to go to the park. But that’s an unfair characterization of Dunthorp. He might well have saved my life.”
“Do not be a goose,” Isabella said. “We all know very well that it was Archer who shielded you from further harm yesterday. And he will, I daresay, stay by your side through every minute of our mysterious villain’s campaign of terror. Because that’s what Archer does. He protects. And I think he would cut off his right arm before he allowed something to happen to you again.”
“Archer is loyal to the duchy of Ormond,” Perdita said firmly. “And yes, I daresay he would do anything to protect me. But any notion you have of the two of us making a match are simply daydreams, Isabella. I cannot think of him that way. And that’s an end to it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with seeking happiness,” Georgie said quietly. “Dearest, we’ve been in the same position that you’re in now. We were afraid of putting our trust into another husband. But not all men are the same. There are dangerous ones, like Wharton, Mowbray, and Gervase, but just because you make the wrong choice once does not mean that you will continue to make bad choices.”
The tears that had threatened when she first entered the breakfast room returned, spilling over onto her cheeks. And Perdita, unable to withstand more of Isabella and Georgina’s too accurate observations, stood and hurried from the room.
Six
Archer was in the study sorting through the stack of invitations Ormond had received this week—a task he’d ignored since the attacks on Perdita had started—when he heard the door open and shut. Quietly, as if whoever it was wished to keep anyone from hearing them enter.
“Archer,” Perdita said, clearly startled to find him there. As he stood he saw that her eyes were wet with tears. Unable to stop himself he crossed the room to her side.
“I’ll just get out of here and let you work. I didn’t think anyone was in here.” She turned to leave, her gown brushing his trousers as she did so.
“Don’t go,” he said, reaching out to catch her arm before she could open the door. From where he stood he could see one red-gold curl caress the softness of her neck. Could smell the clean scent of her perfume. He swallowed. “Tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “What isn’t wrong? I suppose the attack yesterday has gotten to me. That and the way that everyone is leaping to my defense.”
He frowned, calling on every bit of self-discipline to pay attention to her words and not her nearness.
“That bothers you?” he asked once he’d got himself under control. “I should think it would make you feel loved.”
“Loved,” she agreed with a sigh, her lips twisting into a little half-smile. “But also frustrated because in the rush to protect me, everyone is taking away my autonomy. I am perceived as being unable to take care of myself. And that infuriates me.”
He saw that her jaw was set, and he removed his hand from her arm, but indicated that she should precede him to one of the seats before the fire. She gave a sigh, but turned to the chair. And he sat across from her. Wanting like the devil to touch her, but knowing that it wasn’t the right time.
He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I suppose you resent having your choices taken away because of Gervase?” He knew that it was unwise to bring the late duke’s name up, but he couldn’t help but blame the devil for what she suffered now. His death had been his own bloody fault. And the fact that someone was now punishing Perdita for it was as unfair as unfair could be.
“That’s part of it,” Perdita agreed, twisting her handkerchief in her lap. “He wasn’t overly fond of letting me make my own choices, of course. And now, just as I’ve become confident again, and able to make choices for myself, I’m suddenly in the position of being dictated to. It’s meant to protect me, I know, but I cannot help but feel resentful of it.”
“I suppose you refused both Isabella’s and Georgina’s invitations for you to visit them in the country,” he said, part of him disappointed that she’d refused to remove herself from danger, but another part pleased because this would mean that he could stay by her side. Protect her. Which was of course part of what she resented. He didn’t let the sigh escape his lips, though he felt it all the same.
“Of course,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. The dim light from the window illuminated her from behind, making her strawberry-blond hair glow like a golden crown. He knew that as long as he lived he’d remember this moment in this room. Perdita upset but determined, looking like an avenging angel.
“They simply want to protect you,” he said. “They mean well. We all do.”
“I know,” she breathed out. “I do. But I cannot make my sister and Georgina endure this again. They are beyond it now. And for better or worse, this person seems to have finished with them. He has moved on to the main event now. The job he has been working toward all along: terrorizing me. And I don’t mind telling you that I am afraid.”
She looked up then, and Archer felt his gut clench as he saw the very real fear in her eyes. If he could have, he’d have leaped up, found the fellow who wished her harm and run him through. But he knew as well as anyone that it wasn’t going to be that easy. This man was as conniving as they came. And he wasn’t going to let himself be caught without a fight.
Unable to help himself, Archer went to his knees before her chair and pulled her into his arms. He expected her to resist, but to his surprise and relief, she hugged him back, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her close. It was impossible not to respond to the sheer pleasure of feeling her lush body pressed against his. His intentions might be honorable but his body cared nothing for honor when there was a soft female so near.
“What am I to do, Archer?” she asked, the puff of her breath on his neck sending a delicious thrill through him even as he tried to calm his racing pulse. “I cannot put them in danger. I simply can’t. But London feels dangerous, too. I daresay I’ll feel better in a few days, but right now, I don’t know what to do. You are my friend. Help me.”
At the word “friend,” he felt a bit of the excitement of holding her close ebb away. Still, he reminded himself, friendship was not nothing. And it meant she trusted his opinion, which was something neither Dunthorp nor her late husband could boast of.
“I am going to speak to someone from the magistrate’s office this afternoon,” he said, his voice rough with wanting her.
She pulled away and scooted back in her chair. “The magistrate’s office?” she demanded, her eyes wide with alarm. “Why on earth would you tell them about this? You know how Gervase died. They’ll think there was something untoward about his death and begin investigating Isabella, Georgie, and me. Archer, this is the worst thing
you could do!”
Realizing that there would be no more embracing between them, Archer dropped his arms to his sides and stood, moving to lean against the mantel. Managing to speak in a measured tone, he said, “There is no reason for them to think something was suspicious about Gervase’s death. Because I won’t tell them about the threats against you. For all they’ll know you’re being attacked by some madman with Bonapartist tendencies who wishes to abolish the nobility.” And he’d be damned if he’d let her be investigated for what he was convinced had been Gervase’s justified killing.
Despite his assurances, however, Perdita still seemed unnerved by the idea of having the magistrate’s office anywhere near her. “You can’t know that!” she said, standing up and glaring at him. “I can’t believe you would risk revealing my secret. What gives you the right?”
Her accusation stung. Especially given how hard he’d worked to ensure that she remained safe. “The right of someone who put his own life at risk yesterday to keep you safe,” he said, stepping toward her. “The right of someone who has watched as your sister and friend both suffered the same sort of threats from this same person. Do you think I wish to see you murdered before my eyes? Do you?”
Her eyes widened as she saw how angry he was, but she didn’t back down. And her own anger was still there, prompting her words. “I didn’t ask you to put yourself in the way yesterday. I didn’t even know you were going to be there. It was supposed to be a ride with Dunthorp and myself only.”
As he saw the fire in her eyes, he knew she’d said that deliberately to wound him. Well, two could play at that game, he thought. “Dunthorp couldn’t protect a mouse from a barn cat,” he said with contempt. “And don’t think I don’t know why you’ve chosen him as the one man you’ll allow to get close to you. I know you quite well, Your Grace. Quite well, indeed.”
“Oh, really?” she demanded, her nostrils flaring with ire. As she sucked air into her lungs, temper making her breath come faster, her bosom rose and fell in way that made Archer long to say something provoking just to see her react again.
Why did she have to be so beautiful when she was angry? It was really quite unfair.
“Do tell,” she continued, oblivious to the way her body was distracting him. “I cannot wait to hear your theory on Dunthorp. And my reasons for allowing him to pay me court. I’m sure it will be very enlightening.”
He took one step closer, so close that when she inhaled the tips of her breasts touched his chest. “You chose him,” he said, leaning in almost until they were nose to nose, “because he can’t make you feel like this.”
And then, despite all his careful planning, and all his rationalizations about waiting for just the right moment, Archer kissed her.
* * *
After all their hot words, Perdita expected his kiss to be punishing. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him. And she knew from experience that Archer was slow to anger. But to her surprise, when he took her in his arms it was with a diffidence and gentleness that nearly took her breath away. She hadn’t been approached physically by a man since Gervase had died, and while she knew Archer was nothing like her husband, she’d not expected him to treat her as if she were a priceless treasure, either.
As soon as he pulled her into his arms and leaned in, however, she stopped thinking altogether and allowed herself to feel the heat of his breath on her lips, the strength of the arms that clasped her tightly against his body. Instinctively she opened her mouth as he brought his lips to hers and the moment they came together nearly made her weep.
For years she’d known—deep down in the heart of her where no one could see but her—that Archer could make her feel this way. He’d always been more sensitive to her moods and feelings than any man had the right to be. It was one of the things that made him such a good secretary. He had an innate ability to read people. And he’d been able to see through to her soul from the moment they’d met.
As if he knew she wanted that very thing, he nipped at her bottom lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth, and unable to stop herself, she returned his caress in kind. She slipped her hands up his arms to his impossibly wide shoulders, and then to caress the back of his neck, luxuriating in the soft hair of his nape. How had he possibly known just what to do to make her ache for him?
“Perdita,” he whispered, pulling back. And though she wanted more than anything to pull him back down to her, she opened her eyes and saw that his own were wide with wonder. Was it possible that he was just as overwhelmed by this as she was? It was a delicious thought, and one that bore some thinking on, but then he leaned in and kissed her again, sliding his hands down her back and over her bottom, pulling her closer to him. She was aware of every place their bodies touched, and gasped as his hand slid up to caress her breast, his thumb and forefinger plucking the tip, sending a jolt of feeling straight to the center of her. “God, how I’ve wanted you,” he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse with desire.
“Archer,” she crooned as his lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. She lifted her chin as he kissed his way down the column of her neck and sucked lightly on her collarbone. If he weren’t holding her so close she’d have slid to the floor in a puddle of want, so carried away was she by the sheer power of his touch. She shivered as his slight stubble—so different from her own skin—rasped against her as he slid the arms of her gown down so that he could suckle her through her shift.
It was intoxicating. So much so that neither of them heard the door to the study open to admit Isabella and Trevor, who were in mid-conversation as it happened. “But I don’t see why we can’t do both,” Isabella was saying as they stepped into the chamber, but if she or the duke had more to say, they were startled out of it.
Archer and Perdita were equally as startled.
“We are so sorry!” Isabella cried, and dragged Trevor from the room with as much haste as she could muster while gaping like a madwoman, and shut the door with a thud.
When she heard the intrusion, Perdita’s gasp had echoed her sister’s and she tried to pull away from Archer. But he’d gripped her tightly and refused to let go. When their audience was gone, he said apologetically, “Sorry, but your gown was half off and I didn’t think you wished Ormond to see.”
At his explanation her ire cooled. Setting herself to see to the practicalities, she righted her gown as Archer, ever the gentleman, shaded his eyes so that she could do so in some measure of privacy.
When she was done, they both took a moment to get their breath back.
And then, as sometimes happens, they both spoke at once.
“I beg your pardon.”
“I cannot believe what just happened!”
They stopped again, suddenly awkward as they studiously avoided one another’s gazes.
Archer, his face diplomatically expressionless, waved for Perdita to speak first. She gave him a searching look, but seeing that he gave nothing away, she said, “I am mortified that my sister and Ormond should have walked in on that…”
She wasn’t quite sure what to call what had just happened between them. Except perhaps a mistake, but even Perdita knew not to say that aloud to a man she’d just kissed like a wanton. When Archer made no attempt to fill in a word for her, she started again. “That is to say, I never expected to be…”
How to tell him that the fire between them—which still had parts of her longing to move back into the circle of his arms and pick up where they’d left off—had not only confirmed her fear of getting involved with him, but had been even more overwhelming than she’d feared.
Because what she’d felt in Archer’s arms had been more than the infatuation she’d felt for Gervase in the early days of their marriage. Before he became someone to fear. Archer had the potential to break her heart. As well as to make her a slave to her passion. Imagine the aftermath should something go wrong between them. It would be a thousand times more devastating than Gervase. And up till now she’d thought finding out her husband wa
s a monster had been the worst thing that could happen to her.
“I think we can count on them to be discreet,” Archer said calmly. “There’s no need for you to panic.”
There was something about how he said the words that made her wonder how he meant them. “I wasn’t going to panic. I trust my sister and Ormond not to spread tales. I was simply…”
“Sharing your mortification with me,” he said, his handsome face completely devoid of emotion. He ran a hand down his arm and straightened his cuffs. “I understand completely, Your Grace.”
Then to her astonishment he returned to the desk and began shuffling through the papers there. Shocked at his coldness, she stalked over to the other side of the chamber and stood across the desk from him. “Archer,” she said, looking at the top of his head, his golden hair slightly disarranged, as he leaned over to hastily write a note. “What is the matter?”
Was it her imagination or did his hand tremble just a little when she spoke? It was impossible to tell.
Looking up from his task, Archer said, “I’m not sure what you mean. Let’s see.” He began ticking off the points on his fingers. “We fought earlier because you resented my interruption yesterday during your ride with Dunthorp. I became angry and kissed you. We were interrupted by your sister and her husband—my employer—then your response to being found kissing me was mortification. Do I have all that right?”
His eyes, which had just minutes earlier been dark with passion, were now cold. She fought the urge to hug herself.
“I suppose, technically, that is correct, but I do think there is a more nuanced way of saying it,” she said. Her heart, which had been beating from the excitement of being caught out, now felt as if it were constricting in her chest. “For instance, I wouldn’t say that it was being found kissing you that was mortifying. I’d have responded in precisely the same fashion if it had been anyone else.”
Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Page 6