by Corwin, Amy
“What do you mean?”
“Has it never occurred to you how frightfully easy it will be for him to win at cards? With such a convenient hiding place available?”
He chuckled, keeping his laughter low to avoid waking Archer. “You’re rogues, the lot of you.”
A dimple peeped out from her rounded cheek. “Yes, we are,” she replied saucily, before thrusting him, and his dog, from her uncle’s room. “It’s good you’re finally realizing that.”
Chapter Eleven
Upping the Ante
The house was in an uproar when Chilton struggled out of bed the next morning. He could hear Miss Archer’s voice from the courtyard and what sounded like a dozen dogs barking. He was about to investigate when his bedroom door opened. The young, straw-haired fellow who inexplicably and persistently claimed to be his valet bounded inside. He clutched a pitcher of water and a razor in his broad hands.
“What did you say your name was?” Chilton asked. He rubbed his face tiredly and watched the youth place his burdens on the dresser.
“Joshua, sir. Joshua Brown.”
He laid out a shaving mug on a table by the window. Then he shook out a linen towel while whistling some aggravatingly cheerful tune.
He snapped the towel smartly. “Please take a seat, sir.”
“Hold out your hands,” Chilton demanded, loath to entrust his throat to anyone so bloody chipper this early in the morning. It wasn’t even ten yet. The man had to be drunk to be this merry. His hands were sure to shake and cut Chilton's neck.
“Yes, sir!” He draped the linen over his forearm and held out his hands. They were as steady as posts driven into solid rock.
“Fine, but be quick about it.” He sat in the chair by the window, where he could distract himself with a view of the courtyard.
Below, Miss Archer’s neat figure walked across the yard. He watched her as Joshua fixed the cloth around his throat. The lad pulled his head back.
Chilton closed his eyes and reminded himself to be patient while he endured the shave. In the courtyard, he could hear Miss Helen’s voice as well as Archer’s. What were the three of them doing out there?
Miss Helen’s high voice sounded distraught. But he could barely catch Miss Archer’s lower, soothing tones. She was the rational one. The calm peacemaker, he thought with appreciation.
“There we are, sir. Now what would you be wearing? The buckskins?”
“Devil take it, what do I care? Yes, yes, that will be fine. Just hurry up, will you?” He rushed Joshua through the process of dressing, trying to hear what was going on outside.
“This is fine!” he said when Joshua tried to undo the third neckcloth he had wrapped around Chilton's throat. “Let it go.”
“But sir, the knot’s crushed! It’s supposed to be a Mail Coach!”
“I don’t give a farthing what it’s supposed to be. It’ll have to do.” He grabbed his walking stick and hobbled down the stairs.
Josephine followed obediently, her toenails clicking on the polished wooden floor as she stayed at his heels.
He grabbed the doorknob on the side door. Simultaneously, Miss Helen grasped the knob on the outside.
Not realizing it, he pulled open the door and jerked her inside.
She bounced off his chest into the wall.
“Ow!” she squealed, startled. Then she glared at him. “You utter beast!”
He scowled back at her. Her lower lip trembled in response.
Fortunately, before the girl could work herself up into a good case of hysterics, Miss Archer stepped into the shadowy coolness of the hallway.
“Helen, apologize to Mr. Dacy.” She eyed her sister sternly.
“I will not! He hit me!”
Josephine barked as if to refute the injustice of this statement. He opened his mouth to speak only to find Miss Archer giving him a hard, warning glance.
A shapely brow rose, sliding beneath a brown curl that had escaped from her lace cap. “He did not hit you, Helen. He merely opened the door. You stumbled. Now apologize.”
“Never mind, Miss Archer. I apologize for opening the door so abruptly.”
“You see, Oriana? It wasn’t my fault at all!” Miss Helen smiled and gave him a shallow curtsey. “You’re forgiven.”
“Thank you.”
Miss Archer stifled a laugh in reaction to his sarcastic tone.
“Go on, Helen,” Miss Archer said.
When her sister hurried off down the hallway, she turned to him. Her brown eyes searched his face. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable in the dim privacy of the hallway. His gaze strayed to her mouth.
The pink tip of her tongue touched the center of her upper lip. His mind went blank and it was several seconds before he realized she was speaking to him.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Yes,” he lied. He had tossed and turned all night, his body aching for her.
She paused, her hands twisting her skirts in a gesture becoming familiar to him. For some unaccountable reason, he made her nervous.
The thought aroused the wolf in him, scenting her vulnerability. He longed to press his mouth against her creamy throat, to mark her as his.
The violence of his need startled him. He took an involuntary step back, seeking to maintain a cool distance.
“Mr. Dacy.” She turned slightly to face the door. Her skin glowed ivory in a shaft of bright sunshine. “Last night when you attacked—that is, when—”
“I didn’t attack your uncle.”
Her restless hands smoothed her skirts, hesitated, and then grabbed the material again, creating fresh wrinkles.
“I beg your pardon, and I do realize that. What I meant to say was, do you by any chance remember where you were standing when the unfortunate accident occurred?”
“Where I was standing?”
“Yes. That is, I found several footprints in the mud. However, I can't quite tell where you were standing.”
“What difference does it make? What do you hope to prove by determining my position? Are you collecting evidence?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Dacy. You misunderstand me entirely.” She sighed and touched his arm. Her brown eyes showed confusion and a touch of sadness in their depths. “Come outside, and let me explain.”
He glanced out at the bright sunshine and heaved his own sigh. He followed her out, squinting and rubbing his eyes until they adjusted.
“Now, indulge me. Show me where you last saw my uncle standing.”
Glancing around, he noticed Archer was wandering around near the small stable yard. As he walked, he scratched the head of the brutish black dog who had tried to roll Josephine the day before.
He touched his dog’s head to reassure her. Josephine glanced up at him, the lid of her scarred eye fluttering in the bright light. When she gave him a quick lick on his hand, he grinned and rubbed her ears. The dog wagged her tail before sitting down with a proprietary air on his foot.
“Mr. Dacy, are you paying attention to me?”
“What? Oh, sorry.”
He studied the area, but it was difficult to tell where they had been standing last night. He hadn’t watched where he was going in the dark. He had stumbled out, half asleep, in the vain hope of preventing old Archer from getting the stuffing beaten out of him. His attention was riveted on the two men, Archer and Red.
“I’m not sure I know exactly where we stood. Why does it matter?”
“Do try to remember. Uncle John lost a small fob my Aunt Victoria gave him. It meant a great deal to him. It contained a miniature of her when she was seventeen. He’s devastated by the loss. If you could just tell me where you were standing when—well, when whatever occurred, occurred.”
Focusing on Archer, he realized the man wasn’t petting the dogs as he had previously thought. Archer was trying to get the assorted mongrels to sniff the ground in the yard with the vain hope of finding his lost fob.
A chuckle escaped Chilton before Mi
ss Archer tapped his wrist.
“It’s not funny. He treasures that miniature and if Aunt Victoria finds it gone—”
“She’ll think he pawned it?”
A warm flush cascaded over Miss Archer’s cheeks. He had to grit his teeth and straighten his back to avoid temptation. He ached to tilt her head up and give her an even more embarrassing reason to blush.
“He would never do such a thing,” she replied in a strangled voice.
“I know.” Without thinking, he brushed her soft cheek with the knuckle of his index finger.
Her skin felt as smooth and soft as the petal of a rose. He had an overwhelming urge to beg her forgiveness and confess everything. That her uncle cheated his stepmother out of his half-brother’s inheritance, and he had to get it back. And afterword, he had orders to send her uncle to prison. Or the gallows. Whichever worked out for the best.
Miss Archer would understand. Her warm eyes were kind and filled with honest warmth. He desperately wanted to kiss her and forget about everything else.
But in truth, even he couldn't believe her reaction would be anything other than anger and horror at his confession.
“Then couldn’t you tell me where you were standing last night when you broke my uncle’s arm?” Miss Archer’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry—that’s not what I meant.”
The frustration in her voice forced him to remember who he was. He was just another ex-soldier. A scarred and bitter man on an insane mission to steal a vowel back from John Archer.
But it was seductively easy to forget his past when he was gazing down into Miss Archer’s rich, brown eyes.
“We were over there—where the fence meets the side of the stable.” He pointed, not entirely sure. But he remembered thinking Archer didn’t have much of a chance to fight back properly, trapped against the stable wall. The black mutt nosing around Archer caught his eye again. “Is that Mr. Archer’s dog?”
Miss Archer glanced at them, her face growing soft. The dimple in her cheek pinched the rosy flesh. “Hunter? No. They are all mine, I’m afraid.”
“How did you end up with so many? I count four—”
“Five. It is five. And it was not my choosing, I’m afraid.”
“Then how—”
“My Uncle John brings them.” Her eyes glowed as she gazed at her uncle, her face warm and indulgent. “He’s under the mistaken impression that he can take my attention away from whatever dreadful thing he has done if he gives me a dog.”
He smiled down at her, drinking in the warmth of her face. “And this tactic doesn’t work?”
She shook her head and laughed. His heart soared at the sound. The sound came from deep within her, bubbling out like champagne unleashed from its bottle.
“Quite the opposite, really. If he brings me a dog, I know he has been up to some mischief.”
“Shouldn’t you tell him that? So he’ll stop? You can’t possibly want more dogs—”
“Oh, I really don’t mind. And if I warn him, then he'd be forced to find another alternative. I fear he'd start bringing me something infinitely worse, such as garter snakes or hedgehogs. And it does rather help me to know when something might be amiss.”
“What misdeed could possibly justify that black mastiff?”
Miss Archer glanced at her uncle. He was busy rubbing the head of the dog in question.
“Hunter was the first.” Her lips curved into a tender smile. “Uncle John brought that dog to me when I was seventeen. It seems he halted a duke’s carriage near London and borrowed a few trinkets, such as the duke’s purse and the duchess’ necklace. I may not remember precisely, but I believe Uncle John needed them in order to redeem a vowel.”
“Really?” The story seemed oddly familiar. His wounded thigh tingled, and he had to shove his hand into his pocket to keep from rubbing it.
“Yes, well, fortunately I discovered it before the duke requested assistance from the Bow Street Runners. Or took some equally disagreeable action. I returned the items, of course.”
“You returned them?”
She flushed rosily. “Yes. The duke was quite polite when I explained my uncle held him up for a wager. In fact, I believe he thought it was such a brilliant story that he invited Uncle John to visit. Uncle John subsequently recouped his loses during that trip. He was thereby able to pay the vowel without the necklace and purse.”
He chuckled and couldn’t resist asking about the King Charles spaniel. The dog was remarkably beautiful, with large, deep brown eyes and cleanly marked patches of black and brown amidst soft white fur.
“Umm, yes. Agamemnon.”
“Agamemnon?”
“Well, a King Charles spaniel requires a royal name.”
“And what were the circumstances that time?” He wondered if the size of the dog bore any relationship to the severity of the misdeed. Robbing a duke was certainly serious enough to warrant the large size of the mastiff. Perhaps the spaniel was just a minor mishap.
“Uncle John visited us with a Frenchman in tow. He was a very courteous gentleman and apparently some distant relative of deposed royalty. However, we only knew him as Monsieur Luc Dumas. While he was our guest, the Excise and the Bow Street Runners took an interest in the district and took an exceedingly keen interest in Monsieur Dumas, my uncle, and the contents of our cellars.”
Raising a brow, he grinned down at Miss Archer. He couldn't resist asking, “Did they find anything of interest in your cellars?”
“Why, no! What could they possibly find of interest in our cellars?” She answered his grin with wide eyes and a bland expression that raised a rumbling chuckle from deep within his chest. “Besides, for several days beforehand, we experienced the most shockingly torrential rainstorms. All that rain flooded our cellars completely. I was forced to move the entire contents to the squire’s stables the day before the Excise visited.”
“I don't suppose the squire realized this, did he?”
“Why, I confess, I’m not entirely sure. Joshua’s brother is employed as one of the squire’s grooms. I believe they made the arrangements between the two of them. In any event, it all came to naught. And Monsieur Dumas departed a few days later.”
“I am terrified to ask about the other dogs.”
“Just a few minor scrapes. Nothing frightful, I assure you.”
“He’s lucky to have such a forgiving and resourceful niece.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure he finds it quite intolerable to have me constantly interfering in his affairs.”
“I’m not so sure. But I suppose it’s much better to get the dogs than not to know. However, surely he wouldn’t bring you a snake if you told him to stop?”
“No, I suppose not. Joshua was the only one who ever brought me garter snakes.”
“You can’t be serious!” The notion hit him like a slap to the back of his head.
“Oh, quite serious. He used to put them in my bed when I was a child.”
“He what?”
She laughed at his outraged expression. “He knew I wouldn’t get upset. Quite the contrary. I had two garter snakes for several years, named Emily and Heloise. They were lovely and quite friendly. Unfortunately, they got out one day and were very naughty.” She peeked at him through her lashes, her eyes glimmering with golden laughter. “It seems they developed a liking for beds, probably due to having been placed in mine so many times by Joshua. So they crawled into one. Unfortunately, the bed they selected belonged to my mamma. She was not as fond of them as I was.”
He could only imagine the uproar. “And they forbade you to have any more?”
“Oh, yes. I was very upset for several months afterwards. My parents utterly forbade us from having any creatures of any sort. They were very specific. No frogs, toads, polliwogs, butterflies, caterpillars, or snakes. Joshua was forced to use extreme measures when he wished to disconcert me. In fact, I blame his inability to bring any of the aforementioned creatures into the house for his kiss.”
�
�He kissed you? Joshua?” Chilton asked, appalled and angry at the same time. His valet had kissed Miss Archer?
“I was seven or eight, I suppose. It was indeed dreadful.”
“Oh. You were children.” This information should have amused him, but he found it profoundly irritating.
“Yes, we often played together, Andrew, Joshua and I.”
“I see.”
She gave him a stern glance. “It was quite proper. The Archers are a very distinguished and proper family. And Helen and I do have a maid, you know.” The return of the bland expression to her face let him know she had forgiven him enough to adopt a teasing tone.
An answering grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. He nodded.
“I’m sorry, I need to find something.” She turned toward the area he had identified. The corner of the yard where he had interrupted Red and John Archer the previous evening.
Miss Archer stepped away, her gaze sweeping the ground. She slowly moved into the corner and stood there for a few minutes, staring downwards.
Whining slightly, Josephine shoved her wet nose into his hand. He caressed her head and watched Miss Archer. Ruefully, he wished he was just a simple country lad, the son of some local squire perhaps, who could put his arm around her waist and give her a kiss.
If he could be anyone but himself, he would be profoundly grateful.
Even his valet was more fortunate. He, at least, had kissed her and felt her warm lips against his.
She started slowly meandering in a zigzag pattern, radiating outwards from the wall. A few minutes later, he watched in amazement as she let out a squeal, stooped down, and picked up something.
“Uncle!” she called. “I’ve got it! I found it!”
Archer hallooed to her and gave the big black mastiff a hug with his good arm. Then the dogs, sensing the excitement, started barking and chasing each other. Archer tickled as many as came within his reach.
He suddenly wondered if Miss Archer wasn’t a bit misguided about her uncle. There was a definite soft spot in the old man’s heart that seemed unusually receptive to the wiles of stray dogs. Maybe he was the one who couldn’t resist picking them up along the road. The seeming coincidence with his most outrageous misdeeds may simply be a matter of him always being in trouble of one sort or another.
