Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (8 page)

“I am going to speak to someone from the magistrate’s office this afternoon,” he said, his voice rough with wanting her.

She pulled away and scooted back in her chair. “The magistrate’s office?” she demanded, her eyes wide with alarm. “Why on earth would you tell them about this? You know how Gervase died. They’ll think there was something untoward about his death and begin investigating Isabella, Georgie, and me. Archer, this is the worst thing you could do!”

Realizing that there would be no more embracing between them, Archer dropped his arms to his sides and stood, moving to lean against the mantel. Managing to speak in a measured tone, he said, “There is no reason for them to think something was suspicious about Gervase’s death. Because I won’t tell them about the threats against you. For all they’ll know you’re being attacked by some madman with Bonapartist tendencies who wishes to abolish the nobility.” And he’d be damned if he’d let her be investigated for what he was convinced had been Gervase’s justified killing.

Despite his assurances, however, Perdita still seemed unnerved by the idea of having the magistrate’s office anywhere near her. “You can’t know that!” she said, standing up and glaring at him. “I can’t believe you would risk revealing my secret. What gives you the right?”

Her accusation stung. Especially given how hard he’d worked to ensure that she remained safe. “The right of someone who put his own life at risk yesterday to keep you safe,” he said, stepping toward her. “The right of someone who has watched as your sister and friend both suffered the same sort of threats from this same person. Do you think I wish to see you murdered before my eyes? Do you?”

Her eyes widened as she saw how angry he was, but she didn’t back down. And her own anger was still there, prompting her words. “I didn’t ask you to put yourself in the way yesterday. I didn’t even know you were going to be there. It was supposed to be a ride with Dunthorp and myself only.”

As he saw the fire in her eyes, he knew she’d said that deliberately to wound him. Well, two could play at that game, he thought. “Dunthorp couldn’t protect a mouse from a barn cat,” he said with contempt. “And don’t think I don’t know why you’ve chosen him as the one man you’ll allow to get close to you. I know you quite well, Your Grace. Quite well, indeed.”

“Oh, really?” she demanded, her nostrils flaring with ire. As she sucked air into her lungs, temper making her breath come faster, her bosom rose and fell in way that made Archer long to say something provoking just to see her react again.

Why did she have to be so beautiful when she was angry? It was really quite unfair.

“Do tell,” she continued, oblivious to the way her body was distracting him. “I cannot wait to hear your theory on Dunthorp. And my reasons for allowing him to pay me court. I’m sure it will be very enlightening.”

He took one step closer, so close that when she inhaled the tips of her breasts touched his chest. “You chose him,” he said, leaning in almost until they were nose to nose, “because he can’t make you feel like this.”

And then, despite all his careful planning, and all his rationalizations about waiting for just the right moment, Archer kissed her.

*   *   *

After all their hot words, Perdita expected his kiss to be punishing. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him. And she knew from experience that Archer was slow to anger. But to her surprise, when he took her in his arms it was with a diffidence and gentleness that nearly took her breath away. She hadn’t been approached physically by a man since Gervase had died, and while she knew Archer was nothing like her husband, she’d not expected him to treat her as if she were a priceless treasure, either.

As soon as he pulled her into his arms and leaned in, however, she stopped thinking altogether and allowed herself to feel the heat of his breath on her lips, the strength of the arms that clasped her tightly against his body. Instinctively she opened her mouth as he brought his lips to hers and the moment they came together nearly made her weep.

For years she’d known—deep down in the heart of her where no one could see but her—that Archer could make her feel this way. He’d always been more sensitive to her moods and feelings than any man had the right to be. It was one of the things that made him such a good secretary. He had an innate ability to read people. And he’d been able to see through to her soul from the moment they’d met.

As if he knew she wanted that very thing, he nipped at her bottom lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth, and unable to stop herself, she returned his caress in kind. She slipped her hands up his arms to his impossibly wide shoulders, and then to caress the back of his neck, luxuriating in the soft hair of his nape. How had he possibly known just what to do to make her ache for him?

“Perdita,” he whispered, pulling back. And though she wanted more than anything to pull him back down to her, she opened her eyes and saw that his own were wide with wonder. Was it possible that he was just as overwhelmed by this as she was? It was a delicious thought, and one that bore some thinking on, but then he leaned in and kissed her again, sliding his hands down her back and over her bottom, pulling her closer to him. She was aware of every place their bodies touched, and gasped as his hand slid up to caress her breast, his thumb and forefinger plucking the tip, sending a jolt of feeling straight to the center of her. “God, how I’ve wanted you,” he said, his voice low and slightly hoarse with desire.

“Archer,” she crooned as his lips found the sensitive spot below her ear. She lifted her chin as he kissed his way down the column of her neck and sucked lightly on her collarbone. If he weren’t holding her so close she’d have slid to the floor in a puddle of want, so carried away was she by the sheer power of his touch. She shivered as his slight stubble—so different from her own skin—rasped against her as he slid the arms of her gown down so that he could suckle her through her shift.

It was intoxicating. So much so that neither of them heard the door to the study open to admit Isabella and Trevor, who were in mid-conversation as it happened. “But I don’t see why we can’t do both,” Isabella was saying as they stepped into the chamber, but if she or the duke had more to say, they were startled out of it.

Archer and Perdita were equally as startled.

“We are so sorry!” Isabella cried, and dragged Trevor from the room with as much haste as she could muster while gaping like a madwoman, and shut the door with a thud.

When she heard the intrusion, Perdita’s gasp had echoed her sister’s and she tried to pull away from Archer. But he’d gripped her tightly and refused to let go. When their audience was gone, he said apologetically, “Sorry, but your gown was half off and I didn’t think you wished Ormond to see.”

At his explanation her ire cooled. Setting herself to see to the practicalities, she righted her gown as Archer, ever the gentleman, shaded his eyes so that she could do so in some measure of privacy.

When she was done, they both took a moment to get their breath back.

And then, as sometimes happens, they both spoke at once.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I cannot believe what just happened!”

They stopped again, suddenly awkward as they studiously avoided one another’s gazes.

Archer, his face diplomatically expressionless, waved for Perdita to speak first. She gave him a searching look, but seeing that he gave nothing away, she said, “I am mortified that my sister and Ormond should have walked in on that…”

She wasn’t quite sure what to call what had just happened between them. Except perhaps a mistake, but even Perdita knew not to say that aloud to a man she’d just kissed like a wanton. When Archer made no attempt to fill in a word for her, she started again. “That is to say, I never expected to be…”

How to tell him that the fire between them—which still had parts of her longing to move back into the circle of his arms and pick up where they’d left off—had not only confirmed her fear of getting involved with him, but had been even more overwhelming than she’d feared.

Because what she’d felt in Archer’s arms had been more than the infatuation she’d felt for Gervase in the early days of their marriage. Before he became someone to fear. Archer had the potential to break her heart. As well as to make her a slave to her passion. Imagine the aftermath should something go wrong between them. It would be a thousand times more devastating than Gervase. And up till now she’d thought finding out her husband was a monster had been the worst thing that could happen to her.

“I think we can count on them to be discreet,” Archer said calmly. “There’s no need for you to panic.”

There was something about how he said the words that made her wonder how he meant them. “I wasn’t going to panic. I trust my sister and Ormond not to spread tales. I was simply…”

“Sharing your mortification with me,” he said, his handsome face completely devoid of emotion. He ran a hand down his arm and straightened his cuffs. “I understand completely, Your Grace.”

Then to her astonishment he returned to the desk and began shuffling through the papers there. Shocked at his coldness, she stalked over to the other side of the chamber and stood across the desk from him. “Archer,” she said, looking at the top of his head, his golden hair slightly disarranged, as he leaned over to hastily write a note. “What is the matter?”

Was it her imagination or did his hand tremble just a little when she spoke? It was impossible to tell.

Looking up from his task, Archer said, “I’m not sure what you mean. Let’s see.” He began ticking off the points on his fingers. “We fought earlier because you resented my interruption yesterday during your ride with Dunthorp. I became angry and kissed you. We were interrupted by your sister and her husband—my employer—then your response to being found kissing me was mortification. Do I have all that right?”

His eyes, which had just minutes earlier been dark with passion, were now cold. She fought the urge to hug herself.

“I suppose, technically, that is correct, but I do think there is a more nuanced way of saying it,” she said. Her heart, which had been beating from the excitement of being caught out, now felt as if it were constricting in her chest. “For instance, I wouldn’t say that it was being found kissing
you
that was mortifying. I’d have responded in precisely the same fashion if it had been anyone else.”

“Dunthorp, perhaps? Perhaps we should send him a note and have him kiss you in the study, as well. I’m sure your sister and Ormond will be more than willing to walk in on the two of you. In fact, I think I will send Dunthorp a note. After all, the man is lucky enough to be the focus of your attention. Why not let him in on the secret?” Archer stood and crossed his arms over his chest, and Perdita couldn’t help but remember just how warm and strong it had felt pressed against her own. But that was before something dreadful had happened. Only she wasn’t sure what it had been.

“Archer, I don’t understand,” she said, trying to figure out what had made him so angry. “I’ve explained to you what I meant. It wasn’t intended to be a slur against you or your…”—she paused, and felt her face heat—“kisses.”

She shifted on her feet, feeling like a green girl in her first season.

For the first time since Isabella and Trevor had left the room, Archer seemed to relax. He looked at her, his gaze intense. Then ran both hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. “I can’t keep doing this, Perdita.”

He looked tired. And she realized for the first time that day that he had probably lost sleep last night watching over her. And she’d accused him earlier of intruding on her and Dunthorp. When it had been Archer and not the other man who kept her from getting trampled. Or so her sister and Georgie had told her. She’d been so angry at his high-handedness that she’d lashed out. In a perverse way it had felt good, because she’d never have been able to speak like that to Gervase. He’d have backhanded her.

“Doing what?” she asked in a small voice.

He looked down at the desk, and then back up, his blue eyes intent. “You must have realized by now that I have feelings for you.”

Had she? Of course she’d known that he was a good friend. She wasn’t sure what she’d have done without him while Gervase was alive. And now, when she was facing almost daily threats from someone who wished her harm, he was the only person she could truly trust to protect her. But surely she hadn’t known until today just what it was that he wanted from her. Had she?

“Perdita.” He said the word like a prayer. She hadn’t noticed that before. What else had she missed? “I have wanted you almost from the moment Ormond—Gervase—introduced you as his blushing bride. And the more I was around you, the more I saw of you, the more I appreciated you. Not just your beauty, but the heart of you.” He stepped out from around the desk and stood before her. “I have been head over ears for you for years. So much so that it’s become a joke among my friends.”

What? She thought back to the worst days of her marriage. To the times when she’d been at her most despondent. Had he loved her all that time? It was impossible. How can it have happened when she was completely and utterly unaware of it?

“I see you are thinking back,” he said, his eyes sad. Nothing like she’d expect from a man in love. “It’s true enough. I did covet you all that time. If I’d had any clue about how he treated you, I’d have killed him myself.”

Gently—oh, so gently—he reached out to touch her on the face. “I knew you were unhappy. Of course I knew that. But when I think of how utterly blind I was to the way he abused you, I cannot help but believe that I don’t deserve to have you. Though I am selfish enough to want you all the same.”

But that wasn’t how she thought of it, at all. He’d been a friend to her when she’d desperately needed one. He’d distracted her when she’d been tempted to bury herself in her unhappiness. She could still remember some of the absurd conversations they’d had when he was at his most entertaining and she was at her most low. She slid her hand up and put it over his where it cupped her cheek. “Please don’t blame yourself. Please. I don’t think I’d ever have survived if not for you. It isn’t your fault that Gervase chose to use his fists on me. And I have no doubt that he’d have had no compunction about killing you if you had by some miracle found out the truth and chosen to step between us.”