Why Lords Lose Their Hearts (12 page)

The Elphinstone rout was, by anyone’s estimation, a crush.

Archer had hoped he would be able to use the occasion to gauge reaction from those in attendance to Perdita’s attack in the park, but there were so many people crammed into the rooms of the Elphinstone town house that it was difficult to gauge where he would take his next step, much less look about him as he walked.

“I’ve never understood the entertainment value in packing as many people as one can into airless rooms,” Con muttered from behind him. The Duke of Ormond had taken one step into the entrance hall and turned right back around, Isabella in tow, and left. Archer didn’t blame him. It was enough to make him want to swoon, so he had no surprise that the other man would wish to keep his pregnant wife away.

“Surely there are some less crowded rooms the farther back we go,” Perdita said from beside him. “I think I recall there is a parlor to the right with French doors.”

He allowed her to leave, and watched as the crowd seemed to separate a bit as they realized it was she who wished to get by. More than one lady stopped fanning herself to whisper behind the accessory to a companion. No one offered her a greeting, though Archer wasn’t sure if that was because of Perdita’s notoriety or simply the heat. They finally reached the parlor she’d spoken of to find that it was indeed cooler than the entrance rooms had been, and some clever soul had opened the doors leading into the garden. The fresh air was a welcome relief.

“I was afraid we’d spend the entire evening trapped in that heat,” Georgina said with relief. “Thank goodness you knew to keep going, Perdita.”

“I’ve been to one of the Elphinstones’ routs before,” Perdita responded. “For some reason people seem to go only so far and then stop. It’s quite odd, really.”

“Now that you two are settled,” Archer said, “Con and I will go in search of refreshments. This room is cooler, but I should like a drink for my trouble. And I do not mean to settle for that insipid lemonade Lady Elphinstone tries to pass off as punch.”

“Excellent notion, that,” Con said with a nod. “Lead the way.”

When the two had left the room, Georgina pulled Perdita toward a small settee near the open doors. Both ladies sat and appreciated the fresh air for a bit before Georgie spoke. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me about what happened earlier today.” She kept her voice low so that they’d not be overheard by the others in the room. Which was unlikely since there were still a lot of people there, just not as many as in the rooms closer to the entrance hall.

Perdita had been hoping that her explanations for what happened that morning in the study were over. But she shrugged and said, “Not really. I’ve already been interrogated about it by Isabella. Can you not ask her?”

“I did,” Georgie said with a frown. “But she said that only you and Archer were there.”

Something about the way Georgie said the words made Perdita pause. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“The meeting with the man from the magistrate’s office,” Georgie said. “You didn’t think I’d be so forward as to ask what happened in the study, surely? Con would probably do so, but I think some things should be kept private.”

Perdita hugged her. “Have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

Georgie grinned. “Not nearly enough.”

A disturbance near the pocket doors leading into the parlor interrupted them.

“The Duchess of Ormond,” a well-dressed gentleman slurred as he pushed forward toward them. “As I live and breathe.”

Perdita recognized him at once. Lord Vyse, one of her late husband’s boon companions. Up to any sort of vice, Vyse had been by Gervase’s side for his most debauched entertainments. From whorehouses to gambling hells, nothing was too unsavory for them. He had not been a favorite of Perdita’s, though he had enjoyed casting lascivious looks her way when her husband wasn’t looking. She’d never told Gervase, unsure whether he’d have become angry at Vyse, or as she suspected, turned his anger against her.

“It is the dowager Duchess of Ormond, Lord Vyse,” she said calmly, “as I believe you know.”

His cruelly handsome face darkened. “Yes, I do know, Your Grace.” He made the courtesy sound like an insult. “It is hard to forget that one’s dear friend is dead. I wonder that you even remember he existed, madam, for all the mourning you’ve done.”

“It has been over a year, my lord,” she said, wishing she could think of something that would make him leave her be. Unfortunately, they’d attracted the notice of everyone in the room, and guests from the rest of the house began to slip in, as if in hopes of a brawl. “I have mourned my husband as decreed by society, I think.”

“Oh, listen to her,” Vyse said to the room in general. “As if she’s been weeping over poor Ormond this past year and more. It’s enough to turn my stomach.”

“I should think that’s just the overabundance of alcohol you’ve put in it,” Georgie said coolly. She took her friend’s hand and Perdita nearly wept with gratitude. “Perhaps you should go home and let the spirits wear off, my lord.”

“Who asked you, you nosy bi—” Vyse swayed on his feet a bit, but managed to stabilize himself by grabbing hold of the mantel. It was impossible not to notice the enormous signet ring he wore on the hand that clutched the ornate stone fireplace. Vyse had always been rather vain about his lineage, which he claimed connected him to kings on both sides of the Channel.

“That happens to be my lady wife, Vyse,” came Con’s silky tones from the entrance to the room. “I suggest, although I know it will be difficult, you reconsider finishing that word, else I shall have to call you out. And to be honest, I would rather not spend the wee hours of the morning putting a bullet in you. Much nicer places to be at that hour, don’t you think?”

It was indeed a difficult matter for the drunk man to take in what Con was saying, but since he was incapable of maintaining more than one thought at a time just now, he simply shifted his attention to Con. As if he hadn’t just threatened to shoot him. “Con’ston. You knew Ormond, di’nt you? Bet you think she did it, too, don’ you?”

But Archer, who had been waiting beside Coniston, taking in the scene, stepped forward. “I believe you’d best stop this line of conversation, else you’ll be facing more challenges.”

Vyse tried to focus. “Who’re you?”

Archer bowed, not nearly as low as the other man’s rank demanded, but Vyse was too far gone to notice social niceties. “I am Lord Archer Lisle, and I was acquainted with the late Duke of Ormond. I should like it if you refrained from discussing him any further.”

Like a small child denied a treat, Vyse stamped his foot. “No I won’t. He’s dead and it’s all her fault.”

“Surely you can’t think that she shot him herself?” Archer asked icily. Perdita was shocked at how close to the truth he’d come, and for a moment, she feared that the others in the room would all shout out that yes, they did believe she’d shot him.

But the ploy worked just as Archer must have planned, for the room at large gasped, and she could hear a few of the ladies murmur, “Surely not!”

“No,” Vyse protested. “Not…” His brows knitted together. He was clearly having difficulty thinking. About anything.

Before Vyse could continue, or Archer could attempt once more to make him stop talking or leave, another voice sounded from the doorway, and to Perdita’s extreme discomfort Lord Dunthorp elbowed his way past the onlookers. “My dear duchess,” he exclaimed, so loudly that Perdita suspected they’d heard him on the front steps of the house. “Pray tell me you are unharmed by this ruffian! First the attack yesterday in the park and now this! It’s not to be borne.” He knelt before her and took both her hands in his own.

Perdita kept from snatching them away by sheer dint of will. But every fiber of her being wanted Dunthorp to get away from her. Now.

At the mention of the attack in the park, the room erupted with conversation as everyone who had been too well bred to ask about what they’d all devoured in this morning’s papers took the opportunity afforded them by Dunthorp to have their curiosity satisfied.

Vyse, no longer the center of attention, and likely overcome by drink, slumped against the wall, and was escorted from the room by two other gentlemen who were either friends of his, or saw his removal as a good deed.

“You must have been terrified,” Lady Gowan said from the French doors.

“Have they caught the ruffian yet?” Lord Goodnight demanded, his walruslike mustache communicating his worry.

“Could it have been the ghost of your husband?” whispered old Lady Moreton, who was known to hold séances fortnightly. “If it was a violent death his spirit could be unsettled.”

When Archer stopped just behind where Dunthorp knelt clasping her hands, Perdita nearly wept with relief. Perhaps she would have to rethink the idea of marrying Dunthorp, she thought, wishing he would back up. He’d clearly had onions for supper and the smell was making her nauseous.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Archer said in that tone Perdita knew meant he was not to be gainsaid. “But I think it would be best for Her Grace to leave.” When Dunthorp made no move to get out of the way, Archer added, “Sooner rather than later.”

Still the other man ignored him, saying to Perdita, “I knew something like this would happen as soon as I learned you were coming tonight.”

“How could you possibly have known?” Perdita asked, wondering if she’d mentioned it in conversation sometime earlier in the week.

“I called at your house this evening shortly before the dinner hour,” he said calmly. He’d been trying to wangle a dinner invitation, she thought with annoyance. “As I was concerned about your health after yesterday’s—”

Perdita cut him off, “My lord, as you can see, I am well. And I agree with Lord Archer that we should leave now. I no longer wish to be here and endure being the center of attention.”

“Of course we must leave,” Dunthorp said indulgently. “If Lord Archer would just have my coach pulled around, we can be gone at once.”

Behind him, Archer raised a brow and Perdita returned the look with widened eyes. Clearly Dunthorp was ascribing more importance to their relationship than she was. “Lord Dunthorp,” she said firmly, “I should like to return home with my own party. Thank you all the same.”

But to her surprise, Dunthorp would not take no for an answer. She could see that Archer was losing patience, but thankfully, Con stepped forward and addressed the kneeling man. “Dunthorp, old fellow. I should like to talk to you about putting in some protection measures at Ormond House. The duke has asked me to do so and I thought since you are clearly concerned about Her Grace’s safety, you might wish to discuss it with me.”

Clearly liking this line of thought, Dunthorp rose. “Of course. An excellent notion.” Turning to Perdita, he said, “I will exchange a few words with Lord Coniston before we go. I won’t be but a few minutes.”

When he turned he saw Archer was still standing there, and his brow furrowed. “I thought I asked you to have my carriage brought round.”

Archer didn’t blink. “I’m afraid you’ve confused me with one of the servants, Dunthorp. I am the son of a duke. A younger son to be sure, but fetching carriages is not something I do. Especially when it goes against the wishes of a lady.”

Dunthorp stood up straighter, though he was still half a head shorter than Archer. Perdita rather thought Archer made Dunthorp look much worse by comparison. “Now see here,” he began, before Con slipped an arm around his shoulders and led him away. Perdita could hear him saying, “Now, personally, I think armed guards are the way to go, but Ormond disagrees. Where do you stand on the issue?”

To Perdita’s relief, Dunthorp forgot his annoyance with Archer in the onslaught of pride brought on by Con’s trust.

“You’ve got a problem there,” Georgina said from beside her. “I thought I was going to have to use my pistol.”

“Good God,” Archer said, gaping. “You carry it with you to routs?”

“One never knows when someone will need to be shot,” Georgie said with a shrug. “I think I’ll go see where Con took Lord Dumbthorp.”

Perdita giggled at the wordplay, and then saw that she was about to be accosted by a very large lady whose avid expression marked her as someone who wished to discuss something with her that she’d find unpleasant. Perdita wasn’t sure what, but she didn’t want to find out. “Get me out of this place,” she told Archer, who took her arm and protected her from all importunity as they made their way to retrieve their cloaks and wait for the carriage.

Ten

The ride back to Ormond House was blessedly swift, despite the number of other vehicles making their exodus from Elphinstone House.

Everyone headed up to bed, and though he’d exchanged a look with Perdita, he wasn’t quite sure whether what they’d planned earlier in the day was still on after what had happened at the Elphinstones’.

Still, when he knocked on her bedchamber door once everyone at Ormond House was abed, Perdita opened it almost before his knuckles hit the wood.

“Hurry,” she whispered, shooing him in. “You weren’t seen, were you?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he responded, as she shut the door behind him. He turned to look at her—really look—and he caught his breath as he saw how beautiful she was. She’d donned a nearly transparent gown that left very little to the imagination when it came to her lithe curves. He could see the shadow of her nipples through the thin fabric as well as the hint of triangle at the juncture of her thighs.

It was the most sensual garment he’d ever laid eyes on.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Perdita crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry about the gown. I’ve never engaged in an affair before. I wanted to be alluring for you. Though I’m not sure alluring is something I can do.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with your gown,” Archer said, hoping his eyes conveyed that as well as his words. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than you in that gown, Perdita. In fact, I think I should like to have a painting of it to keep in my bedchamber.”

“Really?” The words came out in a whisper as he crossed to stand before her. “I thought it was perhaps a bit too…”