Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Page 2

  “Let the play entitled The Secret begin,” Lady Sumrall said, before stepping aside while the actors took their places before the musicians’ dais.

  Intrigued despite himself, Archer folded his arms across his chest as the performance got under way.

  Mrs. Pfeiffer and Miss Wright stood to one side while Mrs. Lloyd and Mr. Keating took center stage. As both of them remained silent, Mrs. Lloyd stood before an imaginary table arranging flowers, moving them this way and that as she assessed them. Behind her, Keating stormed forward, his face thunderous as he roughly touched her on the shoulder. As she turned in surprise, he brandished an invisible letter as if to admonish her with whatever was written there. Her eyes wide, Mrs. Lloyd clasped her hands before her, pleading with him as he glared at her, his grip on her arm tight and painful-looking. The actress exaggerated her actions, throwing her head and making as if to escape his grip. Then Keating grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  Though it was obvious that the two were acting, Archer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the scene making him uncomfortable.

  From stage left, Mrs. Pfeiffer entered, and stomped her foot. Keating and Lloyd turned, feigning shock. From stage right, Miss Wright entered and gasped loudly. Seeing the other woman, Keating pulled Mrs. Lloyd against him and placed an invisible knife to her throat. Archer watched in dawning horror as Mrs. Pfeiffer clasped an invisible pistol between her hands and pulled the trigger. At the same time, Mrs. Lloyd twisted out of his grasp. Then Miss Wright and Mrs. Pfeiffer rushed toward Keating as he fell senseless to the floor. All three women embraced and stilled, the performance over as the ballroom erupted in thunderous applause.

  His mouth agape, Archer stood motionless as the three actors took their bows and Lady Sumrall’s guests continued to rain praise upon them. Then, he pushed his way through the crowd, desperate to get to where he’d last seen Perdita. Because he knew without doubt that she would have been as disturbed as he was by the performance.

  Not because the subject matter was so shocking. One can and did see more melodrama at the theater every evening of the week.

  No, she’d be shocked by this show for another reason altogether.

  Because the actors from the Theater Royale hadn’t simply been performing a play written for the entertainment of Lady Sumrall’s guests. It had been written to instill fear in the heart of one person and one alone. Perdita.

  The scene hadn’t depicted a scene from the imagination of the playwright. It had been the retelling of a scene that was all too familiar to the widowed duchess. Because she’d not only witnessed it, but lived it.

  On the day her husband died.

  * * *

  Perdita, Duchess of Ormond, stood chatting with Lady Entwhistle on the side of the Sumrall ballroom, slightly out of breath from her waltz with Lord Dunthorp. He’d gone in search of champagne for them both, and if she were completely honest with herself, Perdita was slightly relieved to be out from beneath his watchful eye.

  Dunthorp was a nice enough man, but his unrelenting pursuit of her had become a bit of a discomfort to her in the past few weeks. It wasn’t that she disliked him. If that were so she’d have sent the man packing when he’d first begun to show interest. No, it was just that Perdita, having only last year emerged from beneath her husband’s controlling thumb, was not quite ready to call someone else her lord and master. She liked being able to make her own decisions and come and go as she pleased. She enjoyed choosing her own gowns and not having to worry that the bruises Gervase had left on her the night before would show no matter how she tugged down the sleeves.

  One would think that since her severed engagement to Lord Coniston, she’d have learned her lesson about attaching herself to single gentlemen before she was quite sure of her feelings for them. Fortunately for her, her friend Georgina had married Coniston shortly thereafter, so he was none the worse for wear. Not that he would have been at any rate, since theirs had been a betrothal of convenience more than anything else. But Dunthorp was not as indifferent as Coniston had been, and Perdita had no more friends waiting in the wings to sweep him off his feet. And if her intuition was right, he was working up to offer for her sometime in the next few weeks. An offer she had no intention of accepting. And rejection would put an end to their friendship.

  “Are you aware that Lord Archer Lisle is staring at you as if he wished to carry you off and ravish you, darling?” Lady Entwhistle asked, jerking Perdita from her reverie. “If I had a man of his looks desperate for me,” she went on, “I’d not be wasting time here in Lady Sumrall’s crowded ballroom, darling, that’s certain.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Letitia,” Perdita said with a laugh, “Lord Archer is simply playing the duenna. He has taken it upon himself to look after me and he’s worse than an old mother hen.” That she found Lord Archer, with his golden good looks and tall, impressively strong physique, to be devilishly handsome was neither here nor there. She and Archer were friends. That was all, and as she’d just been telling herself, she had no wish for another husband.

  “If you say so, my dear duchess,” Lady Entwhistle, who was known for her affairs as much as she was for her impeccable taste, said with a shake of her head. “It’s a shame, though, if you don’t take advantage of all that deliciousness while you still can. Dunthorp is a nice enough man, but look at Lord Archer’s shoulders!”

  Perdita was saved from replying by their hostess, who announced a particular entertainment had been arranged for them this evening. It had been thus since the beginning of the season. Each hostess of the ton had made it her business to outdo the ones preceding her. Thus, Lady Glenlivet had imported a real Venetian gondola to give rides in the pond behind her house in Hampstead, though that had come to grief when Lord Glenlivet had attempted to get a bit too close to his mistress in the boat and overturned it and them in the waist-high water. Then Lady Moulton had hired a pair of acrobats from Astley’s to perform in the garden of her Grosvenor Square town house, complete with flaming hoops through which they leaped most impressively … until one of the hoops caught a lemon tree aflame and the fire brigade had to be summoned. Now, it would seem, Lady Sumrall had found yet another means to entertain her guests. Though having mere actors perform in her ballroom was a bit of a letdown, if Perdita were to be honest with herself.

  When the players had finished their little tableau, however, Perdita was gasping for breath and trying desperately to make her way through the crowded ballroom to one—any—of the doors leading into the rest of the house. She was on the point of shouting to make herself heard above the din of applause when she felt a strong arm guiding her.

  “Easy,” she heard Archer say before she could wrest herself from his hold. “I’ll get you out of here,” he told her, the reverberation of his voice at her ear strangely reassuring.

  Silently, they pushed their way past what for Perdita was a blur of colorful gowns, black coats, and white cravats toward the French doors at the back of the Sumrall ballroom. As soon as they stepped outside she was able to breathe again, and she gripped his arm tighter than was strictly necessary as he led her toward a picturesque little bower just out of range of the torchlight coming from the terrace.

  “Sit,” he said brusquely, and she knew that if she were in a different mood she’d have chided him for talking to her as if she were one of his spaniels. But she was so relieved to be out of the ballroom, she lowered herself to the little bench beneath the rose arbor and hugged her arms. It was then that she realized her teeth were chattering, and with a curse, he sat down beside her and pulled her against him, warming her with the heat from his body.

  “I’d give you my coat but I don’t think I can get the damned thing off without help,” he muttered, rubbing her bare arms with his gloved hands. To her astonishment, she began to cry, with gulping, hideous little sobs that even as she heard them mortified her. But she was unable to stop herself, and Archer, being Archer, seemed prepared for it, and pulled her against his chest and l
et her sob into his beautifully tied cravat before giving her his handkerchief and instructing her to blow her nose.

  When she had recovered herself and dried her eyes, Perdita pulled away from the comfort of his arms and moved cautiously over a bit so that they were no longer plastered against one another like peas in a pod.

  “I’m sorry for that,” she said stiffly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  He laughed bitterly. “I’d say you were overset by seeing the scene of Gervase’s death reenacted before a ballroom full of London society,” he said. “And I can’t say I blame you.”

  She closed her eyes, the tableau blending with the actual scene in her mind as the horror of what had just happened revealed itself to her once more. Whoever it was that had been threatening her, had threatened Isabella and Georgina, was sending her a message. A very public and very terrifying message.

  “He’s raising the stakes,” she said grimly. “He’s no longer content to threaten me in private. He’s willing to bring his threats out into the open. To risk my reputation by accusing me in a ballroom full of witnesses.”

  “But he’s too much of a dam … dashed coward to reveal his own identity,” Archer agreed. “Do you think anyone noticed your reaction to the pantomime?” he asked, his jaw tight.

  Perdita thought back to the scene around her as the players had acted out their drama. But all she could remember was her own response to the show. The sick feeling in her stomach, and the dawning horror as she realized just what it was they were performing. Aloud she said, “I don’t know. I was too intent upon my own reaction.”

  He nodded, and Perdita watched his profile as he stared out at the garden beyond them. They were silent for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Perdita wondered what would happen if someone had noticed her fleeing the ballroom with Archer at her side. Belatedly she remembered Lord Dunthorp and suspected that she might not need to worry about rejecting him now. Though she didn’t want to marry him, she did feel bad for disappointing him. He was a nice man, and deserved better than that.

  “You have to leave town,” Archer said, turning to her, his expression determined in the torchlight. “It’s the only way to keep this madman from ruining your reputation before the ton.”

  She stiffened. She’d lived with the fear that this person’s threats had induced in her for months now. And though tonight’s had been his most public attack upon her to date, she wasn’t about to let him scare her from leaving the field altogether. “I disagree,” she said firmly. “We don’t even know if the others in the ballroom were even aware of the meaning of that little show. Why on earth should I allow him to make me leave town and let him think his threats are working?”

  “They are working,” he said hotly. “You were shaking a few minutes ago, and weeping. Or don’t you remember that?”

  She sat up straighter. “I don’t like your tone, Lord Archer,” Perdita said calmly.

  “Well,” he said, standing up to loom over her, “I don’t like the way you’re ignoring the very real danger this person poses.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up on one side. “Perdita, he’s already sent proxies to make attempts on both Isabella’s and Georgina’s lives. Everything he’s done thus far has indicated that he means to make you pay the most for what happened to Gervase. Do you honestly wish to remain here while he escalates his campaign against you?”

  “I am more than aware of what this person did, or tried to do to my sister and my friend,” she retorted. “But that doesn’t mean that I will simply walk away. Besides, how long should I remain in hiding? One year, two, ten? I’m not going to let someone with a vendetta against me dictate the terms of my life to me. If I do that he wins.”

  “But you’d be safe,” he argued. “And Ormond and Coniston and I could find him while you’re away. When the coast is clear you could return.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I spent years letting Gervase dictate my every move. I refuse to let someone I don’t even know do the same. I’m sorry, Archer, but I can’t do it. I won’t.”

  He stared at her. She watched as it dawned on him that nothing he could say would change her mind. His lips tight, he said, “Then it would appear there’s nothing left to be said.” With a short bow, he left her.

  He couldn’t have gone very far before she heard him say, “She’s there in the bower. I wish you joy of her.”

  With an inward sigh, she watched as Lord Dunthorp came around the corner.

  “Your Grace,” Dunthorp said, stopping before her. “I simply wished to assure myself that you were well.”

  Clenching her fist, Perdita realized that she still had Archer’s handkerchief. Schooling her features into a smile, she greeted Dunthorp and tried to put Archer from her mind.

  Two

  Since she was the only member of the Ormond family in residence—the new duke and duchess having returned to their country house in Yorkshire, and the dowager duchess having long since removed to her own town house—Perdita breakfasted alone the next morning, while reading the gossip papers. It was perhaps not seemly for a duchess to pay such heed to the ramblings of the press, but she found the drama and scandals amusing, and when the news was salacious, she did what she could to stanch the flow of blood in her own way.

  As she’d feared, today’s papers were full of the tale of last night’s drama at Lady Sumrall’s ball. “Players Tell a Tale of Murder at Sumrall Ball!” cried the Daily Mirror. While the Ladies’ Speculator suggested, “Could truth lie beneath the ballroom melodrama?” Though none of it suggested that there was any real evidence behind the speculation, Perdita allowed herself to indulge in a bit of worry over the situation as she sipped her tea. It wasn’t that she hoped for trouble, but if someone should begin to take the talk seriously, she would need to be prepared to rebut the stories.

  She was pouring herself the last cup of tea when the door to the breakfast parlor opened to reveal Archer. He looked none the worse for wear after last night’s argument, and indeed he was turned out with a precision and elegance that made Perdita clench her fists to keep from touching his spotless coat.

  Bowing, he said, “Your Grace, I apologize for interrupting your breakfast, but I had hoped that we might talk for a few moments about what is to be done with regard to your situation.”

  She’d been willing to listen to whatever it was he wished to tell her, but that was before he revealed that he wished to talk about her. She was in no mood to be handled by Archer’s oh-so-charming diplomatic method. Especially after last night’s disturbance. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” she said, pretending she didn’t understand him. “I do not have a situation.”

  He stepped closer, and when he gave a questioning look toward the chair beside hers she nodded. Once he was seated, he brought his fingertips together to form a point. “Your Grace,” he began again, “if I may speak plainly, what happened last night was that you received what was in essence a threat that was seen by every one of Lady Sumrall’s guests. Not only did the person who orchestrated things know the circumstances surrounding the late duke’s death, he felt bold enough to let you know that before your peers. These are not the actions of a circumspect person. The sort of person who will think twice before he risks calling a duchess a murderer. And I believe that since he was successful last night, he can only continue to attempt to catch your attention in bolder and louder ways.”

  It was not far from what he’d said last night, and in the cold light of day, Perdita was inclined to believe him. It had been bold to try such a scheme in Lady Sumrall’s drawing room. Not to mention incredibly skillful. A mere amateur couldn’t have pulled off such a feat. No, the person who’d planned last night’s trick was in the habit of orchestrating big events, directing several people at a time.

  “All of this is interesting,” Perdita said calmly, “but I’m not sure why you are telling me about it. I can hardly keep to my bedchamber for the rest of my days in fear that this per
son will act again. That would have done my sister no good, considering that the person who was stalking her turned out to be her own maid!”

  “You deliberately misunderstand me, Your Grace,” Archer said with a frown that did nothing to diminish the handsomeness of his face. It was quite unfair, Perdita mused. One should look cross and unhappy when reading a scold. Archer only looked beautifully stern, dash him.

  “And how is that?” she asked, knowing that by questioning him she was simply making him more annoyed. “It is true what I said about my sister, is it not?”

  “Of course it’s true,” he said his lips tight. “And I didn’t suggest that you remain in your bedchamber until we catch this person.”

  “Then what are you suggesting?” she asked, leaning back in her seat and offering him a bland look.

  His mouth quirked a little, as if he were aware that she was teasing him. Of course he’d have figured her out by now. He was always clever, was Archer.

  “I think that you should reconsider my advice about leaving town,” he said flatly.

  She opened her mouth to object—why on earth did he wish to revisit this when she’d settled the matter last night? But he spoke first. “Now, do not protest until you’ve heard my full argument,” he said. “I do not mean for you to leave town permanently. Not even for six months. I simply suggest that you remove yourself from this person’s gaze while Ormond, Coniston, and I conduct our own investigation to determine who the devil he is.” Belatedly realizing he’d sworn, he said, “Beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  “And where is it that I am supposed to go while you three wander all over town pretending to be Bow Street runners?” she asked with a raised brow. “To the Ormond estate in Derbyshire? Living circumspectly in Bath? Pretending to be a sea captain’s widow in Dover? Really, Lord Archer, there is nowhere that I can go that this person won’t be able to find me. He has already shown himself to be adept at infiltrating my household, and since we were never able to find where the leak is, he presumably still can.”