Page 45 of My Rogue, My Ruin
“Did you get the chance to run the hounds this past winter?” Rochester repeated. “I thought the duke’s new foxhounds were magnificent, though I didn’t see you out on the hunt when I was there.”
“No. I had business to attend to,” Archer responded.
The duke laughed, derision underscoring his words. “Didn’t you know? Hawk finds running the hounds boring and pointless.”
“I hunt for game, not for sport,” Archer said, rising to his father’s challenge. “As a matter of fact, I was tracking a rather large boar roaming between our country estates some days past.” Archer sent a sidelong glance to Briannon who fastidiously avoided looking at him.
“Egad, Hawk, how large was the boar?” someone asked.
“A five-hundred-pound beast with piglets to defend.” He did not elaborate, and though he could see by Brynn’s sharp exhale that she was grateful that he had not, he couldn’t resist baiting her. “Do you enjoy the hunt, Lady Briannon?”
“On occasion, my lord, but only at Ferndale,” she answered after a moment’s hesitation. “I do enjoy a good ride.”
The fop whose seat Archer had taken made a noise that sounded like a spluttering croak. “I must say, the thought of a woman in the hunt is as disagreeable to me as women at the gaming tables. Most scandalous. Women have no place there.”
“And why is that?” Briannon challenged, drawing every eye at the table, including the alarmed, censorious one of her mother’s. “Lord Atherton permits his wife to ride, as do many other nobles. I know for a fact that Mrs. Wilson rode in a hunt two winters past, and no one deemed it a scandal. I, for one, enjoy the hunt.”
Lady Rochester and Lady Dinsmore gasped in unison, one with an expression of astonishment and the other one of horror. “Surelynot?” Lady Rochester said with a look of pure disdain.
Archer fought back a grin, thinking of her in those indecent breeches and her faultless command of Apollo. She could likely outride any number of men he knew in the hunt or otherwise.
Lady Rochester bristled, turning purple. “Mrs. Wilson…is…is…”
Archer could have sworn that Briannon was holding back a laugh at Lady Rochester’s choked expression, although she was avoiding looking at her mother, whose face was as sculpted as paned glass.
Aurelia Wilson was a notorious American widow who did as she pleased, when she pleased, including taking and flaunting lovers before theton. She was also one of the best riders he had ever seen mounted, man or woman.
“A complete disgrace,” finished Lady Rochester. Her opinion of Briannon appeared to be falling by the second. For a moment, Archer wondered whether Briannon was doing it on purpose and toasted her silently. Then again, it was common knowledge, with the exception of Lord Rochester, that Lady Rochester warmed his father’s bed, so it would be natural that she’d see the young woman as competition.
“I seem to recall you on the hunt several years ago, Lady Rochester,” Archer said in a mild tone.
Her gaze slid to his and she flushed. “In acarriage. It is not the same as a gently reared woman racing astride a horse and jumping all manner of obstacles. Mrs. Wilson is a complete scapegrace who should be shunned by all decent society.”
“Forgive me, but I hardly see participation in a hunt as something that warrants being shunned by polite society,” Briannon interjected.
“Briannon,” Lady Dinsmore hissed.
“I, for one, do not mind women on the hunt,” the duke interjected, with a lascivious laugh that made Archer’s fists curl. “Women who ride have a certain appeal.” The sexual innuendo was blatantly clear, and though Archer found it to be in excruciatingly bad taste, it was his father’s table and his father’s friends. As such, nervous laughter broke out, and the moment passed.
“Were I to marry again, any duchess of mine shall do as she pleases, including running the hounds or riding any matter of…mount,” the duke added, arching a suggestive eyebrow as he smiled down the table at his latest quarry. “Given your love of horses, I have recently acquired a pair of magnificent geldings. Perhaps you would care to see them at some other time, Lady Briannon?”
Though her face remained perfectly composed, Archer noticed Brynn’s fingers fisting in the folds of her dress in her lap.
“I should like that very much, Your Grace,” she said demurely. Archer saw her clenched hands tremble. When the conversation began to turn yet again, and the duke’s attention had been drawn away from Brynn, Archer leaned in toward her. His next words were a hurried whisper. “Second floor parlor, blue door.”
She shot him a puzzled glance as Lady Rochester stood and suggested the ladies retire to the drawing room. The footmen came forward, and the men rose to their feet. Before Briannon could move her chair, Archer glanced down, making certain of his own chair leg’s placement, and slid back. A harsh ripping sound rent through the room, and heads swiveled in his direction. Briannon caught her breath, her eyes rising to his, but the relief in them far outweighed the dismay at her torn dress.
“My deepest apologies,” Archer said, his expression suitably regretful. “The hem of your dress was caught beneath the chair. One of our house maids will have it mended at once.”
“Thank you,” she said, a footman rushing forward to take her napkin and hold her chair. “Please excuse me, Your Grace,” she said. “It appears that I must attend to this small inconvenience.” And at her mother’s inquisitive stare, added, “I will rejoin the ladies in the drawing room posthaste.”
Archer stood as Lady Dinsmore and the rest of the women continued to file from the dining room, Briannon behind them. The footman finally ushered her into the hallway, and Archer slowly followed the crowd of gentlemen filing into the billiards room, attached to the dining room by a pair of pocket doors. He had planned to take his leave as soon as he entered. He flicked an eye over his shoulder and watched Briannon disappear from view. Archer hoped she would heed his directions, though now he was beginning to doubt whether she had even heard him or had perhaps been confused. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and deliberated following now, rather than letting a safe minute pass between both their exits. The opportunity to speak with her in private could not be missed.
He cleared his throat. “Please give my regards to the ladies,” he said, standing at the entrance to the billiards room as the rest of his father’s guests got settled. “Regrettably, I will not be able to join you. I have an urgent business matter to attend to that requires my immediate departure.”
As he turned to leave the room, he couldn’t help noticing the scowl on the duke’s face. No doubt he suspected something, but he knew his father would never abandon his guests, at least not right at that moment. Archer answered the scowl with one of his own, and by the glances darting between the duke and marquess, the charged interaction was not lost on the other occupants of the room.
Unwilling to waste time engaging in a battle of wills, Archer swung on his heel and left. He turned toward the back of the foyer, and with long, decisive strides caught up to the footman accompanying Briannon. “I will see the lady to the sewing room,” he said, dismissing the footman with a curt nod.
