Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (19 page)

“Archer,” she hissed. When he didn’t move, she said again, this time more loudly, “Archer!”

“What?” he asked without opening his eyes, though his arm loosened a bit. “Are we there yet?”

Wrenching herself away from him, she gave him a light punch in the arm. “Let me go, you blackguard!” she demanded. “And just where are we bound? I have no recollection of agreeing to go somewhere with you today.” As the possibilities ran through her mind, she became more and more uneasy. Especially when she recalled the discussion in the carriage on the way home from Vauxhall.

Archer’s blue eyes, rimmed with gold lashes that were really too decadent to belong to a man, flew open. To her annoyance, he yawned, then stretched before he answered her. “Your Grace,” he said at last. “Are we slowing down? I suspect we’re about to change horses.”

“Yes, we are slowing down,” Perdita said, putting her fists on her hips. “Now, tell me how I ended up in this carriage with you without having any recollection of it?”

His brows, slightly darker than his hair, drew together, then as if remembering something important, his eyes went wide. Trying to hide his response, he shrugged. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Stop lying, you scoundrel,” she said, allowing her frustration to show. “I know we are not simply on a turn about the park. We wouldn’t have both fallen asleep if that were the case.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what you think is going on,” he said, his blue eyes untroubled.

“I think that you’ve expressly gone against my wishes and taken me from London against my will,” she said flatly. “And I’m not positive that my sister and Georgina didn’t also have something to do with it.”

Yawning, he covered his mouth before saying, “Then it would appear that you’ve guessed correctly.” Taking a look out the carriage window, he said, “We’re changing horses here, and I’ll escort you inside if you wish to refresh yourself and have a bite to eat before we continue on.”

At his words she realized that she would very much like to relieve her bladder. Her stomach, on the other hand, rebelled at the idea of food. But she said aloud, “I will go inside, thank you. But don’t think that this is the end of this discussion.”

He nodded, and when the carriage rocked to a stop, he pulled on his hat and stepped out, offering her a hand down once he reached the ground. Inside the inn, Perdita made use of the small room the innkeeper’s wife had shown her to.

She was considering the merits of shouting to the taproom that she was being held against her will, but when she opened the door to go back downstairs, Archer was waiting outside for her. As if reading her thoughts, he returned her steady gaze with one of his own.

Annoyed, she gave him her arm and they proceeded to the private dining room he’d procured for them. To her surprise, she was able to eat some of the excellent rabbit stew and felt better. When tea was brought for her, however, she refused, realizing that something must have been put in her cup at Georgie’s house.

Once they were back in the carriage, and Archer was seated across from her again, Perdita said, “I cannot believe my sister allowed you to drug me so that you could take me away from London against my will.”

“Then you underestimate how concerned your sister is for your safety,” he said unrepentantly. “In fact, I think you underestimate how worried we all are about your safety. Or you simply don’t care. As long as you are able to make all the decisions you don’t give a fig how the rest of us feel about things.”

“That’s not true,” she said hotly. “I care.”

“Then show it by not trying to escape before we reach our intended destination.”

“How can I make a rational decision when I don’t know where we’re bound?” she asked petulantly. It was really too much of him to make her feel like the villain when he was the kidnapper.

“Oh, I don’t think it really matters,” he said firmly. “So long as you are not a sitting duck in London, you are safe.”

“If Isabella felt strongly enough to drug me,” she conceded after a moment of silence, “then I suppose I can agree not to cause her more worry by running away from you.”

Archer nodded, then to her great annoyance, settled back and fell into a deep sleep.

Coward, she thought, looking out the window. But after a long enough time had passed and she found herself growing sleepy again, she moved over to the empty space beside him and rested her head against his shoulder.

Fifteen

Perdita was still annoyed about the kidnapping when the carriage came to a stop again and Archer got out to confer with the driver.

It was full dark out now, and though she’d tried to sleep for the past couple of hours, she’d been unable to do so. She still couldn’t believe Archer had gone so far as to kidnap her against her will. For her own safety. She was sick to death of men who thought they knew what was best for her. Was she not even allowed to decide whether or not she would run away from her own attacker?

Fairness forced her to admit that in other things Archer was more than willing to let her have her own way. He was hardly the sort of man Gervase had been. Indeed, quite the opposite. He listened to, and even welcomed, her opinion in most cases. He was a generous lover, even curbing what she knew were his own inclinations at times to make sure that she felt safe with him. And though they’d not made any promises to one another, she knew without asking that he had been faithful to her since they’d begun their liaison.

It was only in this one thing—her wish to remain at Ormond House despite the increasing threat against her—that he had overruled her.

She had a good mind to escape at the earliest opportunity. Just to spite him. Though her innate sense of honesty forced her to admit that she might—just might—have been a bit foolish not to accept his argument that she should leave before something more dangerous than having pig’s blood thrown on her happened. So far, the measures the anonymous villain had taken against her had been mere mental torture. But she knew from both her sister’s and Georgina’s experiences with him that sooner or later he would make an attempt on her life. Or his surrogate would. And it was to prevent this from happening that Archer had kidnapped her.

She supposed it was sweet in a thoroughly annoying sort of way.

Even so, when the carriage door opened to reveal a travel-worn Archer, she did not greet him with open arms. He might have her best interests at heart, but it was her decision to make. Not his.

“We’ve arrived at the Happy Hen,” he said, offering her his hand. “We’ll stop here for the night and should reach our destination in the morning.”

Taking his hand, Perdita let him hand her down. And because it was an unknown establishment, she took his arm as they entered the inn.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lyle,” the innkeeper gushed as they stepped inside, “welcome! Welcome!”

Perdita looked around to see who this Lyle couple was that the innkeeper thought more important than a duchess. Then she realized he was speaking to them. Lyle. Clever.

“We should like to have a private supper served in our rooms,” Archer said to the little man. “It’s been a long journey. My wife would also like a bath if that is possible.”

“Of course,” the man said, leading them up the stairs to the door of their room. “I’ll see that your supper is brought up immediately.”

Perdita stepped into the chamber while Archer tipped the man. To her surprise it was only a bedroom with an attached dressing room. Lavish, yes. But with a single large bed against the wall.

She heard Archer shut the door with a firm click behind her and immediately felt butterflies in her stomach.

He must have seen her looking at the bed, for he said, “It was the only room left. There is a local hunt ball going on at the moment. We were lucky to get this one. It’s actually much nicer than I expected it would be.”

“But there is only the one bed,” Perdita protested, turning to face him.

Archer’s brows rose. “It’s not as if we haven’t shared a bed before,” he said mildly.

“But I’m angry with you,” she said tightly. “I’m certainly in no mood for … for that.” She indicated the bed rather than using any of the other words or phrases that might describe the wonderful things that had happened between them in a bed before. She wasn’t willing to say them lest she reveal how her body was clamoring for them. Despite her mind’s decision not to let any of them happen again for a long time. Or until she was no longer punishing him.

“Well,” he said with a little heat, “I’m too tired for that at the present time anyway, so I plan to use that bed for the purpose for which it was made.” Turning his back to her he walked into the dressing room and began washing his face and hands. “That’s sleeping in case you didn’t know,” he called to her.

“Fine,” she said, loosening the strings of her bonnet and flinging it onto a side table.

A knock on the door indicated that their food had arrived and they didn’t speak again until after they’d both consumed some of the delicious stew and still-warm bread.

“You could have asked for a bath, as well,” Perdita said, putting her fork down at last. She’d been much hungrier than she’d supposed. And the food had put her in a more pleasant mood.

“Too much work,” he said, taking another piece of bread. “I’ll make do with the basin. I know how you enjoy your bath so I arranged for it.”

“Why are you being so nice?” she asked, frustrated at his consideration while she was trying as hard as she could to maintain her grudge against him. “It doesn’t change the fact that you took me from London against my will.”

He laughed. “I’m not trying to turn you up sweet, Perdita. I know you’re upset with me. And if the situation were reversed I might be just as angry. But I did what I thought best.”

Any further discussion was forestalled by the arrival of two footmen carrying a copper tub and a pair of maids with cans of hot water.

Once the tub was filled, Perdita stepped into the dressing room, where it had been set up, and closed the adjoining door behind her.

As soon as she lowered herself into the lavender-scented water, every ache in her carriage-rattled body felt soothed. She let out a sigh of relaxation and leaned back.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d soaked, but when she stepped out of the dressing room, she saw that Archer was fast asleep beneath the covers on one side of the bed.

She allowed herself the luxury of watching him in stillness. In slumber the lines that fanned out from his eyes and that bracketed his mouth were almost nonexistent. Asleep he looked younger, happier, less worried. He’d been worried about her of late, she thought ruefully. Perhaps she wasn’t being fair to make him pay for his removal of her from London. After all, he truly did have her best interest at heart. Which was a far cry from any of the times Gervase had made decisions for her.

Removing her dressing gown, she slipped between the cool sheets, and despite her earlier vows to herself not to do so, she curled up against him. In his sleep, he turned and put his arm around her. Closing her eyes, Perdita allowed sleep to overtake her.

*   *   *

Archer awoke to the sound of Perdita whimpering. He knew that before he even opened his eyes.

“I won’t do it again, Your Grace,” she said in a tone meant to pacify. “I promise. I promise. Just please don’t hit me again.”

But he knew that in her nightmare as well as in real life, her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. She jolted as if she’d been struck and cried out. “No, no, please no!” she wailed.

He touched her on the shoulder and was sickened when she jerked away from him. “Perdita, wake up. Open your eyes. You’re dreaming. Perdita!”

It took a few moments of cajoling, but Perdita finally opened her eyes. They were blank, as if she were still in the dream, but after a couple of moments, she blinked and said, “Archer? Is it really you?” She reached out and touched his face before throwing herself into his arms. Shuddering sobs wrenched her whole body.

“Easy, love,” he crooned. “You’re safe. I have you. It was only a dream. I won’t let anything like that happen to you again.”

It took several minutes of his reassurances and holding her as she wept before she finally laid her head on his shoulder and stopped. “It was that first beating,” she whispered against his skin. “It’s always that one I dream of. I think because I felt the most betrayed by it. Up until then he’d been everything I’d ever dreamed a loving husband could be. But that day I saw behind the mask to the monster beneath.”

“What happened?” he asked, though he wanted to hear about her husband laying his hands on her about as much as he wanted to have a tooth drawn. If it made her feel better to talk about it, though, he’d do it.

“It was his b-birthday,” she stammered. “I’d gone to a great deal of trouble planning the perfect birthday dinner for him. But instead of coming home for dinner he was out late carousing with friends. When he came to my bed, I refused him. It was the first time I’d ever done so. But I was so angry that he’d neglected me. At that point, you see, I was rather spoiled by him. But instead of begging my forgiveness as he would have done before, he backhanded me. And when I protested, he hit me again. So hard I fell out of bed.”

Archer stroked her back, but what he truly wished was to go back in time and teach the late duke how wrong he’d been to touch Perdita with anything other than a gentle hand. As he’d done so many times before, he chastised himself for not figuring out what was going on long before he had. If he’d known, Gervase’s career as an abuser would have been much shorter.

“How did he respond?” he asked, wanting to know but dreading her response.

“He laughed,” Perdita said with a shake of her head. “He thought it was the height of amusement that he’d knocked me out of the bed with his fist. When I tried to leave the room, he chided me for being so missish and made me get back into the bed with him. As if he’d only been funning. He apologized for hitting me, but explained that he couldn’t allow me to talk to him—a duke—like that. It was as if that excused everything. What’s really awful about that night is that I believed him when he exclaimed over my bruises and dressed every wound himself. When he made gentle love to me. I was such a fool.”