Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (15 page)

Isabella and Georgina, who watched the exchange with varying degrees of shock and outrage, schooled their features and made a place for Perdita on the long sofa where they were ensconced. Seeing that he would get no farther with that tack, Dunthorp took a seat in the chair opposite.

“Your Grace,” he began, “I am here to discuss your protection. Last evening I had quite a productive conversation with Lord Coniston about what might be done to ensure your safety both while you are here at Ormond House and while you are away in other places in town. Obviously you will need to curtail those visits as much as possible, for leaving home will expose you to further attacks.”

“My dear Lord Dunthorp,” she said with a touch of asperity, “while I do appreciate your concern, I have not agreed to any of this, so perhaps I should discuss it with Lord Coniston and His Grace before we begin making plans.”

But Dunthorp waved her concern away. “There is no need for you to worry yourself over it, my dear,” he said with as much condescension as she’d ever encountered from a man she wasn’t related to. “I simply wished to inform you that you mustn’t embark on some shopping trip or otherwise silly errand, until his lordship and I have put these measures in place.”

There was a cough from the doorway as Archer and Con stepped into the room and gazed with equal displeasure on Dunthorp. Before they could speak, however, Perdita said, “Lord Dunthorp, while I appreciate your concern for my safety, I will remind you that as a duchess, even a dowager one, I am to be addressed as ‘Your Grace,’ not ‘my dear’ or any other inappropriate endearment you might wish to use. I have perhaps allowed you more latitude in these past weeks than was warranted, but I thought that we were growing closer. Unfortunately, it seems that I was mistaken. I have quite enough gentlemen to look after me at the present time, and accepting direction from a man who is neither my husband, my brother, or even my fiancé is something I simply cannot do.”

As she said all this, Dunthorp gaped at her. Whether he was shocked to have been given such a set-down or surprised that she had the cheek to do so, she didn’t really care.

“I fear you’ve outstayed your welcome, Dunthorp,” Con said, as he and Archer moved to stand on either end of the sofa, clearly in a protective move. “Shall I call a footman to see you out?”

“I’ll do it,” Archer said with more relish than Perdita liked. She didn’t want him or anyone else to waste their fists on the man. He was simply a boor, something she’d only begun to suspect in the past few days. “I believe the footmen have other duties to attend to.”

“Your Grace, you will regret this,” Dunthorp said tightly. “I know what’s best for you. It’s already assumed that we are all but betrothed. Don’t let a little missishness ruin things between us.”

Really, did the man not take no for an answer?

“I admit there was a time when I did consider a possible match with you, Lord Dunthorp,” Perdita said sharply. “But it was not long into our acquaintance when I changed my mind. I will not stand for one more minute of your telling me what I should and should not do. Now, kindly take yourself off.”

“Come on, Dunthorp,” Archer said, taking the other man by the arm.

But Dunthorp wasn’t having it. “Take your hands off me, Lisle. I don’t need you or any other servant to see me out.”

His insult made Perdita’s blood boil. She got to her feet and walked over to where Archer was about to lead the man away. “For the last time, his name is Lord Archer Lisle. He is the son of the Duke of Lisle. And a far better man than you have shown yourself to be. Now, please leave.”

Dunthorp’s face was red with fury as he allowed Archer to almost drag him from the room.

“Well—” Con began to say before they heard a scuffle in the hallway. “I’ll go see what happened,” he said, hurrying out.

“What a nasty little man,” Isabella said, wrinkling her nose as if she’d smelled something bad. “Did you really plan to marry him, Perdita?”

“Not one of my more rational moments,” she said with a moue of distaste. “He seemed much nicer when we first met. I thought he was a gentleman.”

“Some men are like that,” Georgie said. “They will pretend to be perfect until something lifts the mask of civility and you realize that they are just awful.”

Perdita rubbed her forehead where a headache was burgeoning. “I cannot believe I almost did it again.”

“Did what?” Isabella asked with a frown.

“I almost married another man who masks his true self beneath a gentlemanly mien. Dunthorp is just a different version of Gervase.” She shook her head in disbelief. “How could I be so foolish? I am not to be trusted with choosing a husband.”

“Darling,” Georgie said, rubbing her on her back, “you didn’t really intend to marry Dunthorp. You simply chose him because he seemed safe.”

“Safe?” Perdita asked.

“I think she means,” Isabella said, “that he is not the sort that you were likely to fall in love with. Which if I recall is completely different from what happened between you and Gervase. You were head over ears in love with him.”

“Yes,” Perdita said, “but—”

“You were able to see through Dunthorp because you aren’t in love with him, you goose,” Georgie said. “You figured it out. And when you do fall in love again, it will be with a man who is about as far away from being like Gervase as is humanly possible.”

“How do you know?” Perdita turned and looked at her friend. Hoping to read some sort of reassurance in her face.

“I know because you are more canny than you think,” she said simply. “You’ve already been with a Gervase. You know how his sort operates. You know all the tricks. You’ll never truly fall for another man like that again.”

They were saved from further conversation by the return of Archer and Con, followed by Ormond.

“What happened out there?” Perdita asked, noting that Archer’s cravat seemed a bit askew.

“Dunthorp tripped,” he said with a shrug, taking the chair vacated by the other man and stretching his legs out before him.

“And fell onto Archer’s fist,” Ormond said with a smirk as he took the chair beside Archer’s. “It was really quite magnificent to see.”

“Lord Archer,” Perdita chided. “You shouldn’t have done that. He might call you out now.”

“Doubt that, since he seems unable to remember I’m a gentleman and not a servant,” he said cheerfully, gazing at his bruised knuckles.

“Still, that doesn’t, excuse—” Perdita continued.

But Archer cut her off. “Enough. He was speaking out of turn and I made him stop talking.”

“About me?” she asked her lips tight.

He nodded once. His eyes met hers and she felt as if they were alone again in her bedchamber. She remembered at some point that he’d said “mine.” She knew now what that meant. And what it might mean for anyone who tried to harm her.

She hadn’t intended to become seriously involved with him. But now she realized that had been a foolish hope. There was no way to share what they’d shared last night without becoming involved. And by defending her against Dunthorp, Archer had just shown her that he was involved. What’s more, he saw himself as her champion.

“All right,” she said, suddenly realizing that the room was silent. As she glanced around, she saw that each of the others had found somewhere to look besides at Perdita or Archer. She felt her ears redden. Silly fair skin, she inwardly moaned.

“So,” she said brightly, “what does everyone have planned for today?”

It was perhaps a bit awkward, but the others went with it, and they began to chat.

Archer, she noticed, didn’t take his gaze off her.

Twelve

Gaslight winked from the torches of Vauxhall as Perdita strolled along the meandering main path on the arm of Sir Lucien Blakemore, a friend of Ormond’s from Yorkshire. She’d have been happier to come on the arm of Archer, but since she was trying desperately to be discreet about their affair she’d agreed to Blakemore’s escort when Isabella suggested it.

Thus far, Sir Lucien had proven himself to be an amiable companion, and trying to keep to her plan for a marriage of convenience, she vowed to give the man a chance. Especially since despite his good looks and pretty manners he had no effect upon her heart at all.

“What is it you most enjoy about the pleasure gardens, Your Grace?” Sir Lucien asked as they neared the pavilion. “I vow that I cannot resist the ham, though that perhaps doesn’t count as a feature of the gardens themselves.”

“Perhaps not,” Perdita acceded, “but I enjoy it as well. My favorite part, though, would have to be the music. I can never resist the lure of a beautiful song. I never could.”

Before Blakemore could respond, another couple, deep in conversation, came walking toward them, and Perdita felt her stomach knot as she recognized Archer with Mrs. Alicia Fitzroy, a widow with as scandalous a reputation as Perdita’s was sterling. She’d known he would be in attendance tonight, but he hadn’t mentioned that he’d be coming with the blowsy Mrs. Fitzroy. She felt the unfamiliar sting of jealousy as she watched their two golden heads lean together as if their words were private and not meant for the ears of others.

She’d have suspected Archer of many things, but she’d never imagined he could be swayed by the likes of Mrs. Fitzroy. She’d had enough experience competing with that sort of woman during her marriage to Gervase, and if Archer thought she’d sit idly by while he flaunted the other woman under her nose he was sorely mistaken.

The couples exchanged greetings. Blakemore and Archer bowed and discussed a mutual acquaintance who was in town, while Perdita and Mrs. Fitzroy smiled coolly at one another.

“Your Grace,” Archer said to Perdita while Blakemore and Mrs. Fitzroy chatted, “I hope you don’t mind our imposing on your party. I found I simply could not stay away once I learned you all would be here.” Beneath his words was a message Perdita had little difficulty reading:
I came here because you gave me no choice.

She wondered if that applied to his bringing Mrs. Fitzroy, as well. “I’m so pleased you were able to join us. And Mrs. Fitzroy of course.”
Really? Mrs. Fitzroy? Could you not have found someone less possessive of you?

“Thank you,” he said, showing his teeth. “I thought of her as soon as I decided to come.”
As soon as I learned you’d be escorted by another man
.

“How pleasant that we were both able to come with such amiable partners,” she said stiffly.

Perhaps it had been impolite of her to accept Blakemore’s invitation so soon after she’d taken Archer into her bed, but really. She had told him about her plan to marry elsewhere. And despite their short acquaintance, Blakemore was a good prospect. A baronet with a reputation for fair dealings in business as well as with ladies, he was just the sort of man she’d been looking for. Especially when it came to her own response to him. She was not in the least danger of falling in love with him.

And if Archer couldn’t accept that, then perhaps they’d best bring their liaison to an end.

A small voice within her, however, shrieked at the idea of giving up the one thing that had brought her true pleasure in the past five years. Mercilessly, she ignored the voice.

The two couples were chatting amiably, if a bit stiffly, when a young man, clearly the worse for drink, stumbled into Perdita, grabbing hold of her arm in a firm grip as he fell forward. She gasped in surprise and tried to throw him off, but he held tight, putting his whole weight into pulling her down.

“Watch yourself, man,” Blakemore said sharply as Archer leaped forward to disentangle her. As Blakemore gripped the man, he giggled and mumbled something that Perdita was unable to hear.

“Are you all right?” Archer asked, his tight hold reassuring as Perdita brought her breathing under control.

“Get off!” Mrs. Fitzroy shrieked, shoving the young man, who had run into her in his attempt to evade Blakemore. “You drunken lout!”

“I know,” the young man sang out, like a child with a nursery rhyme. “I know, I know…”

Archer had to let Perdita go as Mrs. Fitzroy grasped onto his free arm like a limpet. “What a horrible person,” she said with disgust.

“I know,” the drunkard said again, this time with more force. Now Blakemore had hold of him, though the man still seemed to be in control of his movements enough to keep the other man from holding him fast. “I know, I know…”

“Yes, indeed,” Blakemore said in exasperation, “you know. Now come along.” He hauled the man up by the arm as he continued his wailing.

“I wonder where the rest of his party is,” Perdita said with a frown. “Young men usually travel in packs.”

“Like wild dogs?” Archer asked with a grin.

Mrs. Fitzroy giggled, and Perdita would have laughed as well, but the words of the drunken man had finally penetrated her awareness and she stilled to listen more carefully.

“I know what you did,” the young man said in a singsong tone, and Perdita turned to him, her mouth agape in horror. “I know what you did,” he said again. “Last season,” he sang out. “Last season.”

“I know what you did last season…” he cried out, and wrenching himself away from Blakemore, the youth removed a flask from some hidden pocket and flung its contents at Perdita. “Murderer!” he cried. “Murderer!”

Shocked, Perdita looked down at her pale pink gown and realized at once that it hadn’t been brandy or some other potent potable the fellow had poured on her.

It was blood.

She wasn’t sure if it was she herself or Mrs. Fitzroy who screamed the loudest.

*   *   *

Archer swore when he saw the drunken lout pour blood all over Perdita. Ignoring Blakemore, whose response was to grab the young man by the arm and demand to know just what he thought he was doing, he gave Mrs. Fitzroy a little shake to stop her from screaming like a bloody banshee, and went to Perdita. She was shaking visibly and he was unable to hide the condition of her gown from the crowd that was already gathering around their little tableau.

“Good heavens!” he heard a plump matron declare. “Has it come to this? Are we to be accosted in the street by such lawless ruffians as this?”