Read Online Morgan and Archer: A Novella by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online
Authors: Grace Burrowes
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baby.
But try as she might, no matter how long she stood straining to hear, no matter how badly she wanted to detect the smallest sound from the crying child, Morgan heard nothing. Not the distant piano, not the fretful child. Not one sound.
***
“It’s bad timing.” Benjamin, the Earl of Hazelton, offered this observation along with a frown. Archer knew his cousin well enough to sense pity in that frown rather than judgment.
“It’s bloody awful timing, but then I have never been known to fix my affections on the logical woman at the logical time.” Archer continued his progress around the office Hazelton shared with his countess, and shook his head when Benjamin gestured with a decanter.
“You have no leads in the case?”
“We have nothing but leads, and each one takes us to some filthy rat hole in the stews, when my every instinct tells me that’s the wrong direction to look. Such people can’t get close to the royal family, and if we were looking at a simple assassination attempt, why all the whispers and hints?”
“Sit, Archer. Your perambulations are making me dizzy.” Benjamin toed off his boots and set them neatly at the corner of the rug, then sank onto a long leather sofa. “I can ring for tea, if that will help, but I sense that as frustrated as you are with your current assignment, you’re even more confused by your interest in Miss James.”
Confused. A prosaic word for the ongoing riot that characterized Archer’s feelings for Morgan James.
“She’s…” Archer dropped onto the sofa beside his cousin. “She’s different.”
“Different how?”
Archer had not come around to his cousin’s town house to solicit Benjamin’s perspective on the baffling situation with Miss James. Surely a plot on the Regent’s life ought to be of greater interest to both himself and his cousin—if in fact a plot on the Regent’s life was afoot.
“Part of the difference is that she talks to me,” Archer admitted. “She has the prettiest voice, low and musical, as if there’s some Welsh in it, when I know it’s just that North Country lilt. And the things she says…”
“All the ladies talk to you. It’s part of what makes you such a good investigator.” Ben sounded amused, a shot he could take from the safety of his recently acquired marital bliss.
“Don’t be an ass. Your countess talks to you, and I’m certain you talk to her too. You tell her things you don’t tell anybody, about your boyhood, your daily frustrations and hopes, your body’s undignified little aches and betrayals. You tell her the fears and insecurities you used to not even admit to yourself.”
Benjamin slouched down against the cushions and crossed his feet at the ankles, a sure sign some philosophical profundity was to follow. “How can you have these tête-à-têtes with Miss James, Archer, when any woman you’re seen with might arguably become mixed up with this other business? The Crown’s enemies aren’t playing for farthing points.”
“We’re discreet.” They were scandalous too.
Ben gave him a long, measuring look from beneath dark brows, but Archer wasn’t about to admit he’d taken to a nightly climb into Morgan’s rooms.
Much less into her bed.
“Of course you’re discreet, but your interest in the woman is still a distraction you can’t afford.”
And there it was, probably the real reason Archer had sought his cousin’s counsel: spending time with Morgan, any time at all, took hours away from a critical investigation and increased the likelihood she’d somehow become tangled up in a very dirty business.
“I know how to keep my focus, Benjamin.” To emphasize his point, Archer appropriated a sip of Ben’s cognac and set the glass out of Ben’s reach.
“Like hell you can. Not this time.” Benjamin was exercising a friend and family member’s prerogative of simultaneously dispensing honesty and kindness when Archer needed both.
Though Archer wanted to do violence to his
But try as she might, no matter how long she stood straining to hear, no matter how badly she wanted to detect the smallest sound from the crying child, Morgan heard nothing. Not the distant piano, not the fretful child. Not one sound.
***
“It’s bad timing.” Benjamin, the Earl of Hazelton, offered this observation along with a frown. Archer knew his cousin well enough to sense pity in that frown rather than judgment.
“It’s bloody awful timing, but then I have never been known to fix my affections on the logical woman at the logical time.” Archer continued his progress around the office Hazelton shared with his countess, and shook his head when Benjamin gestured with a decanter.
“You have no leads in the case?”
“We have nothing but leads, and each one takes us to some filthy rat hole in the stews, when my every instinct tells me that’s the wrong direction to look. Such people can’t get close to the royal family, and if we were looking at a simple assassination attempt, why all the whispers and hints?”
“Sit, Archer. Your perambulations are making me dizzy.” Benjamin toed off his boots and set them neatly at the corner of the rug, then sank onto a long leather sofa. “I can ring for tea, if that will help, but I sense that as frustrated as you are with your current assignment, you’re even more confused by your interest in Miss James.”
Confused. A prosaic word for the ongoing riot that characterized Archer’s feelings for Morgan James.
“She’s…” Archer dropped onto the sofa beside his cousin. “She’s different.”
“Different how?”
Archer had not come around to his cousin’s town house to solicit Benjamin’s perspective on the baffling situation with Miss James. Surely a plot on the Regent’s life ought to be of greater interest to both himself and his cousin—if in fact a plot on the Regent’s life was afoot.
“Part of the difference is that she talks to me,” Archer admitted. “She has the prettiest voice, low and musical, as if there’s some Welsh in it, when I know it’s just that North Country lilt. And the things she says…”
“All the ladies talk to you. It’s part of what makes you such a good investigator.” Ben sounded amused, a shot he could take from the safety of his recently acquired marital bliss.
“Don’t be an ass. Your countess talks to you, and I’m certain you talk to her too. You tell her things you don’t tell anybody, about your boyhood, your daily frustrations and hopes, your body’s undignified little aches and betrayals. You tell her the fears and insecurities you used to not even admit to yourself.”
Benjamin slouched down against the cushions and crossed his feet at the ankles, a sure sign some philosophical profundity was to follow. “How can you have these tête-à-têtes with Miss James, Archer, when any woman you’re seen with might arguably become mixed up with this other business? The Crown’s enemies aren’t playing for farthing points.”
“We’re discreet.” They were scandalous too.
Ben gave him a long, measuring look from beneath dark brows, but Archer wasn’t about to admit he’d taken to a nightly climb into Morgan’s rooms.
Much less into her bed.
“Of course you’re discreet, but your interest in the woman is still a distraction you can’t afford.”
And there it was, probably the real reason Archer had sought his cousin’s counsel: spending time with Morgan, any time at all, took hours away from a critical investigation and increased the likelihood she’d somehow become tangled up in a very dirty business.
“I know how to keep my focus, Benjamin.” To emphasize his point, Archer appropriated a sip of Ben’s cognac and set the glass out of Ben’s reach.
“Like hell you can. Not this time.” Benjamin was exercising a friend and family member’s prerogative of simultaneously dispensing honesty and kindness when Archer needed both.
Though Archer wanted to do violence to his
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