Page 11 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
Fiona lurched farther into the room. “Yes?”
“There is a family with that surname. An earl. Could be this Mrs. Blake belongs to them. Or not.” He shrugged. “I am sorry not to be able to offer better help.”
“You’ve offered as good help as you can,” Posey said, her gaze softening. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Thank you,Archer.” The duke frowned and rose to his feet, a slow, almost menacing growth of inches that resulted in a body coiled taut like a spring.
Posey raised an eyebrow, and Fiona knew the conversation, argument really, that would soon grow around them. Best to avoid it.
She turned sharp and headed for the door. “Thank you so much, Archer. You’ve been a wonderful help, as I knew you would be.”
Posey followed. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Archer circled the desk and chased after them. “Where are you going?”
“To visit Mrs. Blake,” Fiona said. And hopefully discover Lord Lysander. She didn’t want to divulge that bit, though. The duke’s strides caught up with them quickly, and he had that take-charge look about him she’s always found particularly annoying. The price of being friends with the posh, though.
“I’ll come with you,” he said.
Posey stopped, one foot in the hallway, and turned to him sharply, green skirts swishing between their bodies. “And why do you think you’ll do that?”
He turned to her, slowly, arms crossing over his chest, a single supercilious eyebrow raising into a wayward brown curl that drooped over his forehead. “Because I recognize a scheme when I see one, and I’ll not allow the two of you to traipse off alone after someone you don’t know.” He threw his arms wide, leaning slightly toward Posey. “You won’t even tell me why you wish to meet this Mrs. Blake or what business you have asking after Lord Lysander. You will not skip into danger when I can protect you.”
Posey lifted her own haughty brow.
Oh dear. Fiona took a step backward. Best to stay out of explosions.“Please do not ask us to say more. Please, Archer. You are like a brother to me, and—”
“If you felt brotherly toward me, Fee, you would let me help you more than a Debrett’s publication could.” He rocked back on his heels, his gaze still trained on Posey.
She wanted to trust him, but how could she? A duke. If he had any knowledge of her crimes, he might end up in high waters, too.
“We can’t,” she said, her voice small.
“I am sorry, Archer.” Posey reached for him. “I wish we could.” She let her arm fall.
He straightened his jacket, and set a line for the front door. “Very well then, tell me nothing. But I’m still coming. I’ll stay in the coach. Be there if you need me. In the dark.” His voice a grumble. “But there. Just in case.”
Fiona sagged in relief, and Posey linked their arms, dragged her after the duke.
“You know why we cannot tell him the details he desires,” Fiona said.
“Yes.” Posey’s voice a flower folding in on itself as light stole away from the sky. “I know.”
This was the outcome of her poor choices—she hurt all those she loved most.
Fiona squeezed her sister’s hand. “We cannot implicate him in any way. He cannot know.”
“I know,” Posey repeated, harder now, two words close to tipping from annoyance into anger.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She patted Fiona’s hand. “No more apologies.”
Archer opened the front door of the townhouse and flooded the hall with sunlight. They followed him onto the street.
“I’ll have my coach readied,” he called.
“No,” Posey snapped, “a hack will do.”
