Why Lords Lose Their Hearts Read online

  “Damn right he will,” Con said, blowing a cloud of smoke. “Poor bastard.”

  Nine

  Perdita, her sister, and Georgina were taking tea in her private sitting room some time later, when a brisk knock on the outer door was followed by Archer showing a somewhat disheveled man in.

  “Ladies,” he said, bowing to them. “This is Mr. Josiah Reddington from the London magistrate’s office.” He looked pointedly at Perdita. “You said that you wished to speak to him when he arrived, Your Grace. Is that still the case?”

  Since this was the first time she’d seen Archer since their earlier encounter—the one with kissing and whatnot—she found herself fighting a blush. Hopefully the others would take it for nervousness. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Lord Archer, for remembering.”

  She turned to her companions, who were watching the exchange avidly. And despite the seriousness of the meeting with the investigator, she knew their interest had nothing to do with him. “Your Grace, my lady,” she said, hoping to sound more authoritative than she felt, “I beg you to excuse us while I speak to the investigator.”

  Perhaps seeing that Perdita was a bit overset by the situation, Isabella and Georgina rose immediately, each squeezing her shoulder in comfort before they left the room.

  She turned to the two men and gestured for them to take seats around the tea table. Needing the ritual, she rang for more cups—which arrived in due haste thanks to the kitchen staff’s curiosity about the investigator, no doubt—and began to pour for them. “Mr. Reddington,” she said to the ginger-haired man, “I appreciate your taking time to speak to me about the incident in the park.”

  “With all due respect, Your Grace,” the investigator said with a frown, “when duchesses are bein’ chased down in the park by men in disguise, the magistrate’s office takes things very seriously. It just ain’t done.”

  She took in the way his bushy brows moved as he spoke and saw that he was indeed unsettled by it. “All the same, I do appreciate your being here. Now, what may I do to help you in your search for my attacker?”

  Perdita didn’t look at Archer, who was seated next to her, but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. He was just as unhappy about this situation as she was.

  “Your Grace,” Reddington said, holding the dainty china teacup in his large hands. “What I’d like first is for you to tell me everything whot happened when you got to the park. Any little detail might help.”

  “That’s just it, I’m afraid,” she said with an apologetic frown. “I don’t recall anything that happened from a few minutes before we left Ormond House until waking up in my bedchamber hours later. The entire trip to the park is a blank. I have tried to remember, of course, but nothing seems to help.”

  If she expected him to be disappointed, she was clearly wrong, however. “Aye,” he said, nodding to her, his brows bouncing as he did so. “Lord Archer told me that were the case. I just needed to hear it from the ’orse’s mouth.” Perhaps realizing that he ought not refer to a peeress of the realm as a horse, he winced, and added, “Not that Your Grace is anywise like an ’orse, o’course.”

  “I should think not,” Perdita said with a smile. The light moment was much needed given the seriousness of the situation. Of which she was reminded at his next words.

  “I’ve spoken to Lord Archer and I’m to speak with Lord Dunthorp later about the events o’ that day, but what I need to hear from you is why you think this stranger is tryin’ to ’arm you. Most men know well enough the consequences should they do any kind of damage to a member of the aristocracy, but this fella don’t seem to care. He must have a real good reason to risk ’is neck like that.”

  Before she could respond, he continued, his eyes still kind but expressing something else. A statement that she didn’t much care for. “Seems to me that your family has suffered a great deal of harm in recent years.”

  All traces of amusement left her. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.”

  Turning his teacup around and around in his hands, the investigator’s eyes never left her. “Well, it’s not many a young man like your late husband that dies so young.”

  Perdita froze. She had suspected this was where he was headed, but hearing the words sent a jolt of fear through her the likes of which she’d not experienced since Gervase died. Still, she managed to maintain her composure. Taking a sip of tea, she then lowered it to the saucer in her hand. “I fear it was an accident while he was cleaning his gun, Mr. Reddington. Things like that happen in even the noblest of households, I’m afraid.”

  She resisted the urge to turn to Archer for support, but couldn’t help but feel his reassuring presence beside her.

  “Aye,” Reddington said slowly. “It does happen from time to time. It’s just there was a rumor at the time that everything wasn’t as it seemed with that ‘accident,’ if ye know what I mean.”

  “Is there a question for the lady there, Reddington?” Archer asked amiably. “For I can assure you that she is more than willing to answer them. But I don’t quite see the connection between His Grace and what happened to the duchess yesterday.”

  But whatever he’d been searching for with his questions seemed to have been answered, for Reddington nodded, saying, “If you want my ’onest opinion, my lord, I don’t think one has anything to do with the other. But an investigator must cover every possible line of enquiry.”

  The knot in Perdita’s stomach loosened a bit and she was able to breathe again. “As far as I know, Mr. Reddington, I don’t have any enemies. At least none that I am acquainted with. There was talk when my husband died, suggestions that he took his own life or perhaps that my sister and I had done it so that she could then seduce and marry the heir to the dukedom. But that was ludicrous of course. She had never even met the current duke then. Though they are married now.”

  “You’d be surprised just what sorts of things folk will come up with to explain deaths, Your Grace,” Reddington assured her. “But right now, concentrating on your attack, I’ve taken as much information as I can from you. If you find you’ve recalled something about that day, no matter how small, I should like for you to contact me.” He handed her a calling card with the address of the magistrate’s office on it.

  He rose, and Perdita and Archer did so as well.

  As he neared the door, Perdita said, “Oh, Mr. Reddington, if at all possible, I do wish that you would try to keep the news of my attack out of the papers. I shouldn’t wish for something like this to become public knowledge.”

  At that, the man turned back again, and exchanged a speaking glance with Archer. At the other man’s nod, he said, “Your Grace, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

  Unused to having her requests refused, she frowned. “Why not? There’s no reason to even speak of it when we have no information on who the man was anyway.”

  “You misunderstand me, Your Grace. It’s not that I’m unwilling to keep the attack quiet. It’s that the papers have already got hold of the story. It was on the front page of the Times this morning.”

  Perdita’s mouth dropped open. “No! Why haven’t I heard anything about it? I should think we’d be pestered with journalists at every turn.”

  “As to that,” Reddington said with a shrug, “I cannot tell you.”

  Taking his leave of her, he saw himself out.

  Archer, who had been standing just behind her, spoke first. “Before you rip up at me,” he said, “I did not keep the papers from you. As it happens, since the duke is in residence they were taken to him in his study.”

  She turned to look at him, gauging his sincerity. Which seemed honest enough. “And the journalists?”

  “The staff has been told not to disturb you. And all journalists have been refused entry.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” she said with relief. “I should have run mad. They are persistent.”

  “You aren’t angry?” he asked warily. He looked at her as if she were a snake about to st
rike.

  “Should I be?” she asked, wondering what was bothering him.

  He thrust a hand through his carefully coiffed hair. “Not angry, I suppose,” he said, “but you were quite upset this morning at the news I’d called for the magistrate’s man. I assumed that you would be equally annoyed that decisions had been made about who got to see you.”

  She must have really been awful this morning, Perdita reflected. She walked closer to him, until they were almost chest to chest. Looking up at him, she said, “I have no problem with your saving me from distress while I was unwell. And I certainly—as you know—have no interest in speaking to journalists about an event I cannot even remember.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the mouth, but slipped away when he tried to pull her closer. “Ah, ah, ah. No more until tonight”

  Now a few feet away, Perdita grinned at him.

  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, with a mock frown.

  “Not yet, if you please,” she said with asperity. “At least not until I’ve had my wicked way with you.”

  “Have you noticed that this entire relationship is upside down?” He arched one blond brow. “I am the one who should be having my wicked way with you.”

  “Only if I were some naïve innocent,” she said with pursed lips. “Which I most certainly am not.”

  He took a step closer. “Nor, madam,” he said with a bit of a growl, “am I.”

  Oh, she liked this possessive Archer. Despite her fear of marrying again, she could not deny that some part of her enjoyed the idea of being possessed by him. Perhaps because she knew that he would let her go if she wished.

  Dancing back a few steps, she held out a restraining arm. “I never said you were, sirrah. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

  At her words, she saw his eyes darken. This was fun.

  And dangerous.

  “Now, be off with you,” she said. “I must decide what to wear this evening.”

  He frowned. “For dinner?”

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

  At his nod, she said, “I am promised to the Elphinstone rout. And so are you, I daresay.”

  “Ugh,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “I forgot. I don’t suppose you will agree to stay in and rest your poor head?”

  “Of course I won’t,” she said. “Our guests wish to go, too. And I should like to see what those in attendance have to say about my attack.”

  “Surely they will offer some sympathy and be done with it?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot help but feel that our villain will wish to see the results of his handiwork. If not bruises, then fear.”

  “You think he’ll be there?” Archer asked, his gaze intent.

  “I cannot know,” she said. “But I’m curious. Very, very curious.”

  * * *

  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—” V
yse 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.