There had been something off in that conversation with Henshaw and now he could see that too. The man had been at pains not to refer to Archie as he or she. Perhaps at pains to protect her, yet not wanting to be complicit in her deception.
Ranleigh didn’t know what to think. Should he be angry at her dishonesty? He had no idea, though he couldn’t seem to muster any anger. Curiosity was the overriding emotion now. Why? Why would she do this?
He turned and watched as Archie returned to her seat and picked up her drink. With studied nonchalance, Ranleigh sat back down again, avoiding her eye as far as he could. His brain felt as if it had been shaken, or possibly dropped from a great height. Everything he’d believed had been upended, and he was going to need a moment to adjust. A decade might suffice.
Ranleigh sipped at his drink, remembering the days they’d spent at his estate, fishing and playing cards and billiards. He couldn’t remember a day he’d enjoyed more than that one in… well, possibly ever. Then the time spent together on the journey to London, the laughter and conversation and Archie’s witty, good-natured banter. When had he ever enjoyed himself so much in another’s company, male or female?
Normally, if he was at close quarters with a travelling companion, even a good friend, he was more than happy to part company at the end of their journey. Yet, he’d not wanted to let Archie go. Even when she kept evading him, kept avoiding him, he’d persisted, drawn to her, unwilling to let go of a friendship he felt so deeply. Archie had mattered more than anyone else he’d ever met. The connection had been swift and profound and persistent and….
Good Lord. Archie was a woman.
A woman!
Ranleigh let out a breath and smiled.
Chapter 11
“Wherein the duke suffers torment and desire.”
Archie stared at the flames for as long as she dared, long enough to blink the tears away and restore herself somewhere close to calm. Pushing to her feet, she resumed her seat and reached for her glass. She could feel the effect of the whisky already and knew she ought not drink more. It was a bad idea, but her nerves were shot, and her heart was raw. It will be over soon, she assured herself. Once she was far away in the heart of Scotland, she’d be in no danger of crossing his path. The pain of that was a heaviness in her chest, threatening to make her cry again.
Ranleigh was watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze. Archie looked up, a little disconcerted when the fellow kept staring, and then blushed a little, as if he’d been caught out. She looked away, staring into her drink and then raised her eyes to find he was watching her again, something in his expression she couldn’t read. Caught out once more, Ranleigh looked away from her and cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she heard the truth in his words, the sincerity. “Sorry that I pushed you. I hope you’ll realise one day that I can be trusted, with anything you want to trust me with. Anything, Archie.” There was something in his tone, something soft and pleading and so damned inviting her throat closed with emotion. “I… I hope that very much, but I ought not to have pressed. Please don’t…. Can we be friends, please? For God’s sake, don’t disappear from my life, I….” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck and clearing his throat once again. He looked nervous and awkward and….
Archie frowned, perplexed and touched and heart sore.
“Archie, listen to me.” Ranleigh’s words were low, his expression intent. “No matter what your secret is, I will never expose you. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. Even if you tell me and I am shocked, horrified, disgusted, any of it—which I promise you I will not be—but even then, I will guard your secret to my grave. I swear, upon my honour. Do you understand? You can trust me, Archie, with anything. Anything at all.”
She stared at him, disconcerted and speechless. Why would he make such a promise, and with such… such emotion? For a moment she could do nothing but stare. Then it dawned on her. The why of it didn’t matter. He’d promised and she believed him. She was safe. Her friends were safe. She could tell him, and it wouldn’t put anyone at risk.
The temptation to just blurt it out, to confess everything, was almost overwhelming. Almost. Just because he wouldn’t tell anyone, that didn’t mean he’d want to know her. It didn’t mean he’d not be shocked, scandalised, or angry at her deception. It certainly didn’t mean he’d fall in love with her and want to be with her. Far from it. He’d likely not want to be alone in her company again, he’d likely be sickened by the fact he had been many times. No. Not yet, she decided. She would tell him before she left, but… not just yet. He was here and she wanted to enjoy that fact, just for a little longer.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling tears threaten again but forcing a smile. “You have no idea what that means to me.”
Ranleigh stared back at her, unblinking. “I think I do,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “And, for the record, I’m exceedingly hard to shock.”
She laughed at that and he smiled, that wonderful smile that seemed to light up her heart brighter than the sun, and suddenly the tension had dispersed.
“Got any cards?” Ranleigh asked, raising his glass to his lips once more. His eyes were twinkling, merry and warm, just as they ought to be. “I feel I need another chance to beat you.”
She snorted at that, shaking her head at him. “A forlorn hope.”
“Don’t you be so sure, cub. I have the firm belief that my luck is about to turn.”
There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read but she was too relieved that he’d recovered his good humour to consider it too deeply. Just a little longer, she told herself, a little longer in his company, no matter how foolish and dangerous. She wanted just a little longer too badly for prudence.
They played for a couple of hours, the conversation still a little cautious and a strange undercurrent to the atmosphere that Archie couldn’t understand or read. Ranleigh seemed different, but she wasn’t certain how. Warmer perhaps? Sweeter? Attentive.
He laughed as she beat him for the fifth time in a row.
“Damn you. You’ve the devil’s own luck,” he cursed, throwing the cards down.
Archie smirked, relishing this, the easy companionship and the bickering. “His skill perhaps,” she allowed. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
Ranleigh opened his mouth to object but at that moment the door opened, and Mrs Potter came in. She stared at Ranleigh, then back at Archie, her mouth open in shock.
Archie blushed and leapt to her feet. Oh no. Oh, dear, no.
“Mrs Potter,” she said in a rush, realising that no matter what she looked like, Mrs Potter was well aware she was female, and alone with a man who was not her husband. “Excuse me a moment.”
This was directed to Ranleigh, as Archie ushered Mrs Potter out of the door as fast as she could manage it.
“I didn’t invite him,” Archie said in a hurried undertone, the moment they were out of earshot. “He thinks I’m Mr Archibald. Please. Please, don’t say anything.” Archie held her breath, wondering if this was it, the moment when everything crashed down around her ears.
Mrs Potter pursed her lips and Archie felt she was likely pushing her luck farther than Erasmus ever had. What could she do, what could she say to convince the woman to hold her tongue?
“Mrs Potter, he’s the Duke of Ranleigh.”
Her eyes widened so far Archie feared she was going to have a fit of some kind. Then her lips tightened, and she muttered something under her breath.
“I suppose he’ll be wanting dinner?” she said at length, a resigned note to the question.
Archie gasped, hardly daring to believe it. “Oh, Mrs Potter, you really are the most extraordinary—”
Archie flung her arms about the woman, who blushed and flapped her hands.
“Now, don’t you go thinking I’m condoning you being alone with a man, for that I am not.” She wagged a stern finger at Archie. “Just because you wear breeches don’t mean you can’t ruin
yourself, so just… have a care.”
Archie nodded, seeing concern in the woman’s eyes and taking the advice in the spirit it had been given.
“I’ll take care. Thank you, Mrs Potter.”
“And I hope his grace is not too high in the instep to eat my rabbit pie,” she said with a prim sniff. “Mind it’s the Marquess of Henshaw’s favourite, it is. He even asked me for the recipe.” Archie could almost see the woman swell with pride as she told her this. Bless Will, she thought, smiling. “He told me his fancy French chef don’t make it the same as I do though. Not half so good, he reckoned.”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment, Mrs Potter. Your pastry is the lightest I’ve ever tasted. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.”
Mrs Potter made a harrumphing sound that indicated she knew well she was being buttered up but went back to the kitchen with a look of satisfaction all the same.
Archie sighed.
“Well, I hope you’re happy to stay for dinner,” she said as she returned to Ranleigh. “Mrs Potter’s rabbit pie is the stuff of legend. Will… Henshaw, that is, even asked her for the recipe. I think she’s angling at adding a duke to her repertoire.”
Ranleigh snorted, looking exceptionally pleased to be invited. “I’d be delighted to.”
“Country hours,” Archie warned him. “Dinner at five and tucked up in bed by nine.”
To her bemusement, Ranleigh flushed a little and cleared his throat, avoiding her eye.
“When in Rome,” he said.
***
Ranleigh was forced to concede the point. Henshaw was right. The rabbit pie was deserving of its legendary status. The gooseberry pie was also a triumph, sweet and tart and served with good, thick cream. It was a simple but satisfying pleasure to one whose palate was used to complex and varied menus.
They sat by the fire now, each with a glass of port in hand, waistcoats unbuttoned as they’d eaten far more than was good for them. Ranleigh fixed his attention on the flames, more for fear of being caught staring at Archie again than for any other reason. He’d felt a little odd at first, awkward as his realisation had become certainty. He’d not known quite how to act now that he knew. Then he’d realised that was absurd. Archie was simply… Archie. She hadn’t changed. Archie could still best him at cards, and fishing too, she could tell indecent jokes and challenge his ideas and be, quite simply, the most entertaining companion he’d ever known. That she was a woman didn’t change any of those things. It did, however, change others.
It changed others quite a lot.
He was entranced.
Despite his best intentions, his gaze returned to her. As a woman, she would not be considered a beauty. He could see that in an objective manner. It was a rather classical profile, a little austere, certainly for a female. Her close-cropped hair revealed strong features, severe, high cheekbones, a straight nose. Yet, her mouth was soft and full, and his gaze lingered there as heat prickled up his neck, his awareness of her thrumming under his skin. As a young man she was at once softer, prettier; perhaps the face of a young Achilles. He had to cover his laughter with a fit of choked coughing as he wondered if that made him Patroclus.
Archie looked up and he raised his glass.
“Went down the wrong way,” he muttered, returning his gaze to the flames for safety. Feeling her eyes still upon him he glanced back, and she smiled at him. In that moment, everything shifted. His chest felt tight with it, the breath leaving him in a rush of understanding.
“What?”
She raised her eyebrows and he realised the shock must show in his face and, damn it, he was staring again.
“Nothing,” he said, shaken.
She began telling him of a walk she’d taken the day before, of a shingle beach and the sun on her face as she dipped her toes into the icy sea water. He listened with half an ear, still weathering the aftershocks of something he’d not expected and had almost given up on ever knowing.
“I’ll take you there tomorrow,” she said, oblivious to the fact that his world had altered, his heart reformed, reshaped under her influence, pushed and stretched as though her fingers kneaded the fragile organ like dough. “You’ll need some fresh air after all the whisky.”
She carried on, teasing him a little for the fact that he was a trifle bosky when she’d stopped drinking before dinner, the small port she was nursing notwithstanding. It swelled inside him, that teasing warmth, an intimacy that she alone had gained for herself. No one talked to him like she did, he realised. Women friends simply wouldn’t, and men, even Alex, would never be so openly soft and caring. She spoke to him—spoke to his heart—treating him like a beloved friend, someone she knew as she knew her own soul.
His breath caught in his throat as he allowed himself to understand.
She had been jealous. She’d been jealous of the women flirting with him.
“Honestly the water was so cold I thought my toes would drop off, they certainly turned blue….”
She had been jealous of those women. She’d gone off in a towering rage, the hurt glittering in her eyes.
“You’d have to be a sandwich short of a picnic to swim in it. Damned if I will. Maybe if we have a scorching August, but that’s a rare event.”
She’d been furious at him for the supposed affair with Rothborn’s wife, the hurt and disappointment in him she felt blazing in her temper. She cared. Archie cared for him. Perhaps… perhaps it was more than that? She’d cared enough to be jealous, enough to be furious.
Did she care enough to love him?
Ranleigh realised he was breathing hard, his fingers gripping the fine crystal of his glass so tight it was a wonder he hadn’t shattered it. He tried to relax his hold, to steady his heart, which was racing at a ridiculous pace…. He couldn’t. Everything he’d dreamed of, hoped for, longed for… it was sitting opposite him, dressed in breeches, high boots, and a cravat.
He had to force down a bubble of hysterical laughter.
“You’re doing it again.”
Ranleigh forced his attention back to the conversation.
“Beg pardon?”
She laughed and he didn’t just hear or acknowledge the sound, he felt it. It seemed to move through him, making his poor befuddled heart leap higher.
“You’re in a funny mood, Ranleigh. Just how much have you drunk? I think you’re foxed.” She grinned at him and he wanted to fall to his knees before her and tell her he knew her secret and he didn’t give a damn. She was safe. Good God, he’d keep her safe from anything and everything, now he knew the danger she faced. He still didn’t understand it, but that didn’t seem important. Not now. Not in the face of everything he hoped for, everything he’d believed lost to him. It was her.
It had been her all along.
Somehow his soul had recognised her, his heart had known it was her, even when he’d had no idea. It had forced him to keep trying, to keep the friendship within his grasp, knowing it was important, terribly important, just not knowing why. Now, though, now he knew.
He didn’t tell her, though. Why, he wasn’t quite sure, except… he wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to believe in him, to know him well enough to know that he would keep his word. That he would never hurt her. That he would protect her to his dying day if she would allow it.
Though he didn’t want to quit her company, didn’t want the night to be over, Ranleigh bade her goodnight, readily agreeing he’d overindulged—it was true. He walked back to the inn, not about to invite himself to stay the night and glad she hadn’t offered. He was old-fashioned enough to still worry about such things, he realised. Was that odd in the circumstances? Did the housekeeper know, he wondered?
A bright moon lit the path ahead, the evening still and warm, and full of promises of a future that took his breath away. Promises he intended to keep in their entirety.
***
Archie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her bedroom window was open, and a playful breeze rustled the pages of a book
she had opened and set down without reading a word.
There was a foolish smile at her lips and tears in her eyes, her heart too full of emotion. Ranleigh was so bloody wonderful. He was funny, quirky, intelligent, and so damn loyal. She sighed, allowing herself to admit to it, to everything she felt, and that she had felt since those first days. Try as she might to cut the feelings off, to pare them down to their roots and kill them, they’d only strengthened and grown. Like cutting back a bramble only to watch it reappear in half the time, twice the size and impossible to vanquish.
She loved him, and the thorns that accompanied that knowledge scratched and raked at her tender flesh. What use was love when he didn’t know the truth? Yet, if he’d seen her as the world would have her be, if she’d come to him as a girl, he’d never have given her the time of day. Not because he was shallow or cruel or unfeeling, but because Jennifer wasn’t Archie. Jennifer was a frightened creature who belonged to neither this world nor that. Jennifer was afraid to open her mouth for fear that people would see she was all wrong, that she didn’t fit, didn’t belong. She was a puzzle with no solution, and yet somehow Archie was the answer. Archie was bold and funny and likable.
Archie made her feel good.
Whole.
Could Ranleigh ever understand? She wanted to believe he could. His pledge to keep her secret safe was a balm she pressed to her wounded heart. Even if he was disgusted, he’d not betray her, but she would have to endure that disgust. She’d have to look in his eyes and see it, live with it. Could she do that?
Duke and Duplicity (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 15) Page 13
