chapter Eight
With the moon waning and heavy clouds threatening to let loose at any moment, it was gloriously dark. Almost palpable, such darkness. A town house loomed before him, quiet in the dead of the night. Archer went slowly to avoid discovery, scaling the smooth limestone brick wall like a spider. His fingers and toes sank into the mortar as though it was soft butter.
Balancing on a windowsill with his toes, he reached for the Chatellerault in his coat. The black enamel hilt felt at home in his palm. A smile pulled at his lips. Her blade. Not a day had passed since she gave it to him that he did not hold it and twirl it round his fingers as he thought of her.
He shoved the knife in between the window and casing. With a gentle nudge, the window eased up a fraction, and he slipped his fingers under to lift it.
Nothing stirred as Archer crept inside. A large bed dominated the room, its curtains drawn tight for the night. Very quaint. Archer slowly pulled back the curtain, the knife still in hand. The man within had shrunk with age, the muscles and heft of his once powerful body now withered into a ropy mix of hardness and slack. Soft skin hung around his neck and jowls. But for all that, Maurus Lea, Earl of Leland still held an air of dignity and strength. Archer could barely tolerate the sight of him.
He leaned forward, hovering just over Leland’s sleeping form. The man’s long bumpy nose whistled as he slept, stirring the white mustache hanging over the corner of his gaping mouth. The smell of camphor and old velvet drifted up. Archer’s nostrils pinched against it, but he found himself grinning.
“I say, Lilly, where the devil are my boots?”
Leland surged forward at Archer’s shout, his hands grasping for his robe, words of apology falling from his lips. Archer pocketed his knife and took a step back, smiling behind the mask as Leland came to his senses. Leland cursed roundly and fumbled for the clutch of matches tied near his bed.
“Allow me,” Archer said, smoothly taking the matches and lighting the lamp.
“Devil take you, Archer,” Leland bit out as the light hit his eyes. He blinked hard and swung his feet off the bed to sit up. “You scared the life out of me…” He looked up at Archer, and his long face went slack. “Good God, it is you.”
Archer set the lamp down on a table and retreated to the armchair by the cold hearth. “So it is.”
“I heard you had returned.” Leland pulled a silk dressing robe over his bony shoulders and stood. “I would say it was your sick sense of humor that bid you wait until now to hunt me down and bedevil me, but you’re too methodical.”
Leland went to a small bar and poured himself a measure of brandy. Archer watched without comment. The man’s hand shook badly as he lifted the glass to drink.
“What is it, then?” Leland set his glass down with a thud. “Why have you come back?”
Anger surged. Archer should not have come. Questions he had wanted to ask filled his throat like a blockage. Why did you turn from me? Was my fate so very distasteful?
“England is my home,” Archer said from the comfort of his seat.
“Bollocks. We had an agreement.” Leland studied the glass before him.
“You had a hope,” Archer retorted. “And if you thought I was a problem neatly swept away and forgotten then you are a fool.” He checked his temper with a deep breath. “The question is—are you foolish enough to challenge me now that I am here?”
A white brow rose high. “And if I were,” Leland asked softly, “what then? Would I find myself a bitter end? My body one of the many left to rot in the Thames?”
Archer’s voice was equally soft. “Perhaps you would.”
The sound of the old man’s wheezing filled the darkness, then Leland snorted. “I’m all aquiver.” He set his glass down with an inordinately loud thud. “Why are you here? I assume you didn’t invade my home solely to make assassinations on my character.”
“I married.”
Leland’s face drained of color, his thin lips falling slack. “Have you gone mad?” he managed at last.
Archer flicked a speck of lint off the velvet chair. “Perhaps I have.”
“To what purpose?” Leland cried, coming forward in his agitation. “And to what end?”
Archer turned away from Leland’s keen blue eyes. He hated those eyes. They missed nothing. “My reasons are my own.”
“Who is she?”
“Miranda Ellis—Archer,” he corrected. The novelty of hearing his name connected with hers buzzed in his veins like warm champagne.
Leland’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Hector Ellis’s youngest daughter, is she?”
He nodded, suddenly feeling exposed in the dimly lit room.
“I see.”
“Mmm, I fear you do.” It appeared even decrepit nobles had heard of Miranda’s beauty.
Leland sighed. “This is madness, Archer. No lady could have possibly done you so great a wrong to warrant such a punishment. I well understand the urge but…” He stopped abruptly as his gaze locked with Archer’s.
“I do hope,” Archer said as his fingers dug into the arms of the chair, “that you aren’t entertaining notions of giving fatherly advice. I should find that laughable in the extreme.”
“No, no…” Leland swallowed, backing away a bit. And he ought to. Archer felt capable of just about anything then. He did not miss the photographs lining Leland’s mantel. A wife. Children, grandchildren. Leland had them all. Was the great and beloved head of his grand household. Perhaps he would not tell Leland of Percival’s death after all. Archer pushed to his feet.
Leland eyed him from under thick, white brows. “Is that the true reason you are here in London?”
“You mean am I motivated by something other than base lust?”
He laughed when Leland glowered. “You know I will not rest until I find a way…” He took a deep breath, and when he spoke, he heard the bitterness in his voice. “Especially now.”
“I cannot help you there.” Leland spoke with such sorrow that Archer flinched.
“I did not think you could. Just stay out of my way on that account.”
Archer turned toward the door. No need for windows now. It irked him that he’d used it in the first place. He’d been hiding in shadows for too long. “My wife will need an introduction into society.” There. That was as good a reason as any for this visit. “I’ll not have her outcast. I realize the season is over. However there are still functions going on. I expect invitations to be forthcoming, Leland. You may tell the others as much.”
Leland’s mouth worked. “You can’t seriously think to go about in society.”
“Tell people I’m an eccentric. Our lot has always relished a good oddity at which to thumb their nose. Regardless, no one will be looking at me when Lady Archer is in the room. As I’m sure you can attest.”
The man sputtered with irritation, but he could not refuse—nor could the others. They all knew as much. The result of their mad little experiment had hidden away for as long as any of them ought to have hoped. If one of them thought they could scare him away, the fool had made a disastrous mistake.
“Archer.”
Archer stopped, but was slow to turn.
“Something has happened,” Leland said with a frown.
“Nothing of consequence.”
But those eyes saw too much. “If anyone was to take offense to your return, it would be Rossberry.” Leland tilted his head, letting his gaze rake over Archer. “Which you should well know. One wonders why you simply didn’t go straight to him.”
A trickle of cold crept along Archer’s neck. “Rossberry is out?”
Leland’s mouth twisted. “Just recently. I suppose they could not cage him indefinitely.”
Archer scowled. And yet they all thought he should stay away forever.
Leland understood his silence and had the grace to look chagrined. “If you want my help, you only have to ask.”
Archer would be damned if he would ask Leland for help ever again. The man had been the first to suggest Archer leave London.
“And what help could an old man possibly provide?” Archer winced inwardly as the words left his lips, but could not bring himself to apologize. “Percival is dead,” he said baldly.
Leland went white. “When? How?”
“This night. Murdered. No doubt it will be the scandal of the morning. I am the prime suspect. A servant heard Percival cry out my name. Another thought they saw me at the scene.”
Leland nodded once. “Do you know who did it?”
God, Archer had missed his friend. “No”—he cleared his throat—“but I intend to find out.”