Page 73 of My Rogue, My Ruin
“They were rather heavy,” she whispered, her hand lifting to her throat. Archer’s gaze followed the movement, and his own breath caught at the bare expanse of creamy flesh swelling there. He cursed himself in the same moment—she was ill, and all he could do was think of her breasts and divesting her of that dress. The effect she had on him was unimaginable. A wan smile lit her face. “I much prefer rubies, as you know.”
Archer’s glance darted to the maid, who had suddenly busied herself at the far end of the room, opening the doors leading out onto the terrace. Fresh night air blew into the room and cooled the back of his neck. “I shall endeavor to remember that,” he said softly. He took the slight softening in her manner toward him as an invitation. “Brynn, I know that this has been difficult for you, and tonight was no exception. I apologize for whatever part I have had in that.” He slid his fingers between hers. “Regardless of how we came to be here, we are in this together. So I beg you to forgive me. Shall we restart this unfortunate evening?”
“I should like that very much.”
He raised her ungloved hand to his lips and stared into her green-flecked eyes. “You are a vision tonight, Lady Briannon. Any man would be honored to have you at his side.”
“Thank you,” she said, warming to their game. “You—”
The door flew open, crashing into the wall behind it and interrupting her sentence. Her brother stormed into the room. Archer could tell that Northridge was already well into his cups, if only from the reek of whiskey that accompanied him. He looked utterly disheveled with his cravat nearly undone and his face mottled. “Where is she?”
Heed bustled into the room behind him, his face apologetic. “I apologize, Your Grace. He would not be deterred.”
“Fine, Heed,” Archer said in a clipped voice, his eyes never leaving Northridge. “Leave us.”
As Heed closed the doors, Brynn half rose out of her seat but sank back down, her breathing once more agitated. Archer stood, but before he could take one more step toward him, the maid had crossed the room, positioning herself between them and Northridge. “She is upset enough, my lord.”
Northridge’s eyes flicked to his sister. “Get out of my way, Lana,” he slurred. “Or I will remove you bodily, so help me.”
“I will not allow you to make her worse,” she said, throwing her hands onto her hips like she was addressing a misbehaving lad. Archer’s eyebrow flicked up a notch at the girl’s courage.
Northridge hesitated, his hands clenching at his side. “I am not here to endanger my sister,” he gritted out. “Now let me pass.”
“You are drunk.”
“And you forget your place.”
“Do I?” A silent battle of wills ensued that had Archer frowning. Perhaps the Dinsmores were more lenient with their servants than he was.
“Lana, please,” Brynn interjected weakly as if she, too, could see the angry sparks flying between them. “Wait outside.”
The maid shot her mistress a concerned glance, but did as she was told, her lips compressed into a tight, furious line. She raked Lord Northridge with a disparaging stare worthy of any highborn lady as she stalked past him.
Brynn turned to her brother. “Gray, I know you’re upset, but this is not the time or the place.”
“It is the perfect time,” he countered, his words crashing together.
“You’re foxed,” she said, eyes widening. “His Grace and I—”
“HisGrace,” Northridge mocked. “The man has looked down his nose at all of us for years, preferring to spend his time in a stable than in his own house.” He eyed Archer, who stood motionless, his body tightly leashed. A muscle jerked in his cheek at the man’s insults. “It was a surprise to everyone at large that his father claimed him out of all his other bastards.”
“That is enough!” Brynn gasped, her eyes flying to Archer’s.
“I won’t give you the thrashing you deserve,” Archer said in a dangerously quiet voice. “If only out of respect for your sister, soon to be my wife. I will offer you the chance to leave of your own free will.”
“Yourwife,” Northridge echoed, spit flying from his mouth. He swayed. “What did you do to get her to agree to your proposal?” He choked on his words, and Brynn’s fingers flew to her mouth. “She would never marry you. Did you compromise her honor? Did you?”
“Gray! Stop this. He did no such thing.” But her scruples betrayed her. She flushed guiltily, which seemed to make her brother’s drunken temper skyrocket.
“Name your second, you bastard.” Northridge took a swing at Archer and missed as Archer sidestepped him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar.
Without a word, he stalked to the end of the room toward the open terrace doors and tossed the younger gentleman out. Glancing over his shoulder at Brynn, Archer smiled reassuringly and closed the doors behind him. Once out of her earshot, however, he drew a ragged breath, fighting the inclination to beat Northridge to within an inch of his life. The man sought only to protect his sister. In truth, Archer would have done the same if their positions were reversed. “Go home. You’re drunk, and you’re making a scene.”
“I demand satisfaction,” Northridge shouted, his hair falling into his face as he fought to regain his balance. His voice echoed in the deserted gardens. Archer hoped no amorous couple was out taking a stroll just then. “Do you hear me,Hawk? At the point of a pistol. You forced my sister into this. She is obviously terrified of you. So terrified that she nearly fainted in your arms at the thought of sealing this betrothal. Don’t you think she knows that you were questioned for the late duke’s murder? Everyone knows that you are no gentleman.”
“Enough,” Archer said, trying to control his mounting fury. “Or you will have exactly what you want. I assure you, I am an excellent shot, and where will that leave your beloved sister? Without a brother?”
“Without a bastard of a husband.” But the words were said without any real force behind them. Northridge’s eyes drifted to the doors and peered through the glass panels, to where Brynn still stood, her face distraught.
