Why Lords Lose Their Hearts

by Manda Collins

  “Speaking of London,” he continued, accepting the cup of tea from a hovering footman, “if you really wish to return, I will take you back. I don’t think that you will be as safe there as you are here, but if you wish it we can leave as soon as I can arrange it.”

  But Perdita shook her head. “No,” she said, glancing at his mother who was making no secret of her interest in their conversation. “I had a long think last night, and after some discussion about it with your mother, I decided to stay.”

  Archer was at once suspicious. “What did you say to her, Mama?” It wasn’t so much that he wanted to know how she’d persuaded Perdita, it was more that he wanted to know what she’d said about him. Because his mother had been known to reveal embarrassing secrets in her quest to get what she thought her sons deserved.

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Archer,” she said with asperity. “It was private between Perdita and myself.”

  “Count on it,” said Frederick as he carried a plate heaped with food to the table and took the seat beside Archer. “It is something incriminating. Remember what she told Louisa Claremont on the day of the village fair.”

  “Oh, really?” Their mother groaned. “Must you bring up Louisa Claremont at every turn, Frederick? She is married with four children now. And has become a dead bore besides.”

  “She was not a dead bore when I was fourteen, Mama,” Frederick said with as much dignity as a thirty-one-year-old man can muster while discussing an injury done to him by a parent some twelve years previous. “When I was fourteen she was as close to a Greek goddess as I’d seen, and when you called me ‘Freddykins’ in front of her, she looked at me as if I were four and wearing short breeches.”

  Archer whispered to Perdita, “This is a sore subject with Frederick, as you can see.”

  “I should think so,” she whispered back, “‘Freddykins’ is an awful nickname.”

  “Freddykins,” their father said from where he was filling his own plate at the sideboard, “stop castigating your mother. It’s been twelve years and, as has been noted, Louisa Claremont is many years happily wed. If a match were going to be made between you then it would have happened by now.”

  “It wasn’t a life match I was hoping for,” Frederick said under his breath.

  Perhaps deciding that a change in subject was needed, he said to Archer, “Any news on your dead man from last night?”

  Brought back to earth by the reminder of last night, Archer winced. He’d need to tell Perdita about the man’s identity, but he didn’t think she’d want an audience for it.

  But beside him, she frowned. “What is it?” she asked. “What have you learned? Is it someone I know?”

  When he hesitated, she said, “Archer, you’re frightening me. Who is it?”

  Deciding that he’d better tell her before she worried any more, he said, “It was Lord Vyse, I’m afraid.”

  Perdita gasped. “But why?”

  Before Archer could answer, Frederick interrupted. “Vyse? You mean he was the man on fire last night? But I just saw him at the tavern only a few nights ago.”

  Archer turned to him. “You did?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “How the dev … er, deuce, was I to know he’d go getting himself burned to death in view of Lisle Hall?” Frederick defended himself. “Last I saw of the man he was beating me at darts and pinching the barmaid’s ar … er, cheek.”

  “It’s not as if he could know that Vyse accused me of murder in London,” Perdita said rationally. “For all Lord Frederick knew he was just a friend from London staying in the neighborhood.”

  “But wouldn’t we have heard if a nobleman was staying in the neighborhood?” Archer asked his mother. “Whoever he was visiting would surely have sent word if only to blow their own trumpet at getting such a prestigious guest.”

  “I’m hardly going to be impressed by a mere lordling, Archer,” his mother responded with a shrug. “I am married to a duke, you know.”

  “He wasn’t staying with anyone,” Frederick said. “He told me he was in town looking to buy a horse from some fellow on the other side of the village. A man named Cartwright. I had never heard of him, but this is the first time I’ve been home in a year or so, so I thought it was just some newcomer.”

  “No,” the duke said, his expression serious, “there’s no one named Cartwright in the neighborhood. Not that I’ve heard of. On either this or the other side of the village. It sounds like your Lord Vyse was telling tales.”

  “So we know he wasn’t brought here against his will,” Archer said, stroking his chin. “And if that’s the case, then he very well might have come here at the stalker’s behest.”

  “But why?” Perdita asked. “Was he working with the man who is threatening me?”

  “Either that,” Archer said, “or he was here on his own.”

  “The question is,” the duke said thoughtfully, “how can you find out what Vyse was up to? Could it be that his things are still at the inn?”

  “It’s worth a look,” Archer said. He turned to Perdita. “Would you care for a trip to the village?”

  “I’ll go get my hat,” she said, hurrying out of the breakfast room.

  * * *

  Despite the drama of the night before, Perdita enjoyed the walk with Archer into the village of Little Lisle. The fresh air was invigorating, reminding her just how much she enjoyed the country.

  As they went, they chatted about any number of things that were completely unrelated to threats against her. For the first time in a long while, Perdita began to think she could have a life without being constantly under the cloud of her previous marriage and the fear of how he’d really died coming to light.

  “What did my mother say to you last night?” Archer asked after a while. “And don’t gammon me with something about your safety because you were dead serious about leaving when you stormed out of the drawing room. And it was over my safety, not yours.”

  She thought about what the duchess had told her, and how it might make him feel to know his mother was meddling in his affairs. But when it came down to it, she would give anything to have a mother who was so obviously interested in her life as Archer’s was with his. “I will tell you,” she said, “but you must promise me that you won’t tell her that I told. We came to a meeting of the minds last night, and I don’t wish to endanger that.”

  “All right,” Archer said without hesitation. “I won’t tell her.”

  “Well,” she said, “the first thing she asked was what my intentions were toward you.”

  “I’m going to kill her,” Archer said, shaking his head in disgust. He stopped in the middle of the path. “I hadn’t thought I was the sort of man who could stoop to matricide, but sometimes it’s just necessary for the good of humanity, and—”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, gripping him by the shoulders. “It’s not how you think.”

  “How can it be anything other than what you just said?” he demanded. “My mother, as if I were a gentle young debutante being pursued by a fortune-hunter, asked you what your intentions are. I don’t see how there’s any way I can salvage my manhood from that. When all this time, I thought I was the one debauching you!”

  “You were!” she said hotly. “Of course you were!”

  “Well,” he sniffed, “I hadn’t realized you thought about it in those terms.”

  “Do not split hairs, Archer,” Perdita said, getting annoyed. “We have debauched each other. And it has been wonderful. Your mother simply guessed that you might harbor feelings for me, so she wished to know if I meant to marry you.”

  “Which is none of her business,” he said, turning to stare off into the trees. “I cannot believe her!”

  “I told her it was none of her affair,” Perdita said, walking up and placing her hand on his back, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath her hand.

  “You did?” he asked, turning toward her.

  “
Of course I did,” she said. “I’m not a green girl. And I’ve lived with the dowager for all these years. I know how to tell a duchess to get out of my business.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Archer said, pulling her into the circle of his arms. “So what did you tell her?”

  “That I was still figuring things out,” she replied. “Which is the truth.”

  “It is,” he said, kissing the end of her nose. “I hope you’ll figure them out soon.”

  She sighed. “I know,” she said. “Me, too.”

  He took her hand in his and tugged her along, “Come on, I’ve something to show you.”

  Curious, she followed him as the woodland path emerged into wide open fields on the left and the English Channel on the right. They were on the South Downs, she realized.

  “We are still on my father’s land here,” Archer said as he stood beside her staring out at the choppy surf before pointing out a well-worn path leading to a set of stairs cut into the chalk cliff. “I want to show you something.”

  Perdita allowed him to lead her down the steps to the beach below, appreciating the moment. The feel of the sea breeze against her skin and the sight of Archer looking perfectly at home in the out of doors, his dark blond hair ruffled from the wind. Finally they reached the rocky beach below and she was shocked to see a blanket spread upon the ground, a picnic feast arranged there, complete with a bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.

  She could not help uttering a small gasp at the perfection of it. It was a veritable romantic dream and she wasn’t quite sure she believed it could be true after the horror of last night.

  “When did you arrange this?” she asked him, noting that he seemed to be waiting to read her response.

  “This morning,” he said, his eyes intent upon her. “I wanted you to have a new, happy memory to replace the one from last night.”

  Turning, she kissed him tenderly and felt the safety of his strong arms as he pulled her to him. “You are the sweetest man,” she said, laying her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I know how incredibly fortunate I am.”

  “I could argue with you,” he said with a half-smile, “but I’d rather not waste time arguing.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the blanket where they lowered themselves to sit and exclaimed over the delectables that had been laid out for them by the Lisle Hall staff.

  “I told the cook to choose what to send and it would appear that she thought you deserved the best,” he said with a grin, pouring the wine. “She likes you, I think, because you complimented the dinner last evening.”

  Taking a sip of wine, Perdita chided, “Do not try to cozen me, Lord Archer Lisle, for I am quite aware of the effect you have on females. I have little doubt everyone from the housekeeper to the lowliest kitchen maid is besotted with you.”

  To her delight, he actually blushed. “I haven’t done anything to woo them,” he said quickly. “I treat them just like I treat everyone else.”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile, “with fairness and courtesy. You’d be amazed at how far that will go to earn a servant’s loyalty.”

  “I suppose,” he said, biting into an herb tart. “But you’re not exactly loathed by the staff here or at Ormond House.”

  She conceded the point, and brushed the crumbs of her own tart from her hands. Looking at Archer, who seemed more carefree than she’d ever seen him, she said, “It wasn’t all bad, you know.”

  At his puzzled look, she took his hand, felt the strength of it in comparison to her own. “Last night,” she continued, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “In fact, I quite enjoyed myself before the interruption.”

  Understanding dawned in his eyes, which then darkened with remembered passion. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said with a grin. But then his gaze turned serious. “I’ve been continually impressed with your ability to take pleasure in the moment. Even when things seem to be devolving into chaos around you.”

  “It is a skill I acquired during my marriage,” she said wryly. “Though I had hoped it would be unnecessary once he died. But it would seem that fate had other plans for me.”

  “Not fate,” Archer said firmly, “but a madman. A madman I mean to stop before he can give you another moment of fear.”

  His handsome face was determined and Perdita longed to beg him to be careful. But she knew it would do little good. Men like Archer stayed the course until what they saw as their duty was done. And if it meant putting himself in danger, he would do it. It was the way he was made.

  She leaned in and kissed him. “I do appreciate you,” she said quietly. “So much.”

  If he wished for her to say something more, make a declaration of love, he didn’t say so. Instead he busied himself with helping her pack up the remnants of their picnic into the hamper and then pulled her to her feet.

  “A stroll along the beach, I think,” he said, “before we allow reality to intrude upon our idyll.”

  Perdita did not argue, and when after meandering along the water for a while hand in hand, they turned back, she wordlessly allowed Archer to lead her to a small corridor created naturally by the rocks. Spreading the blanket on the ground within, they went into each other’s arms with a passion born of last night’s distress, and a need to affirm life in the face of another’s loss of it.

  She stroked her hands over his chest while Archer shrugged out of his coat, tossing it to the ground beside them. Eagerly, she surrendered to his kiss, even as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled his shirt from his breeches. Archer pulled away for a moment to unwind his neck cloth and Perdita almost screamed with the frustration of it. She wanted him against her, skin to skin, now. But soon, he’d divested himself of his shirt as well and set to undoing the tiny row of buttons down her back.

  Finally, Archer in stocking feet and breeches and Perdita in only her shift, they came back together. His kiss was surprisingly tender, and Perdita felt tears well in her eyes even as she moved her mouth against his, welcoming the gentle thrust of his tongue against hers. She allowed her hands to roam over the chiseled perfection of his chest as Archer’s hands embarked upon an exploration of their own, stroking over the peaks of her breasts, making her gasp.

  “Archer,” she whispered, as his mouth roamed down over her chin and stroked a path down to where he’d pulled down the front of her chemise to reveal the hardened point of her breast. When he took the nipple in his hot mouth, she nearly cried out from the wonder of it. Restlessly, she threaded her hands though his hair, holding him to her as he sucked. “Dear God,” she exhaled.

  “Easy,” he said, pulling back and moving to expose her other breast. At the same time, he used his other hand to slip beneath the fabric of her petticoats to stroke up past her knee, to her thigh, and then to hover over the aching center of her.

  Giving herself up to him, Perdita opened to him, while at the same time releasing his hair to stroke down the front of his chest and downward. She was diverted, however, by the simultaneous stroke of his hand over her wetness and the feel of his teeth scraping over her nipple. “Oh, yes, please,” she murmured, “there.”

  In response, he gave a tug on her breast and stroked a finger inside her, rhythmically stroking inside her as her hips began to move of their own accord. It took only a brief caress upon the bud of pleasure there for her to lose herself altogether, and with a sharp cry she shattered.

  It took her only a moment to recover herself, and at the feel of Archer unbuttoning the fall of his breeches, she reached down to take him in hand, guiding him into her, and at the first thrust they both gasped. Perdita closed her eyes at the delicious fullness of him within her. And gave an experimental squeeze of the muscles there, drawing a wonderfully filthy curse from Archer.

  “This won’t last long, I’m afraid.” His voice was deep, husky with desire, and the timbre of it sent a ripple of answering lust down Perdita’s spine. And then there was no more time for talk as he kissed her, then pulle
d almost all the way out of her before stroking slowly back in. He set up a steady rhythm that soon had them both gasping and it wasn’t long before they were moving back and forth in as ancient a dance as that of the sea behind them.

  When she began to lose herself again, when the pulse of orgasm overtook her, Perdita clung to him, her legs and arms trying to hold him still within her even as he began to move faster and faster. Finally, just as her own release subsided, he gave a hoarse shout and thrust once more inside her, holding still as pleasure overtook him.

  Despite her protests, Archer reversed their positions as soon as he came back to himself. “What was I thinking to take you on the rocks like that. Your back must be bruised.”

  “You’ll hear no complaint from me,” she said, moving off him to set her chemise back to rights before picking up her discarded gown and pulling it over her head. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as … invigorated as I did just now. There is something about making love in the open air.”

  Having discreetly adjusted his breeches, Archer pulled his own shirt back on before tying his cravat into a loose knot. “I am glad to hear it, Duchess,” he said with a grin. “For there are a few more spots along the coast where I’d like to … invigorate you.”

  Relieved to see his eyes twinkling again after the darkness of the past few days, Perdita grinned. She’d been afraid her unhappy life would leach all the mirth from him. And that would have left her inconsolable.

  Allowing Archer to button up her gown, she twisted her hair back up into some semblance of neatness, and soon they were presentable, if not as tidy as they’d been a few minutes earlier.

  “Thank goodness for the sea wind,” she said as they made their way up the stairs and toward the path again. “I think it can be blamed for all kinds of sartorial sins today.”