Read Online Archer's Lady: Bloodhounds, Book 3 by Moira Rogers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Moira Rogers
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one startled breath. If she’d dropped her gun when he stepped away, he might have killed the ghoul and been back at her side to catch it before it hit the floor.
Her fear had hurt him, and that shook her the most, for it underscored the ridiculousness of the emotion. Even in the moment, she hadn’t feared him. His actions, perhaps, and her foolishness in forgetting what he was, but not Archer himself.
No matter what violence he might be capable of, the man who’d taken her to bed with lust and tenderness wouldn’t hurt her. That gave her courage to knock on his door, Cook’s tray balanced on her hip. “Archer? I have supper for you.”
The reply that came was absent. “Come in.”
She eased open the door and froze on the threshold, held captive by the sight of her terrifying bloodhound hunched over the small desk with the ink-smeared cheeks of an absentminded scholar. The hands that had crushed the life out of the ghoul had performed the same task on a dozen scraps of paper, which lay crumpled at his elbows and near the foot of his chair. As she watched, his pen scratched over a fresh sheet, then returned to stroke through the notes as a furrow formed between his eyebrows.
His writing slowed, stopped, and he looked up at her, puzzled. “What is it, honey?”
Grace wondered if she was blushing. She felt foolish enough having been caught staring like a love-struck fool. She nudged the door shut behind her and crossed to the desk. “You have a little ink,” she murmured, setting the tray down. She reached out and ghosted her thumb over the top of his cheek. “Right here.”
“Oh. Damn things always leak.” Even more ink stained his fingers, and he studied them with a grumble. “I’ve been trying to decipher Doc’s notes.”
She walked to the vanity with its sink and hot and cold taps. Twisting the left knob brought hot water quickly enough, no doubt because the kitchen’s ovens had been hard at work. She returned to him with a damp towel and only barely resisted the urge to wipe his cheek herself. “Have you had any luck?”
“No.” He flipped one ledger shut and traced the odd symbol on its cover. “I should have paid more attention when Theron was lecturing me on Babbage and Vigenère’s blasted tabula recta .”
Words that would have held no meaning at all, if she hadn’t befriended the gang’s bespectacled little accountant in her quest to find a way to hide her money. “It’s a shift cipher?”
“I hope so, because otherwise I’ll never figure it out.” He thumped the book. “If it is one, though, it has a key. I tried Diana already, but nothing doing.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She gathered the notes and stacked them on top of the book to make room for the tray—and to give her some place to look other than his face while she mustered her apology. “Archer, I’m sorry. About earlier.”
He didn’t move. “For what?”
If she spent time making sure each piece of paper lined up precisely with the edge of the book, she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “For being afraid.”
At first, he said nothing. Then he sighed. “I’m not human anymore, Grace. You’d be a fool not to be frightened of the things I can do. I don’t care about that.”
She grasped desperately at his words. “Of the things you can do,” she agreed. “Seeing it was a shock. But I don’t want you to think—” Gathering her tattered dignity, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t afraid you’d hurt me.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I know, and I understand.”
Her heart wanted to pound its way into her throat just from that soft touch. Oh, and what a wicked edge of danger now. Time blunted the shock of it, gave his stark violence a sort of protective beauty. She already knew that he fucked with the same intensity that he fought, utterly focused and unabashedly victorious.
If she closed her eyes, she’d remember him clutching at her hips, his dark voice rolling over her,
Her fear had hurt him, and that shook her the most, for it underscored the ridiculousness of the emotion. Even in the moment, she hadn’t feared him. His actions, perhaps, and her foolishness in forgetting what he was, but not Archer himself.
No matter what violence he might be capable of, the man who’d taken her to bed with lust and tenderness wouldn’t hurt her. That gave her courage to knock on his door, Cook’s tray balanced on her hip. “Archer? I have supper for you.”
The reply that came was absent. “Come in.”
She eased open the door and froze on the threshold, held captive by the sight of her terrifying bloodhound hunched over the small desk with the ink-smeared cheeks of an absentminded scholar. The hands that had crushed the life out of the ghoul had performed the same task on a dozen scraps of paper, which lay crumpled at his elbows and near the foot of his chair. As she watched, his pen scratched over a fresh sheet, then returned to stroke through the notes as a furrow formed between his eyebrows.
His writing slowed, stopped, and he looked up at her, puzzled. “What is it, honey?”
Grace wondered if she was blushing. She felt foolish enough having been caught staring like a love-struck fool. She nudged the door shut behind her and crossed to the desk. “You have a little ink,” she murmured, setting the tray down. She reached out and ghosted her thumb over the top of his cheek. “Right here.”
“Oh. Damn things always leak.” Even more ink stained his fingers, and he studied them with a grumble. “I’ve been trying to decipher Doc’s notes.”
She walked to the vanity with its sink and hot and cold taps. Twisting the left knob brought hot water quickly enough, no doubt because the kitchen’s ovens had been hard at work. She returned to him with a damp towel and only barely resisted the urge to wipe his cheek herself. “Have you had any luck?”
“No.” He flipped one ledger shut and traced the odd symbol on its cover. “I should have paid more attention when Theron was lecturing me on Babbage and Vigenère’s blasted tabula recta .”
Words that would have held no meaning at all, if she hadn’t befriended the gang’s bespectacled little accountant in her quest to find a way to hide her money. “It’s a shift cipher?”
“I hope so, because otherwise I’ll never figure it out.” He thumped the book. “If it is one, though, it has a key. I tried Diana already, but nothing doing.”
“We’ll figure it out.” She gathered the notes and stacked them on top of the book to make room for the tray—and to give her some place to look other than his face while she mustered her apology. “Archer, I’m sorry. About earlier.”
He didn’t move. “For what?”
If she spent time making sure each piece of paper lined up precisely with the edge of the book, she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “For being afraid.”
At first, he said nothing. Then he sighed. “I’m not human anymore, Grace. You’d be a fool not to be frightened of the things I can do. I don’t care about that.”
She grasped desperately at his words. “Of the things you can do,” she agreed. “Seeing it was a shock. But I don’t want you to think—” Gathering her tattered dignity, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t afraid you’d hurt me.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I know, and I understand.”
Her heart wanted to pound its way into her throat just from that soft touch. Oh, and what a wicked edge of danger now. Time blunted the shock of it, gave his stark violence a sort of protective beauty. She already knew that he fucked with the same intensity that he fought, utterly focused and unabashedly victorious.
If she closed her eyes, she’d remember him clutching at her hips, his dark voice rolling over her,
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