“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.”
“You are sweet to say it,” he said sadly, “but that regret is something I will have to live with. If I were a better man, I’d have seen to it that he never hit you or anyone else.”
He reached up and wiped away a tear from her cheek, and only then did she realize she was weeping. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, shaking his head. “You push me away one minute and offer me absolution the next. I know what I want, but you’re the one who has been waiting for freedom. Tell me, dearest Perdita, what is it you want from me?”
Seven
It was so tempting, with him standing only inches away from her, to simply fling herself into his arms. Just to avoid the discussion.
She’d spent so much time trying and failing to talk Gervase into some other kind of marriage than they had. But words had been useless when matched against sheer brute force. And it wasn’t long into her marriage that she learned to measure each word like a shabby genteel widow measured out her last store of sugar. And it wasn’t just the quantity of words. It was which words she chose. But then again, depending on what sort of mood her husband was in, it mattered little which words she chose, because all of them—yes, no, maybe, perhaps, definitely—all of them were wrong.
With Archer, she’d practiced the art of speaking her thoughts again. Nothing too revealing, of course. She wasn’t ready for that. But as he let her talk about the little things—how the crocus in the garden reminded her of the flowers in the gardens at Hampton Court Palace; which of Shakespeare’s plays she liked most (the comedies); how she disliked the filthy air of London, though she’d been born and raised here. All these little details she shared with him. Without fear that Archer would deride her for her foolish nattering. Or dread that a chance word about the gardener would provoke an attack because her husband was certain she spent too much time with the other man—despite his being happily married and nearly as old as the dowager.
She owed much to Archer and his gentleness. His patience. But it had only been in the last year—when Perdita finally began to feel like a person again—that they had truly become friends. Of course, as before, there wasn’t that much time for them to spend together. Even after Gervase died, Archer had continued his work as the personal secretary to the dukedom, and then to Trevor, the new duke who was now married to her sister, Isabella. But they’d managed to maintain their friendship.
Something had changed during their trip to Bath a month or so ago. At first Archer had accompanied her to Bath—as soon as she learned that the coward who had made her sister Isabella’s life miserable was now using his power to terrify their friend Georgina, threatening not only her position as lady’s companion, but also her very life—and things had been as comfortable between them as ever. But once it became clear that Perdita would be the villain’s next target, Archer had overstepped his bounds by demanding that she go into hiding. At least that was how she saw his proposal.
For one who had spent the last five years of her life under her husband’s thumb, having yet another man attempt to order her around had been infuriating. Especially because Archer, of all people, should know better. It was not only an annoyance, but a kind of betrayal. Not to mention the fact that she’d grown far too fond of the easy way they had with one another. It would have taken very little for Perdita to allow him to take care of her. As he clearly wished to. But some part of her refused to accept it. To continue her servitude—even if it was to be under the benevolent rule of Archer, her dearest friend.
She’d long thought him to be the handsomest man of her acquaintance, with his delicate features that should have looked silly on a man, but somehow managed to be eminently masculine. As well as his broad shoulders, lean muscles, and shining gold hair. All together, the parts of him added up to a deliciously handsome whole. Made even more impressive by the man inside the beautiful packaging.
All of which was why, when faced with Archer’s question of what she wanted from him, she could hardly say. Because if she were absolutely truthful with herself, she would ad
mit that she wanted him—as a woman wants a man—and had done so for some time now. What she didn’t want was to embark upon a romance with him that would lead her into the same sort of lopsided marriage as she’d shared with Gervase. In fact, she was quite sure she would rather marry someone for whom she felt none of the desire she felt for Archer. That was what she’d had with Gervase—in the beginning at least, before he turned brutal—and she wasn’t sure she trusted desire, or even love anymore.
She thought through each of these things as Archer waited for her to respond to his question. It was a fair enough inquiry. If their roles were reversed, and he’d carried on a flirtatious friendship with her without ever declaring himself, she’d be within her rights to ask what the next step would be.
“Well?” he prompted, his blue eyes fixed on her face while she tried to decide just how to present her case to him. Because it had occurred to her suddenly that perhaps they could have what they both wanted. It was entirely possible for a widow and an unmarried man to carry on a liaison without raising too many eyebrows in the ton. In fact, as a duchess, even a dowager, she would be forgiven far more than a young widow of good character.
“I think…” she began, then simply continued on before doubt could creep in. “I think that I would like for us to be lovers.”
Once the words were out of her mouth, she suddenly wished with every fiber of her being that she could recall them. Not because she regretted the sentiment. She actually did want Archer in her bed. In the worst way, she now realized, having admitted it aloud.
No, she wanted to recall the words because she had no idea what his response would be. What if he should rebuff her? Or worse, what if he chastised her? She would die of shame. It was one thing to suffer the cutting remarks of Gervase or even the dowager. She expected it of them. But Archer was special. She’d only ever experienced consideration from him. By suggesting that they cross the line that separated friendship from something so much more, she was allowing herself be to vulnerable in a way that she hadn’t since long before her husband had died.
And she wasn’t deluded enough to think that they’d be able to go back to their old footing now that this particular cat was out of the bag.
If she’d suggested they strip off all their clothing and dance naked in Hyde Park, the expression on Archer’s face could not have been more shocked. Despite her trepidation, Perdita couldn’t help but note that his cheekbones and the tips of his ears turned scarlet as he gazed wide-eyed at her. But to her relief, before he hastily looked away, she saw desire in those eyes. He might be shocked, but her invitation was not unwelcome.
At least not to the baser side of him.
She watched as he ran a finger under the cravat that suddenly looked too tight. Then, pulling himself together, he took a step back and surveyed her from head to toe. She’d never seen him look at her like that. If he’d appraised her, and surely he had done so before, she’d not seen it, and it was at once exciting and embarrassing.
When his gaze returned to her face, he tilted his head, watching her. Finally he said, “You want us to become lovers. You’ll forgive me if I am somewhat surprised by the suggestion.” His mouth quirked up on one side. “I had thought you were determined not to put yourself in the control of another man.”
It was a reasonable assertion. Still, she had an answer. “In marriage. And I have a very specific plan where that’s concerned.”
That surprised him, she could tell. His brow furrowed for the merest hint of time, and then he resumed his controlled expression. “But surely marriage to any man would involve—at least in the eyes of the law—some sort of surrender of power on your part. It’s the nature of things.”
“But what if I choose not to surrender my affections to the man I marry? What if I ensure that the marriage is little more than a business arrangement? Then I will be free to seek affection elsewhere.” She watched him carefully, to see if he understood her. But Archer had always been clever. Of course he understood.
At least she hoped he did.
Because if he didn’t, she very much doubted they could ever return to the friendship she’d relied upon these past few years.
And she wasn’t sure if she could endure that.
* * *
Oh, he understood her well enough, Archer fumed despite the desire that thrummed through him. She wished to take him as a lover, but marry Dunthorp. Or someone equally as biddable.
Which was as foolish a plan as she’d ever proposed.
Not least because Dunthorp wasn’t nearly as malleable as Perdita thought him.
Not only would Dunthorp not agree to a marriage in name only with one of the most beautiful women in England, he was a peer. He would want an heir. Surely she didn’t think she’d be able to keep them in separate compartments like a man could. Women weren’t designed that way. Not to mention the matter of pregnancy. He doubted sincerely that Dunthorp would take kindly to an heir with blond hair and blue eyes.
Of course Archer’s body didn’t give a damn about scruples or the possibility of a cuckolded Dunthorp. A certain part of him would like to begin right now.
His hands itched to touch her even as his mind wrestled with the dilemma she’d posed to him.
Then there was the other problem.
Why the hell was he being relegated to the role of mere lover when Dunthorp, or whichever man she chose to marry, was given the proverbial keys to the kingdom? Because no matter how prettily she wrapped this up in a tidy bow, he would be damned if he’d allow her to deny the very real affection between them. And he certainly wouldn’t allow her to entangle herself in a loveless marriage simply because Gervase had been a violent, despicable blackguard.
The bastard didn’t deserve to have that much power over her. Especially not from the grave.
Aloud, though, he revealed none of this. Instead he asked, “Why me?” And watched as her cheekbones reddened. It seemed they were both at the mercy of their coloring, he thought.
She swallowed, but regained her composure relatively quickly. Looking him directly in the eye she said, “Because I want you. I have for some time. I think we’ve been dancing around this for some time.”
Hearing her say the words was more powerful than he could have expected. And he had to give her credit. It was a brave speech for a woman who hadn’t been able to say more than yes or no for months at a time while her husband was alive. Doubly so because she was speaking so boldly about something so intimate.
“But that’s not all, I think,” he prodded. He wanted the whole reason to be spoken between them. Because he wanted her to admit that there was another difference between him and Dunthorp.
She looked down at her hands, then straightened her back and faced him again. “Because I trust you. There, I’ve said it. That’s what you wished, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said baldly, “it is. Because I think you know that one of the things that will make this work between us is trust. And because I don’t agree with you that you must marry someone you don’t love because of what Gervase did to you.”
Her lips tightened, and she made to turn away from him, saying, “Fine. If you refuse my offer—”
He caught her before she could get far. He turned her face to look at him. “I didn’t say I refused your offer,” he said mildly, though they were both slightly out of breath. “I accept. But I want you to know that I will not concede the field this easily. You may do what you wish to convince Dunthorp to propose, but I will do whatever it takes to convince you that the only man you should marry is me.”
Her gaze was steely, but she nodded. “Fine. But you cannot do anything to threaten or frighten away the men I am considering for a husband.”
Archer started to argue that he wasn’t the one who was a bully, but decided to simply concede the point. He hadn’t planned on using force to make them go away in any event. “And you must agree to listen to me when it comes to your safety.”
“That’s not fair,” she said firmly. “
I will continue to make my own decisions about how to handle the matter, but I will agree to keep you informed of my plans. And in return, I wish to be there when you speak to the man from the magistrate’s office.”
Since the man would likely ask to speak to her anyway, Archer nodded. “Anything else?”
He felt the air change between them, now that their most contentious issues had been settled. And he couldn’t help but notice that her eyes had strayed to his mouth more than once. If it was more kisses she wanted, he was more than happy to oblige her. But they should make plans to make that happen. “Shall I come to your bedchamber tonight?”
“So soon?”
It was not hard to see that she had been expecting a few more days in which to think about things. Which was why he had pressed the issue. If it was to be a competition between them, then he’d like to begin as soon as possible so that she’d have the memory of him in her bed fresh in her mind when she began her husband hunting. Still, he did have other reasons for haste. “I’ve waited a long time,” he said with a raised brow. “If your admission earlier is any indication, so have you.”
He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her palm, then leaned in to kiss her softly on the mouth. It was a kiss of comfort, as unlike their earlier embrace as night from day. But there was promise in it, too. “Remember,” he said. “You trust me.” He whispered against her ear, “I won’t forget that.”
Before he could anticipate things by doing what he really wished to do and seducing her on the study’s leather sofa, he let go of her and walked from the room, grateful that no one was lingering in the hall to see the cockstand his coat didn’t quite disguise.
Eight
Perdita waited a long while to make sure Archer was no longer in the hall beyond the study to slip from the room and hurry to her suite of rooms. Once she’d closed the door behind her, she leaned back against it and exhaled the breath she’d been holding ever since he left her.
Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Page 7
