“There is one other thing,” Rhys said, turning his green eyes on his brother. “You still haven’t explained just what is going on between you. Not that it’s any of my business, but she’s a damned attractive woman, and Mama has recently launched a new campaign to have me wed before the year ends.”
“Touch her and you’ll wish you’d never been born,” Archer said with a cheerful smile.
Rhys, like all the Lisle sons, was an attractive man, with his dark gold hair, his chiseled features, and height. Archer had little doubt that Perdita would find him appealing if his brother were to woo her. But there was no way in hell he’d let that happen. Especially not when Perdita’s plans for marriage involved finding someone for whom she felt nothing. Archer didn’t want that for his brother. But he also didn’t want that for Perdita. And he’d do his best to see to it that he was saved the necessity of stopping any sort of plans between them.
He needn’t have worried, however.
“Say no more,” Rhys said with a grin. “Just wanted you to tell me to my face. When’s the wedding?”
Archer felt red creep into his cheeks. “It’s complicated,” he said shortly.
“She’s a lady, son,” his father said with a laugh. “Of course it’s complicated.”
Eighteen
Dinner that evening was a spirited affair. Nothing like the tension-filled occasion tea had been.
Perdita could see from the duke’s and duchess’s demeanor that they were genuinely fond of their sons, though at times exasperated by them. To her relief, the duchess had seated her between Archer and Benedick, though Frederick did his level best to flirt outrageously with her throughout the entire meal.
When the meal was ended, Perdita expected that she and the duchess would retire to the drawing room for tea, but to her surprise, the men followed as well. “Since when we are without guests ‘the ladies’ consists of me alone,” the duchess told her as they sat near the tea tray, “I have never much cared for the practice of the gentlemen separating from the ladies after dinner.”
“Mama is an original, Your Grace,” Archer said from his position propping up the mantel. “As you can see, she makes the most of her title by setting her own rules.”
“If one cannot make one’s own rules when one is a duchess, my dear,” the duchess said with some asperity, “then when, pray, may one?”
“She has a point,” Rhys said to his brother, handing him a glass of port.
“I suddenly wonder,” Perdita said with a slight frown, “if I have been making the most of being a duchess. I think I should have been taking lessons from you, Your Grace.”
“You should take advantage while you can,” Frederick said, in a flash of white teeth. “If you marry this fellow you’ll be doomed to becoming a plain missus. Though you can retain your title, I suppose.”
Perdita felt a flush rise in her cheeks. She dared not look at Archer who was likely sending a look shot through with daggers at his brother.
“I’m not…” she began. “That is to say, we haven’t…” She struggled to find just the right words to announce that she had no intention of marrying their brother and son.
Rescue came from an unlikely source, however. “There, there, my dear,” the duke said, patting her on the hand. “There’s no need to explain things. It’s none of our affair.”
Rhys looked as if he’d like to overrule his father, but said nothing. Archer, when she dared look at him once the conversation had moved on to other topics, gave her a rueful smile. She wasn’t sure if the apology was for his brother, his father, or himself for not having explained the situation to them. Regardless she was glad he’d not taken offense at her demurral. She had hoped that they wouldn’t need to say anything to his family, but that had been naïve she now realized. Family always found a way to winkle information. Especially when it came to the romantic relationships of their relations.
Sometime later, she was brushing out her hair at the dressing table, the maid the duchess had assigned to her having just left, when she heard a scratching noise coming from the direction of the fireplace. She shouldn’t have thought the Lisles the sort to stand for mice in their walls, but supposed that the mice had no way of distinguishing between a prince or a pauper.
When she saw a figure standing in the candlelight behind her, however, she gave a muffled scream as a male hand covered her mouth.
“Easy,” Archer said in a low voice. “It’s me.”
Turning to look, she saw that it was indeed Archer and immediately slapped his arm. “You beast!” she hissed. “Are you mad? I thought you were the note-writer!”
At once he looked contrite. “I’m sorry, love,” he said, pulling her close. “I didn’t think. I only knew that I wished to see you and took the most expedient, and least conspicuous, means to get here.”
She pulled back slightly, grateful for the strength of his body against hers even as she calmed after the fright he gave her. “How did you get in here? I didn’t hear the door.”
He grinned. “That’s because I didn’t use the door. I used that.” He pointed to a secret door, slightly ajar next to the fireplace. The mice, she thought ruefully.
“A secret passageway,” she said. “Like the one at Ormond House.” She shook her head at her own foolishness. “I should have guessed.”
“We had an ancestor with church leanings during the reign of Henry VIII.” Archer shrugged. “He put in the passageways so that visiting priests could find a quick way out should the king’s men arrive unexpectedly.” He pulled her to him again and stroked her hair. “I am sorry, though. I’d forgotten that that woman used the passages at Ormond House to torment Isabella.”
“I should have been alert to it,” Perdita said. “I am in a new house and should have been on the lookout for anything that might be used to begin the game again with me here.”
“You shouldn’t have to live your life waiting for the next bad thing to happen, Perdita,” he said, kissing her. “And I brought you here because that is precisely what I wished to happen. That you would forget about that coward. I knew if there was one place in England where you’d be safe it would be here.”
She looked up into his eyes, took his face in her hands and stroked her thumbs over his cheeks. “You are such a dear man,” she said with a sad smile. “I wish that I could give as much to you as you’ve given to me.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. This time, more passionately. When they were both breathless, he pulled back and gave her a crooked smile. “You have. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“But I haven’t—” she began to say, but he put a finger over her lips.
“Hush,” he said. “Let us not discuss it now. I know how you feel. There is no need for apologies. I know.”
But she wasn’t sure he did. She was almost positive that she was very much in danger of falling in love with him. Or worse, that she already had. And knowing that, she felt doubly as unhappy about her need to marry elsewhere. She tried to tell herself that she was only worried about it because that was what her heart—her traitorous heart, which fell in love at the drop of a hat—wished her to feel. But she could not for the life of her think that Archer was hiding his real, cruel self behind a façade. It was impossible.
Even so, she let him silence her, and when he kissed her again, this time with a carnality that could mean only one thing, she let him lead her into an embrace that became more and more sensual by the minute.
When she pulled away to lead him to the bed, however, he shook his head and led her by the hand to stand before him, with their backs to the fire.
“What are you doing, you odd man?” she demanded, trying to turn in his arms.
“Not yet,” Archer said, slipping his hands down to grip her by the hips. “Look there.” He pointed with his head toward the wall before them. Perdita looked up to see that they were opposite a tall pier glass.
She looked at their reflection. His tall form, his arms, in bright white shirtsleeves, his dark
hands gripping her through the lawn of her night rail. She watched appreciatively as his hair glinted gold in the firelight. She, herself, looked like a different woman altogether. Her hair cascaded in soft red-gold waves down over her shoulders. And with her eyes wide and her lips parted, she looked like a veritable wanton.
“Look at us together,” Archer said in a low, sensual voice. “Look at how well we fit.” As he spoke, he stroked his right hand up the curve of her hip, over the dip of her waist, and then up and over to take her breast—just visible through the fabric of her gown. “Watch me touch you, Perdita,” he whispered against her ear as he stroked his thumb over the tip of her dark nipple. It was as if she were looking at someone else. Some other man. Some other woman.
Immediately, she felt a jolt of warmth between her legs.
“Look at how your body responds to me,” he said, stroking a finger over her other breast as it hardened, as if he’d ordered it to do so on cue. “I’ll bet even now, your sweet crevice is readying itself for me. Is it, Perdita?”
Unable to form the words, she nodded, and saw the woman in the mirror nod, too. Behind her, she felt the stiffness of his own response pressing against her bottom. Unable to resist, she moved against him, and was pleased to hear him hiss in a breath.
“Naughty girl,” he said, stilling her movements with his hands. “You know just how to tease me, don’t you? I think that deserves a reward.” With a sharp tug, he began lifting her gown, gathering it in one hand, while he caressed her through it with the other. Once it had bared her legs and the triangle of red-gold at their juncture, he pulled her back against him again. She was tempted to move, but anticipating what was to come, she remained still for his hand, which she watched slide across her belly and down.
When he touched the center of her, Perdita all but purred. “Easy, now,” he said, his voice just a shade on the shaky side. “I’ll give you what you want.” He stroked a finger through the hot wetness at the heart of her. “There, is that it?” He stroked over and then into her and Perdita closed her eyes. “No,” he said in a firm voice, “don’t close your eyes. I want you to see us. See what I’m doing to you.” When she opened them, he kissed her ear and said, “This is us, Perdita. You with me. Archer. This is what we are together.” As he spoke, he stroked over her with his thumb while stroking into her with first one, then two fingers.
Unable to hold back, she began to move against his hand, faster and faster until she felt the earth shatter around her, and felt Archer mutter a curse and lower her to the carpet beneath them. Now, on her back, she opened her eyes to see him grip the neck of her night rail and tear it in one strong movement right down the middle.
“So much for that,” she said with a half-smile.
His face was dead serious, however. “I’ll buy you another,” he said, pulling off his shirt then shucking off his breeches and smalls in one quick move. Almost as quickly as he’d left her, she felt him return, only this time, skin to skin. And without preamble, he thrust into her.
Perdita had thought she was finished for the night, but as he stroked into her body, it spasmed, inch by inch around him. When he was fully seated within her, they both sighed with completion.
Archer pressed a swift kiss to her mouth. “This is going to be rather quick, I’m afraid.” With that, he pulled both of her knees up to her chest, and went even deeper before pulling back out and setting a steady pace of strokes. As he moved in, Perdita thrust her hips up and as he pulled back away, she tightened her inner muscles around him. “God, that’s good,” he muttered as they moved together, faster and faster until they reached a point where Perdita could no longer stop herself from crying out. As the crisis overtook her she heard Archer give a hoarse shout as he pulled out of her and spilled himself onto her belly.
He flung himself onto his back beside her as they both tried to catch their breath.
Once they’d come back to themselves, he used her ripped night rail to remove the traces of his release from her stomach. When he came back from disposing of the thing, she had removed to the bed, the covers open as she waited for him to climb in. “Why did you do that?” she asked as he slid in beside her and pulled her back to spoon in front of him.
She felt him exhale onto her neck. “It’s another method of preventing conception,” he explained. “Though there is a name they call those who practice it.”
Oh, dear, she thought. Probably something lewd or awful because those who practiced it were guilty of fornication. “What is it?” she asked, hating for him to say, though her curiosity was great.
“Parents,” he said wryly. “I am rather angry with myself for forgetting the French letter, again. But I find myself having to have you, and it becomes impossible to think of anything else but being inside you.”
Perdita turned in his arms. “I am sorry,” she said, kissing him softly.
“No,” Archer said almost angrily. “This is not any failing of yours. It’s mine. I should be taking precautions. I wish to marry you, but not because you have to.”
She tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “I shouldn’t think it is something we need worry about,” she said softly. “After all, I was married to Gervase for some years and we never had a child.”
“I like to think that was because God knows better than to give men like Gervase progeny,” Archer said darkly. “Though I know that’s a bit of wishful thinking on my part.”
“I don’t think the problem was his,” Perdita said not daring to look at him. “There was one time, when I did conceive, but not too long after I discovered it, he became angry about something. I can’t recall what it was. Just that he was rather more violent than he had been before and…”
She felt him tense against her. She hated this. Having to reveal how and in which ways her late husband had made her life a living torment. When would she and Archer be able to just be happy together? Except, a little voice warned her, she would never be able to just be happy with Archer. Not if she went through with her plan to marry elsewhere.
“He made you lose the child, didn’t he?” Archer asked tightly. “I swear to you, Perdita, if it were possible to bring a man out of hell and kill him again, I would do it.”
“I lost the child, yes,” she said flatly. “And something else went wrong. The physician said that it was possible I’d never conceive again. And of course, I never did, so he must have been correct.”
She felt Archer kiss her eyelids and then her mouth. It wasn’t a kiss of passion or lust, but one of comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It does you no good for me to express anger against him all the time, does it?”
“Not really,” she said with a sigh. “But I do like knowing how protective you are about me. It makes me feel safe.”
He laughed shortly. “For all the good it’s done you. First I worked in the same house with you for years without even realizing that he was beating you, and now I’ve let this unnamed person threaten you and in general terrorize you. If I were a much better protector, you’d be dead.”
“Hush,” she said sharply. “Do not speak about yourself in that way. You are a darling man and you’ve worked yourself silly trying to see to it that whoever it is that’s threatening me is kept away. I call that a hero. And I don’t wish to hear one more time about how you didn’t know about Gervase. That was by his own design. He’d been cruel like that his entire life. He’d fooled everyone around him, except those he brutalized. Why should you have been any different?”
“Are you quite finished?” he asked, the surprise still there on his beautiful face.
“Yes,” she said meekly.
“Thank you for the defense,” he said with a wry smile. “I should quite like to hire you if I’m ever in the dock for murder.”
“I just feel … passionate about it, I suppose,” she said, laying her head down on his chest.
“Noted, my dear,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Duly noted.”
Nineteen
Archer
was awakened some time later by the sound of something very like pebbles hitting the window. When the noise sounded again, he eased away from Perdita, but she woke up anyway—as was the case with most women he’d known. Ladies seemed predisposed to light sleeping.
“What is it?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. “Is something amiss?”
“I’m going to go find out,” he said, pulling on his breeches and stepping over to the window. “It looks as if there is a lit torch out there.”
The bedchamber faced the carefully designed wilderness of the gardens beyond the house, which included a folly resembling a Greek temple and an ornamental lake. Archer could remember house parties from when he was a boy, when it seemed like the whole of the estate was bathed in firelight. And for a moment, he felt the odd sensation of déjà vu, as if he’d been here looking out this same window before.
Once the window was open, however, he saw that he’d only been partially right about the light.
On the lawn below, two figures stood, one a young man, holding a torch.
He felt Perdita slip up beside him, into the circle of his arm. “Who is it?” she asked, watching the scene below. She shivered. Whether from the cold or from the eerie tableau Archer couldn’t tell. “One of your brothers?”
“It’s hard to tell,” he said, squinting. “Though the stature doesn’t look right. We’re all rather tall.”
“I know,” she said playfully. “I’ve noticed.”
“I don’t understand what this fellow is doing,” Archer said, his attention on the man below. There was something about him. Something familiar.
“Duchess Perdita,” the young man called, the torchlight reflecting on his face as if it were made of papier mâché like the puppets in a show Archer had seen as a boy. “Duchess Perdita, I have a message for you!”
At the mention of her name, Perdita stiffened, and Archer felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. The only messages she’d received of late had been of ill portent, and Archer suddenly wanted to shield her eyes from the sight below.
Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Page 18