men in the billiards room, about to begin a new game.
“Ah, Archer,” Con said, the cigar he’d been divested of yesterday once more in his fingers, though this time it was lit. “Come join us, for I fear Ormond offers very little challenge. Comes from growing up with sisters, I suppose. He is likely much more adept at needlework.”
Trevor, who was chalking the end of his stick, rolled his eyes. “Not because of the sisters, Coniston,” he corrected, “but because I was actually engaging in work on the estates. Something you are not very familiar with, seeing as how you spent your salad days daubing at stretched sheepskin with paints instead of producing something useful to the rest of society.”
“Dear God,” Con said, grinning at Ormond’s obvious annoyance. “If I am forced to listen to yet another tale of your days in the Yorkshire countryside consorting with sheep, old man, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to tell your wife.”
“You must have me confused with some handsy Scotsman, my lord,” Ormond said, leaning over the table to take his shot, winking at Archer while he did so. “I am from Yorkshire, man, but it is still in England by gad!”
As he let the other men’s insults wash over him, Archer felt himself grow calmer. Certainly more settled than he’d felt in the study with Perdita. That had been one of the most important conversations of his life, though he’d had no idea it would become so at the time. He’d gone in intending to work, and left with the knowledge that tonight, once the rest of the household had taken to their beds, he’d be taking Perdita into his. Or should he go to hers? They hadn’t really discussed the logistics, he supposed. Though at the time he’d have agreed to have her in a rowboat on the Serpentine in Hyde Park with a full orchestra playing on the shore. So long as he could get his hands on her lovely curves.
Somehow, Archer doubted Perdita would feel quite the same way.
“So, tell me about this big to-do in the study earlier,” Con said from where he surveyed the table. It looked to Archer as if his words had not been without truth behind them. He was a very good billiards player if the arrangement of the balls on the baize cloth was anything to go by. Still, Con’s words brought a curse to his lips.
“Don’t blame me,” Trevor said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t tell him.”
Archer sighed. Which meant that it had probably been Isabella, who told Georgina, who was unable to keep anything from her husband and told Con. “This is worse than the ladies’ sewing circle,” he said with disgust.
“Actually, they are much worse,” Trevor corrected, frowning as he looked at Con’s shot ruin any chance he had of winning. “Ladies’ sewing circles, I mean. There’s one in our village in Yorkshire. If they were the ones who spread this tale the entire household would have known before Isabella and I had even left the study. They have mysterious ways.”
“No one cares about your provincial needleworking ways, Ormond,” Con said dismissively. “I want to know what happened in the bloody study. Because for all that you think my wife tells me everything, you are dead wrong. She only told me that Isabella saw something ‘shocking in the study.’”
“Better than ‘something nasty in the woodshed,’” Trevor said with raised brows. “Not good, that. Not good at all.”
Archer, despite his annoyance with the fact that they knew anything at all about what had happened between him and Perdita, couldn’t help but laugh. “You do realize that the two of you bicker like an old married couple. I shouldn’t be surprised if there is talk.”
“Nice try, old fellow,” Con said, dropping into a chair in the corner to enjoy his cigar now that it was clear he’d won the game. “You might try to change the subject, but it won’t work. I want to know what happened. And if you don’t care to tell, then make something up.”
Though
“Ah, Archer,” Con said, the cigar he’d been divested of yesterday once more in his fingers, though this time it was lit. “Come join us, for I fear Ormond offers very little challenge. Comes from growing up with sisters, I suppose. He is likely much more adept at needlework.”
Trevor, who was chalking the end of his stick, rolled his eyes. “Not because of the sisters, Coniston,” he corrected, “but because I was actually engaging in work on the estates. Something you are not very familiar with, seeing as how you spent your salad days daubing at stretched sheepskin with paints instead of producing something useful to the rest of society.”
“Dear God,” Con said, grinning at Ormond’s obvious annoyance. “If I am forced to listen to yet another tale of your days in the Yorkshire countryside consorting with sheep, old man, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to tell your wife.”
“You must have me confused with some handsy Scotsman, my lord,” Ormond said, leaning over the table to take his shot, winking at Archer while he did so. “I am from Yorkshire, man, but it is still in England by gad!”
As he let the other men’s insults wash over him, Archer felt himself grow calmer. Certainly more settled than he’d felt in the study with Perdita. That had been one of the most important conversations of his life, though he’d had no idea it would become so at the time. He’d gone in intending to work, and left with the knowledge that tonight, once the rest of the household had taken to their beds, he’d be taking Perdita into his. Or should he go to hers? They hadn’t really discussed the logistics, he supposed. Though at the time he’d have agreed to have her in a rowboat on the Serpentine in Hyde Park with a full orchestra playing on the shore. So long as he could get his hands on her lovely curves.
Somehow, Archer doubted Perdita would feel quite the same way.
“So, tell me about this big to-do in the study earlier,” Con said from where he surveyed the table. It looked to Archer as if his words had not been without truth behind them. He was a very good billiards player if the arrangement of the balls on the baize cloth was anything to go by. Still, Con’s words brought a curse to his lips.
“Don’t blame me,” Trevor said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t tell him.”
Archer sighed. Which meant that it had probably been Isabella, who told Georgina, who was unable to keep anything from her husband and told Con. “This is worse than the ladies’ sewing circle,” he said with disgust.
“Actually, they are much worse,” Trevor corrected, frowning as he looked at Con’s shot ruin any chance he had of winning. “Ladies’ sewing circles, I mean. There’s one in our village in Yorkshire. If they were the ones who spread this tale the entire household would have known before Isabella and I had even left the study. They have mysterious ways.”
“No one cares about your provincial needleworking ways, Ormond,” Con said dismissively. “I want to know what happened in the bloody study. Because for all that you think my wife tells me everything, you are dead wrong. She only told me that Isabella saw something ‘shocking in the study.’”
“Better than ‘something nasty in the woodshed,’” Trevor said with raised brows. “Not good, that. Not good at all.”
Archer, despite his annoyance with the fact that they knew anything at all about what had happened between him and Perdita, couldn’t help but laugh. “You do realize that the two of you bicker like an old married couple. I shouldn’t be surprised if there is talk.”
“Nice try, old fellow,” Con said, dropping into a chair in the corner to enjoy his cigar now that it was clear he’d won the game. “You might try to change the subject, but it won’t work. I want to know what happened. And if you don’t care to tell, then make something up.”
Though
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