Page 53 of My Rogue, My Ruin
It was too close to the truth for Archer. He glared at him and adjusted his cravat. “Did you have something of importance you wished to discuss?”
Brandt’s grin widened. He was not afraid of Archer’s posturing in the least. “Cranky, aren’t we? Did the debutante in question have too many morals for you? Decided she wanted a betrothal contract before tossing up her skirts?”
“Get on with it before I box your ears for your insolence.”
“You could try.”
A sliver of a scowl cracked Archer’s face, and Brandt relented, handing him a heavy velvet pouch and lowering his voice. “My cousin just returned from Scotland. Here’s the money from the last heist. He managed to get a good price for the lot. I’ve earmarked a portion of it to some of the local village places, and that’s what is left.”
“Seems like a large amount,” Archer said, hefting the weight of the coins in the bag. “None for yourself?”
Brandt shook his head. “I paid the runner, but that’s all. It should go to those who need it, and I am not in need.”
In all the months they had worked together, Brandt had never taken a single coin for himself, and neither had Archer. He had seen the judgment in Brynn’s eyes when she had called him a thief, but he wasn’t keeping, and had never kept, any of the spoils. Most of the men he’d robbed would replace their trinkets with new pieces within the week, and the countless lives he had improved were worth the cost.
Speaking of excesses, he frowned at Brandt. “Did the duke commission you to purchase two new geldings for his stables?”
“Yes, a gorgeous snow white pair of Andalusians. They cost a pretty penny, too,” Brandt said and then blinked at the look on Archer’s face. “He did say to spare no expense.”
“And you didn’t think to ask me?”
“He is the duke, Hawk. He pays my wages.”
“I pay your wages.”
Brandt sighed. “What would you have had me do? Tell him that I had to check in with his son? He would have released me on the spot. I got the breeder down to a good price. They’re good horses for any stable. Trust me, these two were worth it.”
Archer nodded to his friend. He did trust Brandt when it came to assessing horseflesh of any kind. He had a knack with horses and could see traits about them that most others tended to miss. He knew whether a prized foal had a hidden ligament problem or if a mare would be barren.
“You’ll have to show these prize mounts to me yourself,” Archer said. He tossed him the velvet pouch. “I was invited to a charity dinner for an orphanage in Lambeth badly in need of funds. I declined, of course, but see that it goes to good use there.”
Archer glanced back at the house. The lights in the first floor rooms threw long dancing shadows across the manicured shrubs. His eyes wandered up to the second floor, drawn by a light burning in his father’s study. He could see shadowy movement behind the drapes and wondered whether the duke had miraculously decided to retire. Odd. His father was always the last to leave a party, even when it was his own.
Archer wished that he had his mother’s sitting room window in clear view to see whether Brynn was still there. He shouldn’t be this preoccupied with her, but he couldn’t help himself. She haunted his every waking moment.
“Is something amiss?” Brandt asked.
He shook his head and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He turned to dismiss Brandt and then stopped. “I’m sure you have heard the rumors that the duke is considering taking another wife.”
“Yes,” Brandt said. “All of London is abuzz with it. Mamas prepping their daughters, dandies closing their suits so that the duke doesn’t set his eye on their chosen ladies. Even I, a lowly stable master, have heard the gossip,” he said with his usual self-deprecating humor. “I’m sure wagers are being placed at Tattersall’s and White’s against the maiden he will choose.”
“He has already chosen.”
“Do tell.”
Archer drew a long breath. “Lady Briannon.” Her name came out on a sigh.
Brandt’s eyes popped. “Lord Dinsmore’s daughter? She’s but a babe, barely your own number in years.”
“She’s of marriageable age,” he said flatly.
Brandt cleared his throat. “And what of the issue we discussed as it relates to your secret identity? Does the lady know? Were you able to get to the heart of the matter?”
Brandt’s choice of words made Archer’s chest clench.
The heart of the matter was that he coveted the woman his father was about to offer for.
The heart of the matter was that she knew his deepest secret.
