Firelight by Kristen Callihan

out of sight as Miranda mused. She fancied following them, but a familiar figure appeared at her side, dark and tall and scowling.
    “There you are,” she said, frowning up at Archer. “You know you are going to make me quite dizzy coming and going all night long.”
    He took hold of her elbow and began to guide her out of the ballroom. “Then perhaps I should take you home and let you rest,” he murmured, looking around in mild distraction.
    “I’d rather we talk.” They sidestepped around a rather boisterously reeling couple. “Besides, I just met one of your relations, Miss Victoria Archer—”
    He jerked to a halt. “She is not my kin, nor is her name Archer. Why would you think such a thing?”
    Miranda blinked in surprise. “Because that is what she claimed.”
    Archer snarled in disgust.
    Miranda frowned. “Why would she say that she was?”
    “To amuse herself?” he answered tightly, steering Miranda once more away from the crowd. “Because she is a pervasive liar? I cannot begin to know.”
    They moved to the edge of the room, and Miranda stopped, not at all liking the hold he had on her elbow, and wrenched free.
    “Do stop tugging me all about. I shall bruise.” She rubbed the offended elbow and eyed him with distaste. “She seemed perfectly lovely.” Archer snorted, and her voice rose. “She displayed more honesty and friendliness than any of the other women I’ve met here tonight.”
    Archer’s eyes slid round the room behind them as though he wondered if Victoria might appear at any moment through the throng of dancers. “She is a very good actor.” He moved closer, and his large frame cut off the noise of the room. “Look, I apologize for being curt with you just now,” he said, using the rich, persuasive quality of his voice to its fullest. “You could not have known.”
    He glanced over his shoulder and then back at Miranda, and she marveled over the effect Victoria appeared to have on him. Until now, Miranda would not have thought him fearful of anyone.
    “But you know now,” he went on, his gray eyes pleading and soft. “And I should like very much for you not to speak to her again.”
    Pretty words for a direct order . The spark of irritation grew within her breast. “There is something you are not telling me.”
    As expected, the corners of his eyes creased slightly. “Such as,” he asked blandly.
    “Such as why she bothers you so very much. Such as why she chose to use your name.” Miranda crowded him lest he back away. “Such as why you share the exact, exceedingly rare eye color yet you are not kin in any form.”
    Archer’s eyes narrowed, his chest heaving slightly—all signs that an explosion of temper was imminent. She did not care a whit.
    “Must I spell things out for you?” he hissed.
    “Yes.”
    She thought he’d shout, but he leaned in over her like a dark, avenging angel. “She lives in disgrace, with a reputation so low that Cheltenham is asking her to leave as we speak. Association with her can only cause you social harm.”
    Miranda could only gape. “I should think you of all people would not concern yourself over ill associations and foul reputations.”
    He flinched as though slapped. His eyes held hers for a terrible moment. “Stay away from her, Miranda,” he said flatly, then stalked off, leaving her alone in the corner.
    “Blast.”
    Archer was not in the hall, or on the balcony. A quick circulation of the dining room, salon, and again through the ballroom came up futile. How could such a large man disappear in less than five minutes?
    Miranda turned down a dark hall and went up a small landing toward the side of the house where the family rooms lay. Archer might have overstepped social niceties and taken refuge in the Cheltenhams’ private spaces—either that or he had left her at the party, an idea that made her chest tighten with hurt. Her step grew light, fear of discovery giving her caution; she had no desire to come upon anyone