DangerbyDalliance (14 page)

It sounded insane, but he couldn’t completely brush it
aside.

* * * * *

The next eight days went by in a similar manner.

Sarah went to Archer and Warren every day, keeping her
schedule as irregular as possible. Warren continued his sketching and moved to
canvas a few days later. Each time, after a number of draining and exhausting
sessions, he and Archer took her in their arms and pleasured her.

They teased and tortured her, taking her further and further
down the path of desire and passion. She came to crave their touch, their
unhidden delight in her curves. The only cloud darkening her happiness was the
fact that the men had not taken their relationship, dalliance, affair—whatever
the proper name—to the next level.

Despite everything they had done and explored together she
was still a virgin.

Sarah missed Beatrice desperately. She needed someone to
talk to, someone to help her figure out what she was doing wrong.

To help her shake the horrific thought that her two men
didn’t really want her. That for some bizarre reason they were playing with
her.

She rode a roller coaster of emotions, unable to gain her
footing.

They’d be together and she’d catch a look between Archer and
Warren, a look carrying years of friendship and a soul-deep connection, that
excluded her, put her on the outside, not really part of this triad. Her heart
clenched in response and all her doubts would shoot to the surface.

And then she’d remember how her two men shared themselves
with her.

Warren spoke about his love of art, no matter the origin or
format. He was a regular visitor to the National Gallery. The new Tate Gallery,
only open for a few months, was a favorite destination. Whenever he’d
accompanied Archer on his travels his first stop was to identify and meet the
local artists. He’d shared some of his favorite finds with her.

Archer entertained her with tales from his travels, shared
mementos and photographs of his most memorable excursions. He talked about how
much he enjoyed new discoveries, being surrounded by people who thought outside
the box and had imagination. He loved findings that could improve day-to-day
life, make things easier. It had surprised her to see him so passionate.

In that moment she had realized how close to his chest
Archer held things. He didn’t share his important parts with everyone.

He did with her.

Spending time with them filled the empty and lonely spot
Sarah had carried deep inside her since her mother’s death. She hoped for more
than just these three weeks, hoped that they would be open to continuing their
dalliance even after Warren had enough to finish the painting.

And in that moment when her fragile hope bloomed they would
turn away from her. Not in an obvious manner, but she had learned to read them.
They would pleasure her with their mouths and hands, but leave her need to be
fully claimed unanswered.

The ride started all over again.

And there was something else. More than once she’d felt as
if someone followed her, felt eyes on her at the most inappropriate times. She
never mentioned it to her men because she had no evidence these feelings were
actually real and not just a figment of her imagination.

Clouds converged on the horizon. She could only hope that
when the storm broke it would not destroy her.

* * * * *

Archer closed the side door behind Sarah and strode to his
office. He dropped into his chair and rubbed his aching head. With every day
his feelings for Sarah grew. It was the same for Warren, but the deeper their
bliss, the harsher and more soul-destroying the worry of her rejection if they
told her the truth.

He stared at the stack of papers. For the first time in his
life he had little desire to explore new opportunities. But he pushed himself
to continue. The faster he worked through all of this, the more time he would
have to spend with her.

Later that evening a brief knock sounded before the office
door opened and Detective Inspector Everett Johnson walked in.

“Latimer, how are you?”

Archer rose and shook his friend’s hand. “I am well. What
has brought you to this part of town?”

Johnson walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured two
glasses of Bowman.

Archer’s brows rose. As a detective with Scotland Yard,
Johnson saw a lot of darkness. Over the years they had established a routine
that when Johnson needed a break or another set of eyes, he’d come by for a
glass of scotch. Sometimes they would talk. Sometimes Johnson would just sit in
silence while Archer worked.

He waited to see what today would be.

Johnson set the glass before Archer, sank into the chair in
front of the desk and sipped. He dropped his head back, eyes closed. “The
forgery problem is getting out of control.”

Archer sipped his own drink, the smooth scotch burning as it
slid down his throat, and waited. Over the last six months the number of forged
£5 bills had tripled. Despite the Bank of England taking over the issuing of
notes more than forty years ago paper money still wasn’t as common as coins.
This meant the general public had no way of recognizing a good forgery.

“Does the Yard have a plan?” he asked.

Johnson snorted. “Please, they’re still chasing their own
tails trying to find ways to add security features. Initially the watermark
helped, but this bastard is good. He has found a way to mimic the new ink the
bank uses.” He opened his lids and looked at Archer, intelligence and fury
burning in his dark-green eyes.

“It’s not really my case, but we’re all scratching our arses
while this son of a bitch is collecting money left, right and center.” He
rubbed his forehead with his glass. “So far the Yard has managed to keep it
quiet, but both
The Times
and
The Daily Telegraph
have people
sniffing around.”

Archer pursed his lips. “If word gets out the public will
run for gold and notes won’t be worth the paper they are printed on. It could
destroy our economy.”

Johnson glared at him. “Why do you think everyone is working
their arses off to figure something out?” He slammed the empty glass onto the
desk. “Mayor Davies has spoken to the Prime Minister and Her Majesty. They have
a resolution in mind, but they need someone to invent an automaton that can
identify false notes.”

Archer paused in the process of raising his glass. “Do you
have anyone close?”

Johnson shrugged. “I’m no engineer. The guys are saying a
couple of tinkerers are close, but no one has anything ready to go.”

“I may.”

Johnson straightened. “What?”

Archer set down his glass and rose to take Sarah’s father’s
contraption off his shelf. “Mr. Rigdon gave me his prototype for review. He doesn’t
have the capabilities to market and manu—”

His friend jumped up. “Have you tried it? Why didn’t you
tell anyone?”

Archer frowned. “Because you told me to keep very quiet.
What use would this machine be unless every store in the city had one? And that
wouldn’t exactly keep the issue under wraps.”

Johnson calmed down. “True, but they’re working on how to
sell it once they have the machine. Can you try it now?”

Archer studied the machine before him. It was a medium-sized
metal box that flipped open. The bottom half had a narrow conveyor belt, while
the top half was filled with chemical scanners connected to colored lights on
top of the lid. “Do you have one of the forgeries?”

Johnson pulled a small pouch out of his jacket and handed it
to Archer.

He carefully flipped down the lid and turned on the machine.
The narrow metal belt began to move. Archer took out the note from the pouch
and flattened it. With care he fed the note into the slot on the side and onto
the belt.

Johnson and he stared at the lights on the top as if they
carried the meaning of life. Five minutes later the belt pushed out the same
note.

The scanners had not recognized the false note, had not
responded at all.

Archer met Johnson’s tired gaze. His friend’s shoulders
slumped. With a sigh he dropped back into the chair. “I should be used to it by
now.”

Archer switched off the Rigdon’s Banknote Verification
Device. “Don’t give up. Let me have a look at it and see if I can figure out
what went wrong.” He lifted the lid and studied the cogs and gears making up
the scanners. “I can’t see anything wrong at first glance, but I may find
something on closer inspection. Can you leave the fake note with me?”

Johnson grimaced and thrust both hands into his hair. “By
all means. Let me know the minute you have something.”

Archer set the box to the side and refilled their glasses.
“Want to run me through the details?” he asked as he sat beside Johnson.

His friend shook his head. “Can’t. The actual details have
all been marked as confidential. I think they’re trying to close the barn door
after the livestock escaped, but this is a line I cannot cross.”

“Certainly.” In the back of Archer’s mind the wheels were
turning. He had a shadow of an idea on how to fix the Rigdon’s Banknote
Verification Device, but it wasn’t yet fully formed. Once it was ready he would
know.

“Well, what juicy details can you share? The Chief Inspector
still walking around with a stick up his arse?”

Johnson snorted and relaxed. He crossed his legs and leaned
back. “I had a rather interesting encounter a few days ago.”

He settled in and listened.

* * * * *

Archer sat upright in bed. His idea had come to fruition.
One glance told him it was just after two o’clock in the morning.

Beside him Warren grumbled. “What now?”

“I know how to fix the Rigdon’s Banknote Verification
Device.”

“Then fucking do it and don’t keep me from my beauty sleep.”

Archer laughed and kissed his shoulder before jumping out of
bed and tugging on a pair of trousers.

Rigdon had mixed up the order of the gears, which meant the
chemicals to analyze the ink did not combine in the proper manner.

He marched into his office, picked up the machine and strode
into his workshop. He pulled open the cabinet under the shelves and assembled
his tools. Archer pulled on his multi-sight goggles and dismantled the gears.
It was backbreaking work because it was so incredibly intricate. The smallest
miscalculation and everything would be for naught.

When Warren came in around seven o’clock in the morning with
coffee Archer only waved at him. He was so fucking close.

Finally he attached the last three gears and gently moved
one of the levers.

This should be it.

Archer stretched his back and rolled his neck before
unlocking his safe and removing Johnson’s pouch. He gently flattened the bill
one more time and fed it into the conveyor belt.

Hands wrapped around the edge of the table, he waited with
bated breath.

Then the red light lit up and blinked.

“Yes!” He punched his fists in the air and whooped. Elation
spread through him.

“What’s all this hollering about?” Warren walked in.

Archer grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him close
for a deep kiss. His lover responded in kind and within seconds heat blazed
through Archer’s tired body. “I fixed the Rigdon’s Banknote Verification
Device.”

Warren’s brows rose. “I take it this is good news?”

Archer laughed. “It is excellent news for everyone. The
banknote problem has spread and Whitehall has their knickers in a twist. The
RBVD will make them happy, assist in solving the problem and give Sarah’s
father what he has always hoped for.” He kissed Warren again and tore himself
away.

“I need to head down to the Yard and let Johnson know. This
was exactly what they were looking for.”

Warren laughed. “You may want to get dressed.”

Archer looked down at himself and realized he still only
wore his trousers. “I really should.” He rubbed his cheek. “I should probably
shave as well.”

Warren thrust his hands into Archer’s hair and nibbled on
his earlobe. “I don’t know. You look good scruffy.”

Archer leaned into the caress. “As much as I appreciate your
compliment, I believe the public in general will disagree with you.”

Warren shrugged. “Who cares?”

Archer pressed a quick kiss to Warren’s lips and
disentangled himself. “Unfortunately, if we want to continue to live as we
have, we need to follow at least some of the rules. Shaving is a small price to
pay to pretend we conform.”

Warren grimaced, but nodded. “I guess.” He rubbed Archer’s
bristly cheek. “But the next time you don’t have to leave the house and are not
expecting anyone you’ll keep the stubble.”

“With pleasure.” Archer brimmed with excitement as he
hurried up the stairs. The sleepless night would catch up with him, but right
now he just wanted to find Johnson and share his triumph.

Thirty minutes later Jennings handed him his walking stick
and hat. His steam coach waited and the automaton opened the door for him.

A faint whiff of honeysuckle rose when he sank into the
cushions. Archer leaned back with a smile. He couldn’t wait to share the good
news with Sarah. Finally one of her father’s machines had actual use. With the
money coming in from this invention Mr. Rigdon would be able to give up his
teaching positions and focus on his real passion.

That would free her to come to them with her head held high.
She wouldn’t have liked it if her father required their support. Now it no
longer was an issue.

For a second his suspicions that she was part of the problem
her father’s machine would solve rose to the forefront, but he shook his head.
She had not asked pointed questions or tried to garner sensitive information,
both of which he would have expected if she were part of the gang. There had to
have been a good reason for her to carry that fake note with her.