Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (11 page)

“Excellent,” Con said, clinking his glass with Archer’s. “I have a great deal of fondness for those days.”

“What days?”

Coniston stretched his legs out before him and crossed them at the ankles. “Before you’re quite involved. The exploratory stage, I suppose you’d call it.”

Since that was a fairly accurate description of where he and Perdita were—now, but hopefully not five hours from now—Archer didn’t argue.

“So, have you talked marriage yet?”

“Con, don’t be such a damned busybody,” Ormond said with a frown. “It’s none of our business.”

Surprised to have such faith from Ormond, who by rights should be threatening to blacken his lights and give him a hearty punch in the breadbasket, Archer smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“She’s my sister-in-law, Archer,” Ormond said with a glare. “You’d better have marriage in mind. Else we will have to do some serious ‘talking.’”

God, that’s just what he needed. The Duke of Ormond out for his blood. Which of course meant the duchess as well. Frankly he was more frightened of Isabella than her husband. “Of course I mean to marry her. What do you take me for?”

“That’s more like it,” Ormond said, nodding as if Archer had said just the right thing. “I suppose she’ll wish to wait until after the babe is born so that Isabella will be able to stand up with her.”

Since Archer wasn’t sure if she had given the matter any thought, seeing as how she expected to marry someone else entirely, Archer simply gave one nod. It was not an agreement so much as a “good idea.” At least that’s what he told himself.

“That will be a long wait,” Con said with a raised brow. “Will you be able to endure it?”

“I’m not an animal,” Archer said resentfully, though why he was so annoyed considering that he planned to consummate the relationship later tonight, he couldn’t say. It was Coniston’s implication he supposed. “I’ve waited this long. Surely I’ll be able to wait a few months more.”

“That’s what you think,” Ormond said. “But once you’re betrothed, things change.”

“Yes, they do,” Coniston said, taking a drink of his brandy. “I don’t know what it is precisely but something about knowing you’ll be married in the not too distant future makes the temptation that much stronger.”

Archer hadn’t considered that. Though, again, he had no need to worry about it. Bed. Tonight. Perdita. Hours from now.

“I thought the blasted carriage ride from Yorkshire to Gretna would never bloody end,” Ormond said morosely. “It was as if Scotland moved north without telling us.”

“Well,” Archer said, reminding himself of tonight. With Perdita. In bed. A bed. His bed. Her bed. He didn’t really care. “I am sorry you both had such a difficult time of it. But, we are not yet betrothed, so there is no need for worry.”

“If you say so,” Con said, sitting back in his char. Watching.

“You know best, of course,” Ormond agreed, leaning against the billiards table. “Don’t let us worry you.”

Archer rose. He’d had enough of this, thank you very much. “I’ve just remembered I need to do something. In another room.”

Without waiting for them to say anything, he strode out. Not sure what had just happened.

*   *   *

“You don’t think we frightened him, do you?” Con asked Ormond, who had just dropped into Archer’s vacated chair.

“Certainly not,” Ormond said, accepting a cigar from the other man. He clipped the end, then allowed Con to light it. Taking a drag, he leaned back. “He’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”

“Damn right he will,” Con said, blowing a cloud of smoke. “Poor bastard.”

Nine

Perdita, her sister, and Georgina were taking tea in her private sitting room some time later, when a brisk knock on the outer door was followed by Archer showing a somewhat disheveled man in.

“Ladies,” he said, bowing to them. “This is Mr. Josiah Reddington from the London magistrate’s office.” He looked pointedly at Perdita. “You said that you wished to speak to him when he arrived, Your Grace. Is that still the case?”

Since this was the first time she’d seen Archer since their earlier encounter—the one with kissing and whatnot—she found herself fighting a blush. Hopefully the others would take it for nervousness. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Archer, for remembering.”

She turned to her companions, who were watching the exchange avidly. And despite the seriousness of the meeting with the investigator, she knew their interest had nothing to do with him. “Your Grace, my lady,” she said, hoping to sound more authoritative than she felt, “I beg you to excuse us while I speak to the investigator.”

Perhaps seeing that Perdita was a bit overset by the situation, Isabella and Georgina rose immediately, each squeezing her shoulder in comfort before they left the room.

She turned to the two men and gestured for them to take seats around the tea table. Needing the ritual, she rang for more cups—which arrived in due haste thanks to the kitchen staff’s curiosity about the investigator, no doubt—and began to pour for them. “Mr. Reddington,” she said to the ginger-haired man, “I appreciate your taking time to speak to me about the incident in the park.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” the investigator said with a frown, “when duchesses are bein’ chased down in the park by men in disguise, the magistrate’s office takes things very seriously. It just ain’t done.”

She took in the way his bushy brows moved as he spoke and saw that he was indeed unsettled by it. “All the same, I do appreciate your being here. Now, what may I do to help you in your search for my attacker?”

Perdita didn’t look at Archer, who was seated next to her, but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. He was just as unhappy about this situation as she was.

“Your Grace,” Reddington said, holding the dainty china teacup in his large hands. “What I’d like first is for you to tell me everything whot happened when you got to the park. Any little detail might help.”

“That’s just it, I’m afraid,” she said with an apologetic frown. “I don’t recall anything that happened from a few minutes before we left Ormond House until waking up in my bedchamber hours later. The entire trip to the park is a blank. I have tried to remember, of course, but nothing seems to help.”

If she expected him to be disappointed, she was clearly wrong, however. “Aye,” he said, nodding to her, his brows bouncing as he did so. “Lord Archer told me that were the case. I just needed to hear it from the ’orse’s mouth.” Perhaps realizing that he ought not refer to a peeress of the realm as a horse, he winced, and added, “Not that Your Grace is anywise like an ’orse, o’course.”

“I should think not,” Perdita said with a smile. The light moment was much needed given the seriousness of the situation. Of which she was reminded at his next words.

“I’ve spoken to Lord Archer and I’m to speak with Lord Dunthorp later about the events o’ that day, but what I need to hear from you is why you think this stranger is tryin’ to ’arm you. Most men know well enough the consequences should they do any kind of damage to a member of the aristocracy, but this fella don’t seem to care. He must have a real good reason to risk ’is neck like that.”

Before she could respond, he continued, his eyes still kind but expressing something else. A statement that she didn’t much care for. “Seems to me that your family has suffered a great deal of harm in recent years.”

All traces of amusement left her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.”

Turning his teacup around and around in his hands, the investigator’s eyes never left her. “Well, it’s not many a young man like your late husband that dies so young.”

Perdita froze. She had suspected this was where he was headed, but hearing the words sent a jolt of fear through her the likes of which she’d not experienced since Gervase died. Still, she managed to maintain her composure. Taking a sip of tea, she then lowered it to the saucer in her hand. “I fear it was an accident while he was cleaning his gun, Mr. Reddington. Things like that happen in even the noblest of households, I’m afraid.”

She resisted the urge to turn to Archer for support, but couldn’t help but feel his reassuring presence beside her.

“Aye,” Reddington said slowly. “It does happen from time to time. It’s just there was a rumor at the time that everything wasn’t as it seemed with that ‘accident,’ if ye know what I mean.”

“Is there a question for the lady there, Reddington?” Archer asked amiably. “For I can assure you that she is more than willing to answer them. But I don’t quite see the connection between His Grace and what happened to the duchess yesterday.”

But whatever he’d been searching for with his questions seemed to have been answered, for Reddington nodded, saying, “If you want my ’onest opinion, my lord, I don’t think one has anything to do with the other. But an investigator must cover every possible line of enquiry.”

The knot in Perdita’s stomach loosened a bit and she was able to breathe again. “As far as I know, Mr. Reddington, I don’t have any enemies. At least none that I am acquainted with. There was talk when my husband died, suggestions that he took his own life or perhaps that my sister and I had done it so that she could then seduce and marry the heir to the dukedom. But that was ludicrous of course. She had never even met the current duke then. Though they are married now.”

“You’d be surprised just what sorts of things folk will come up with to explain deaths, Your Grace,” Reddington assured her. “But right now, concentrating on your attack, I’ve taken as much information as I can from you. If you find you’ve recalled something about that day, no matter how small, I should like for you to contact me.” He handed her a calling card with the address of the magistrate’s office on it.

He rose, and Perdita and Archer did so as well.

As he neared the door, Perdita said, “Oh, Mr. Reddington, if at all possible, I do wish that you would try to keep the news of my attack out of the papers. I shouldn’t wish for something like this to become public knowledge.”

At that, the man turned back again, and exchanged a speaking glance with Archer. At the other man’s nod, he said, “Your Grace, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Unused to having her requests refused, she frowned. “Why not? There’s no reason to even speak of it when we have no information on who the man was anyway.”

“You misunderstand me, Your Grace. It’s not that I’m unwilling to keep the attack quiet. It’s that the papers have already got hold of the story. It was on the front page of the
Times
this morning.”

Perdita’s mouth dropped open. “No! Why haven’t I heard anything about it? I should think we’d be pestered with journalists at every turn.”

“As to that,” Reddington said with a shrug, “I cannot tell you.”

Taking his leave of her, he saw himself out.

Archer, who had been standing just behind her, spoke first. “Before you rip up at me,” he said, “I did not keep the papers from you. As it happens, since the duke is in residence they were taken to him in his study.”

She turned to look at him, gauging his sincerity. Which seemed honest enough. “And the journalists?”

“The staff has been told not to disturb you. And all journalists have been refused entry.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said with relief. “I should have run mad. They are persistent.”

“You aren’t angry?” he asked warily. He looked at her as if she were a snake about to strike.

“Should I be?” she asked, wondering what was bothering him.

He thrust a hand through his carefully coiffed hair. “Not angry, I suppose,” he said, “but you were quite upset this morning at the news I’d called for the magistrate’s man. I assumed that you would be equally annoyed that decisions had been made about who got to see you.”

She must have really been awful this morning, Perdita reflected. She walked closer to him, until they were almost chest to chest. Looking up at him, she said, “I have no problem with your saving me from distress while I was unwell. And I certainly—as you know—have no interest in speaking to journalists about an event I cannot even remember.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the mouth, but slipped away when he tried to pull her closer. “Ah, ah, ah. No more until tonight”

Now a few feet away, Perdita grinned at him.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, with a mock frown.

“Not yet, if you please,” she said with asperity. “At least not until I’ve had my wicked way with you.”

“Have you noticed that this entire relationship is upside down?” He arched one blond brow. “I am the one who should be having my wicked way with you.”

“Only if I were some naïve innocent,” she said with pursed lips. “Which I most certainly am not.”

He took a step closer. “Nor, madam,” he said with a bit of a growl, “am I.”

Oh, she liked this possessive Archer. Despite her fear of marrying again, she could not deny that some part of her enjoyed the idea of being possessed by him. Perhaps because she knew that he would let her go if she wished.

Dancing back a few steps, she held out a restraining arm. “I never said you were, sirrah. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

At her words, she saw his eyes darken. This was fun.

And dangerous.

“Now, be off with you,” she said. “I must decide what to wear this evening.”

He frowned. “For dinner?”

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

At his nod, she said, “I am promised to the Elphinstone rout. And so are you, I daresay.”

“Ugh,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “I forgot. I don’t suppose you will agree to stay in and rest your poor head?”

“Of course I won’t,” she said. “Our guests wish to go, too. And I should like to see what those in attendance have to say about my attack.”

“Surely they will offer some sympathy and be done with it?”

She shook her head. “I cannot help but feel that our villain will wish to see the results of his handiwork. If not bruises, then fear.”

“You think he’ll be there?” Archer asked, his gaze intent.

“I cannot know,” she said. “But I’m curious. Very, very curious.”

*   *   *