Read Online Morgan and Archer: A Novella by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Grace Burrowes
Ads: Link
cousin’s person anyway. “What makes you think I’m distracted?”
“It’s only midnight, Archer, and you bear the scent of roses and spices. You’ve already been with her tonight. Your coat and hat were soaking wet, suggesting you’d not been lurking in a hackney, but rather, traipsing about Mayfair. Your shoes are a trifle muddy, and the mud is also streaked, as if you made an effort to wipe it off in the grass. My guess is you gained access to the ducal mansion through Moreland’s prized rose gardens, spent time with the lady, then took yourself here so I might deliver a birching to your conscience and your common sense.”
“This is your idea of a birching?”
“You have an alternative, you know.”
“To quit the case?” Archer rose from the sofa, as if he’d get away from the idea itself, and stood staring at the rain dribbling down the window overlooking the dark garden. “If I quit, then when Prinny’s laid out in state, I’ll have myself to thank for the poor fellow never being king. What a legacy that makes.”
“Archer, a woman who wanted to see Prinny dead would not have protected the Crown’s investigator from exposure, as Miss James did at the Braithwaite ball.”
Benjamin’s words landed like soft lashes to Archer’s frazzled nerves. “I should not have told you about that.”
Without making a sound, Ben appeared at Archer’s elbow. “She knows you’re an investigator; she knows you were skulking about Braithwaite’s personal domain for some reason other than theft. If she were a stupid woman, you would not be breaking and entering in the dead of night to gain access to her.”
Stupidity on the part of the lady was not the problem. “I’ve told her enough to explain what I was about.”
“Then you have two choices: you either bring her up-to-date on the investigation, so she knows enough to protect herself, or you cut her loose for the duration.”
Archer stood staring at the window, watching the raindrops on the glass trickling down, down, always down into the dark of night. “Not quite, though you’re close. The Frenchman has gone missing. We’re assuming the worst.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means my only option at this point is to lay enough of the situation at Miss James’s pretty feet that she’ll be safe, and then stay the hell away from her.”
The pity in Benjamin’s gaze was not veiled now. “Be careful. Be damned careful.”
Archer grabbed his hat and coat and slipped out into the cold, dark, rainy night.
Four
“You and Mr. Portmaine make a lovely couple. Have you saved him a dance this evening?”
Ellen Windham’s question held no guile, of that Morgan was certain. Morgan stood beside Ellen at the edge of the Winterthur ballroom, watching as Archer turned Maggie Windham, now Maggie Portmaine, Countess of Hazelton, down the room.
“He’s a good dancer.” A good dancer and an excellent listener.
“Are you considering his prospects, Morgan? I suspect he could keep you well enough.”
Longing shot through Morgan, followed by a sharp pang of regret. “He’s a gentleman without family to speak of, other than Hazelton. I doubt he’s all that well set up.” Not that his lack of wealth would matter.
Ellen turned to regard Morgan with a look that, oddly enough, reminded Morgan of Valentine Windham in the mood to Get to the Bottom of Something. “You should talk to Maggie about her cousin-in-law, or better still, talk to Hazelton about his cousin. I have no doubt Mayfair’s best families pay dearly to have their little troubles dealt with quietly.”
They probably did, and Archer was always turned out perfectly, complete with jeweled cravat pins and gold shirt studs and cuff links. He even smelled of excellent, expensive tastes.
“His prospects are not the problem.” The music came to a close, and Archer bowed gracefully over Maggie’s hand. “I am not inclined to marry, and no, lest you even think it for a moment, I am not
“It’s only midnight, Archer, and you bear the scent of roses and spices. You’ve already been with her tonight. Your coat and hat were soaking wet, suggesting you’d not been lurking in a hackney, but rather, traipsing about Mayfair. Your shoes are a trifle muddy, and the mud is also streaked, as if you made an effort to wipe it off in the grass. My guess is you gained access to the ducal mansion through Moreland’s prized rose gardens, spent time with the lady, then took yourself here so I might deliver a birching to your conscience and your common sense.”
“This is your idea of a birching?”
“You have an alternative, you know.”
“To quit the case?” Archer rose from the sofa, as if he’d get away from the idea itself, and stood staring at the rain dribbling down the window overlooking the dark garden. “If I quit, then when Prinny’s laid out in state, I’ll have myself to thank for the poor fellow never being king. What a legacy that makes.”
“Archer, a woman who wanted to see Prinny dead would not have protected the Crown’s investigator from exposure, as Miss James did at the Braithwaite ball.”
Benjamin’s words landed like soft lashes to Archer’s frazzled nerves. “I should not have told you about that.”
Without making a sound, Ben appeared at Archer’s elbow. “She knows you’re an investigator; she knows you were skulking about Braithwaite’s personal domain for some reason other than theft. If she were a stupid woman, you would not be breaking and entering in the dead of night to gain access to her.”
Stupidity on the part of the lady was not the problem. “I’ve told her enough to explain what I was about.”
“Then you have two choices: you either bring her up-to-date on the investigation, so she knows enough to protect herself, or you cut her loose for the duration.”
Archer stood staring at the window, watching the raindrops on the glass trickling down, down, always down into the dark of night. “Not quite, though you’re close. The Frenchman has gone missing. We’re assuming the worst.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means my only option at this point is to lay enough of the situation at Miss James’s pretty feet that she’ll be safe, and then stay the hell away from her.”
The pity in Benjamin’s gaze was not veiled now. “Be careful. Be damned careful.”
Archer grabbed his hat and coat and slipped out into the cold, dark, rainy night.
Four
“You and Mr. Portmaine make a lovely couple. Have you saved him a dance this evening?”
Ellen Windham’s question held no guile, of that Morgan was certain. Morgan stood beside Ellen at the edge of the Winterthur ballroom, watching as Archer turned Maggie Windham, now Maggie Portmaine, Countess of Hazelton, down the room.
“He’s a good dancer.” A good dancer and an excellent listener.
“Are you considering his prospects, Morgan? I suspect he could keep you well enough.”
Longing shot through Morgan, followed by a sharp pang of regret. “He’s a gentleman without family to speak of, other than Hazelton. I doubt he’s all that well set up.” Not that his lack of wealth would matter.
Ellen turned to regard Morgan with a look that, oddly enough, reminded Morgan of Valentine Windham in the mood to Get to the Bottom of Something. “You should talk to Maggie about her cousin-in-law, or better still, talk to Hazelton about his cousin. I have no doubt Mayfair’s best families pay dearly to have their little troubles dealt with quietly.”
They probably did, and Archer was always turned out perfectly, complete with jeweled cravat pins and gold shirt studs and cuff links. He even smelled of excellent, expensive tastes.
“His prospects are not the problem.” The music came to a close, and Archer bowed gracefully over Maggie’s hand. “I am not inclined to marry, and no, lest you even think it for a moment, I am not
Similar Books
