Archie nodded, pleased to have saved it for him, despite her bruises and this awkward predicament.
“What happened to him?”
“My grandfather?” he asked, frowning. “Terrible old sot drank himself to death.”
“Ah. No. I… er… I meant the thief,” she said, a little bewildered at being given such information, as she didn’t even know his name.
“Oh, the thief!” He laughed, showing even white teeth and the kind of smile that likely had women swooning and reaching for their smelling salts. Archie was beginning to wish she had some. “I handed him over to a burly looking chap to keep a hold of while I checked you were not too badly hurt. He got away,” he said with a snort.
Archie stared back at him incredulously. “What?”
“Yes, my burly friend was not half as tenacious as you,” he said, laughing.
“The devil take him!” she said in fury. Well, and after getting battered black and blue for her trouble too. She blinked, surprised he was taking it so well, but there was genuine amusement in his eyes. Archie suspected there always was. His good nature seemed to shine from him, his smile inviting confidences. There was something warm and comforting about this man that drew her in, that made her want to remain in his company.
Ah.
That was dangerous.
She sat up a little straighter.
“I still don’t know your name,” he said, watching her with curiosity.
Her eyes darted back to his and away again. She licked her lips. “Archibald,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. It wasn’t a lie, she assured herself. “My friends call me Archie.”
“I’m please to know you, Mr Archibald,” he replied, holding out a hand to her.
Archie hesitated before taking it. “Just Archie is fine,” she muttered, feeling his strong warm palm against hers. “And you are?” she queried, wondering who this large, handsome fellow was. There was something about him that reminded her a little of another man she knew. The same assured air of power and rank, but then he was a marquess.
“You may call me Ranleigh,” he said, grinning at her. Archie frowned as she realised he looked a trifle apologetic as he added, “Guy de Warenne, The Duke of Ranleigh.”
***
Archie stared across the carriage. The gentle rocking motion was somewhat hypnotic. Her head was throbbing, and her guts were sore, and she wondered what the devil was going on. Fate had a rotten sense of humour. As if she hadn’t gotten herself into enough trouble with a bloody marquess, now she was keeping company with a blasted duke!
She was fairly certain that most people went through their lives without ever tripping over marquesses or dukes as if they littered the countryside like bloody mushroom. Oh no, not her. For someone who was trying to keep a low profile, she attracted blasted nobs like wasps to a picnic. Well, this one was only going to be in her life for a few hours, she assured herself. It wasn’t as though he was going to become her best friend and then discover she was really a girl and—
Thoughts of Will made her heart lurch in her chest.
He would never forgive her.
Lord Fitzwilliam Lancaster, fifth Marquess of Henshaw, or Will, as she knew him, had been her closest friend. For a short while, anyway. He had married her friend Selina Darling, the daughter of the rather notorious Bertie Darling.
Will hadn’t wanted to marry Selina, not at first, but it had been the honourable thing to do in rather unfortunate circumstances. Will was always honourable. He was also stuffy, uptight, priggish, and a complete pain in the arse.
Archie had loved him like the brother she’d never had.
Until he’d discovered her secret.
Finding his best friend embracing his wife had—quite reasonably—made Will furious. When they’d revealed the truth to him and he’d realised it was nothing but one female friend comforting another, and that Archie was in fact Mrs Archibald, things had gone from bad to worse. The horrific scene that had followed was etched upon her mind and had broken her heart. Archie sighed.
“Is it that bad?”
Archie looked up to find the duke’s eyes upon her. They were a warm brown and full of sympathy. She forced a smile she was far from feeling.
“No. Indeed not, your grace. I am most grateful to you.”
“Stuff,” Ranleigh replied, frowning. “It’s me that owes the debt, and don’t, I beg you, start your gracing me. I gave you leave to call me Ranleigh, please do so.”
The words were a little curt and Archie flushed, chastised.
“Yes, sir, your… Ranleigh.” She cleared her throat, tugging at her cravat which felt suddenly too tight.
Ranleigh chuckled. “So, what were you doing at the races? Did you have a wager?”
Archie hesitated. What had she been doing? Well, trying not to feel so horribly alone and miserable was not an answer she was prepared to give to a stranger.
“No, just….” She shrugged at the same moment her stomach gave a voluble protest.
One elegant eyebrow arched in enquiry. “If it isn’t presumptuous of me to enquire, when was the last time you ate?”
Archie thought about that. She’d eaten little since she’d run from Will’s grand estate in Dorset, too miserable to stomach food. Then there had been the debacle at the boarding house when her belongings had been stolen. All her clothes and her money, too; all but the emergency funds she always kept hidden. Since then she hadn’t been able to afford to eat often or much.
“Well, if you have to think that hard it’s been too long,” Ranleigh said before she answered. He paused, giving Archie a long, searching look. “As I’ve said, I owe you a debt and I mean to repay it, so please don’t think I would cause you any difficulties,” the duke continued, with the air of a man who was choosing his words with care. “I have no intention of doing so, I assure you, but… are you in some kind of trouble?”
A prickle of terror lanced down her back at his words. Was she in any kind of trouble? Oh, where to begin? Archie returned his gaze and then let out a small breath of laughter. She was always in some kind of trouble. Things happened to her. Often. What she was running from, though… that was something she’d never tell another living soul. Nor the things she’d done to keep herself hidden from the aftermath.
So, telling this man about the depth and variety of those troubles? Not happening. The problem was that she didn’t want to lie to him.
The duke was watching her, and, to Archie, it seemed he had the open and honest expression of a good man. One who would do the right thing if he could. She had sworn on leaving Will that she would never purposely deceive anyone as to her sex. At least, not her friends. She relaxed a little at that. Ranleigh was not and was never likely to be her friend. He was repaying a debt with a hot meal and a bed for the night. It hardly made her thick as thieves with a duke. The term made her lips twitch.
“No,” she said at length, avoiding a gaze which seemed altogether too intelligent to be long deceived. “No trouble. At least… only because someone stole my belongings and most of my money. I’ve had a difficult few days, that’s all. I was hoping to find someone at the races to give me a lift back to London.”
“My dear fellow,” Ranleigh said, shaking his head in dismay. “Worry not. I had planned to return to London myself the day after next. If you are in no great hurry, we will make the journey together.”
Archie stared at the duke, wondering. Was this her luck turning, or was this Fate once again chortling with mirth behind her back? Either way, she didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. She had almost no money and no other way of getting herself to London at present. Making the journey in the duke's comfortable carriage didn’t seem like a terrible idea, only….
Damn but he was handsome. He smelled good too. The scent of him seemed to have invaded her senses. All male and spicy, and… stop it, Archie.
Not only that, he was a man in his prime, perhaps late thirties, with the unmistakable air of confidence and sophistication that ca
me with power and wealth and a title. Yet he had spoken to her with none of the superior attitude she might have expected, in fact he’d been kind and warm and friendly. It was a heady combination. Will had never been more than a friend to her, but she had not been blind to his charms.
She knew too, the susceptible nature of her own heart.
Strong, powerful men. Men with honour and an unshakable sense of right and wrong. Kind men who protected those they cared for. This was hardly an unusual desire for any woman, but Archie craved such a man. For a little while she’d had a hopeless crush on her friend Erasmus, a big bluff Scott with an equally large heart. That had been foolish. Erasmus knew the truth about her, but she certainly wasn’t his type. Yet, spending her life as Archie meant that she would never have the chance to find a relationship at all. What kind of respectable man would want her like this? She snorted at that. Once she’d thought there might be a respectable man who’d give her a chance. That had not turned out as she’d hoped it might.
Understatement was a gift of hers, it appeared.
There was no point in kidding herself that she could ever be happily married. Not unless she submitted to the status quo, wore a dress, kept her mouth shut, and pretended she didn’t laugh at dirty jokes, or swear, or enjoy a good glass of ale. She was neither pretty nor witty enough to take a man’s eye. Not a man of that ilk, at any rate. The moment she put on a dress, everything that made Archie so well liked, such an easy companion… it disappeared. As if she’d stitched the ability to hold an intelligent conversation into her cravat like a talisman.
“Well?”
Archie started, though the duke’s tone had been gentle rather than demanding. She flushed as she realised she hadn’t answered his question.
“You’re very kind,” she said, smiling at him. Handsome or not, she would hardly embarrass herself or fall head over heels in the space of a few days. She was worrying over nothing. “I should be glad to accompany you when you are ready to leave.”
Chapter 2
“Wherein games and manoeuvres.”
Archie adjusted her cravat in the mirror and smoothed down her hair. Though he’d raised the matter once more, she’d managed to convince the duke a doctor wasn’t required, thank God. The bruising was visible now, though, and rather vivid against her pale skin. Well, she looked like a young man who’d been in a tussle. No bad thing. At least after running tame at Will’s place she didn’t feel as overwhelmed as she might have done at Highwood House, the duke’s vast home.
Will’s seat, Castle Hadley, hadn’t exactly been shabby and she’d gotten lost in it on more than one occasion. She forced away the pang of sorrow that accompanied memories of her time there. Best forgotten.
Out of my house and my life, and if you dare come near me or my wife again, I’ll see you ruined, so help me God.
Archie swallowed hard as Will’s voice echoed in her mind. It wasn’t his anger that pierced her most; it was the betrayal she’d seen in his eyes, the hurt. Will didn’t trust anyone, had never trusted anyone, but he had trusted her, and she’d tricked him. Not purposely. No, that wasn’t true. It had been on purpose, at first, and then… and then it had been too late to take it back. The loss of her dearest friend was a ragged hole in her heart, and for a moment it was hard to breathe.
Forget it. Forget Will. Forget the past. Start over. You’ve done it before.
Yes. She’d done it before. At least this time she had other friends, people to return to. Not like then.
Archie left her room and hoped she could remember the way back to the main entrance hall. The bloody place was cavernous. It was an Elizabethan Prodigy House, the duke had explained, that ever-present amusement lurking in his dark eyes.
“That’s to say my ancestors wanted to show off,” he’d added with a grin. “Sadly, they had enough money and bad taste to go to extremes.”
Archie had been too charmed not to grin in return.
A remarkably affable butler showed her through to the dining room where the duke was awaiting her. He smiled, apparently pleased to see her.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. I’m not late?” she asked in a rush, surprised to find him already here.
“Not in the least,” he said, as easy and good natured as ever. “But I suspected you were starving, so I didn’t wish to keep you waiting any longer than necessary.”
Archie laughed at that. “Yes, well I suppose that mountainous tray of food you had sent to my room could only be expected to keep body and soul together for an hour at most.”
Ranleigh shrugged and sat down. “I believe young men burn through food at an astonishing rate, if my own memory is to be relied upon.”
Archie avoided his eye and sat down, busying herself with her napkin.
The first two courses came and went with a smattering of polite conversation. Archie sipped her wine with caution, determined to keep her wits about her despite the fact it was extremely good and torture to keep taking such measly mouthfuls. The duke was an excellent host however, and not relaxing in his company was far harder than Archie might have credited.
“Tell me about yourself,” Ranleigh said, just as Archie had allowed herself another, measured sip. “Where did you go to school?”
Anxiety prickled down her spine. This was dangerous territory. Archie had cultivated the outward appearance of a young man who came from a good family. Minor gentry fallen on hard times, perhaps. As that was actually her real background it had seemed safest. However, the story didn’t stand too much scrutiny once schools were mentioned. Archie licked her lips before meeting the duke’s eyes.
“I didn’t,” she admitted. At some point today, she had promised herself she would not lie to him again. She knew it was illogical in the circumstances, she was lying to him by pretending to be something she wasn’t. Somehow it seemed an important distinction all the same. “You may as well know my father was a gentleman farmer. Respectable, but we fell on hard times and… I’m not from some grand family. I’m an only child, my mother died when I was a baby, and I grew up helping him until the day he joined her. I did have something of an education, as our nearest neighbour had been a governess.”
Archie smiled at the memory of Mr and Mrs Randle. They’d been fond of her, and she of them. She wondered what had become of them.
“Mrs Randle was kind to me and taught me what she could. The rest I have learned through books and….” Archie flushed, unable to read the expression in the duke’s eyes. Was he disgusted to learn his dining companion was not the nicely brought up young man he had assumed? She almost laughed at that.
“I suspect your father would be very proud of you,” Ranleigh replied, before returning his attention to his food.
It took a moment to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat, but as soon as she was able Archie did the same.
***
After dinner they retired to a comfortable and masculine drawing room, all worn leather chairs and oak panelling. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air.
“Do you play?”
Archie looked up to see Ranleigh holding a deck of cards. Her lips twitched.
“I do.”
He allowed her to win the first hand. She knew he’d done it and it made her smile. He would have allowed her to win the second too, only by halfway through the hand she could see it dawning on him that she might not need the help. She let him win that one. By the third he was paying attention.
A fire crackled in the hearth and the room was warm and cosy, the atmosphere relaxed. With an inward sigh, Archie realised she was enjoying herself far too much.
“You’re good at this,” Ranleigh said, his tone not quite accusing and softened by the fact he was smiling at her.
“Yes,” she admitted, struggling to keep a straight face. “I am.”
He snorted and shook his head. “You could have warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she retorted as she won the third hand.
With a muttered curse, Ranleigh th
rew down his hand and mock glared at her. “I am a duke, you know. You’re supposed to let me win.”
“Am I?” Archie said, with a tone of innocent astonishment. “You never said.”
With a tut, Ranleigh reached for the decanter at his elbow and refilled his glass. Archie covered her own with her hand as he gestured to her.
“It’s an unwritten rule. Princes and dukes always win.”
“How very dull,” she murmured.
Ranleigh lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip, and all at once his expression changed. “You have no idea,” he said.
The words were weary and heart-felt, and Archie frowned. There was something about this man, something lost. Archie had a sudden burst of insight and thought … he’s terribly lonely. So lonely he was grateful for the company of a young man he’d met in rather odd circumstances. She felt a rush of compassion for him and knew exactly how he felt.
The duke looked up and chuckled at the concern in her expression. “Feeling sorry for me?” he asked, a sardonic glimmer in his eyes.
“Not enough to let you win,” she returned, the remark dry as she dealt the cards once more.
Ranleigh grinned, clearly pleased that she would talk back to him. She suspected few people did.
“But I told you, I have to win, it’s the law,” he said, sounding grave now.
Archie shrugged, refusing to allow herself to look at him. She knew she’d see that glint of mischief in his eyes. “Then go play someone else.”
“This is most out of the ordinary.” Ranleigh tutted, taking up the hand she’d given him. “Not only intractable, but rude with it.”
Archie did glance up then, just to reassure herself he was laughing at her. He was. She bit back a smile. “That’s me,” she agreed with an amicable nod. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Page 2
