Page 52 of My Rogue, My Ruin
Brynn sat stiffly on the uncomfortable sofa cushion, remembering the sound of a sniffling woman rushing past the room in which she had been hiding. She thought of the deep purple organza gown with its billowing skirts that Lady Rochester was wearing that night and conceded that it certainly could have been her in the hallway.
Perhaps Brynn had simply overheard a lover’s quarrel. She breathed a sigh of relief that she had not actually come upon them in the hallway. Then again, had she had the misfortune of witnessing something between Bradburne and his mistress, she would have had something solid to point to for her reasoning behind rejecting the duke’s proposal.
The offer would come, she knew. Archer had made that clear enough.
Archer.
The duke’s affair with his good friend’s wife was minuscule compared to the crimes his son had committed. He hadn’t been involved in the waylaying of Lord Maynard’s carriage, Brynn was certain of it. Archer had spoken of an imposter, and she wanted to believe him. She did believe him.
Didn’t she?
Her head ached with the chaos of her thoughts. He would inherit a dukedom and was a marquess in his own right. Why had he put himself at such risk?
Brynn’s good posture slipped, and she let out small sigh. Loud enough for her mother to hear, she hoped.
“Are you quite well, darling?”
Success.
Brynn touched her neck. “A little breathless, that is all.”
“Perhaps we should call for the carriage—”
Lady Dinsmore’s mouth froze open as a horrible scream rent the air.
Brynn shot off the sofa. Viscountess Hamilton yelped and spilled her sherry onto the floor while the other ladies at the card tables turned in their seats toward the salon door.
“Help! Good heavens, someone! Help!”
The scream was coming from the grand stairwell that Brynn had just descended.
“Is that Lady Rochester?” her mother asked, standing up with more grace than Brynn had shown. “What in heaven’s name has happened?”
The women started at once toward the door, crowding it as all of them attempted to funnel through at once. Brynn stayed near the rear of the confusion, but she could still hear Lady Rochester’s next words clear as day.
“The duke! My god, all the blood!”
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Archer met Brandt in the hallway off the kitchens, he was in strict possession of himself once more. He cursed his friend’s untimely arrival and thanked him in the same breath. Who knew what would have happened had he and the lady not been disturbed by the arriving footman. Archer had never lost control like that. Certainly never with someone as innocent as she.
Indeed, Lady Briannon was full of surprises.
Now that she knew the truth about him, he had to ascertain whether she would expose him. Archer wasn’t above using seduction to get his way. He’d seduce her a thousand times over if it meant guaranteeing her silence.
Perhaps if the duke did offer for her, it would make her more amenable to protecting his family’s interests, especially from such a scandal. He clenched his jaw at the sour thought. After what had happened between them, he could never let her marry his father.
But what could he offer her? He didn’t want to be married. He didn’t want to be saddled with a wife whom he would likely only disappoint in time. What he felt now would be fleeting, like any other passing indiscretion. Once he sated his body with hers, the desire would wane. His own parents’ marriage, and how it had unfolded, was testament to that.
Archer did not want to have to live up to anyone’s expectations, much less some maiden with stars in her eyes. She would undoubtedly want love and romance, and what did he know of those things? Archer didn’t believe in such shallow sentiments anyhow, especially not after seeing what they had done to his mother. And should he end up being tried and punished for his crimes, any wife of his would be left to suffer the backlash. He could not expect someone to pay that price—no matter how stubborn and strong-willed she may be. No. Marriage to the beguiling Lady Briannon was not in the cards.
Taking her to bed was another matter altogether.
He couldn’t deny the attraction between them, and neither could she. Archer shook his head, his body aching with a want that only she could appease. He hoped she would still be there when he dealt with Brandt’s business. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled for Brandt to follow him down the hallway and through a door that led to the deserted side gardens, away from open windows and providing some modicum of privacy.
“What is it?” he said.
Brandt raised an eyebrow at his rudeness. “Did I interrupt a particularly riveting game of whist?” He eyed him, a knowing grin stretching across his face as he took in Archer’s rumpled hair and crooked cravat. “Or was it something more enjoyable…some time in a broom closet, perhaps, with a young wealthy chit looking for a titled fop of a husband?”
