He’d held her hand.
And when she had been poised to give up the Pomeroy House scheme—when she had been certain that everything had come to an end, the last brilliant vestige of her dream stamped out—he had not let it happen. He had lied absurdly, madly, and somehow brought her wishes into being. He had transformed the fabric of the world so that she might remain here, with him.
A lightning strike.
Could it be so?
But she knew herself—knew her tendency to embroider and dream. She held herself back and tried to make her voice light. “Those are fetching. I’m surprised you could spare them from your wardrobe.”
He blinked at her and then looked down at the stockings. The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I hear white is quite out this Season. Lady Alice says I’ll be barred from Almack’s if I turn up in stockings any color other than heliotrope.”
“Well. Alice would know. To the bonfire with these, then?”
“Oh, undoubtedly. Kindling, all.”
He was still smiling at her, but something in it was... not right. She could not have said what, precisely—he was still dimpled, still soft-eyed. But there was an edge of falseness to it, a lightness that she sensed he did not truly feel.
She wobbled, just a trifle, as she spoke. “They’re French? These stockings?”
Smuggled, she meant.
She was not certain if she ought to ask. Things had shifted between them after her revelations on the beach, and then again with Neri’s appearance. They were on the same side now, their forces joined to prepare for the princess’s arrival. No longer at odds.
And yet she feared saying too much, as she so often did. Perhaps she was meant to pretend, even now, not to know.
He looked down at the crate again, then brushed a bit of straw from where it clung to the topmost scrap of lace. “Not really. These are from Wales. We purchase them wholesale, then cart them to London and pass them off as illicit French ones. Turns a shocking profit.”
“You...” She hesitated, but her curiosity won out. “You don’t actually smuggle things, then?”
He sighed shortly. “Believe me. We smuggle plenty. It’s an even race between the things I oughtn’t have in the house and the things I merely lie about instead.”
She opened her mouth, helpless to hold back her questions, but his mouth twisted down, and he cut her off.
“Ruby.” His jaw tightened, a tiny pulse obvious in the hollow of his cheek. “Lady Ruby. We did not have a chance to speak last night. I’ve been hoping to draw you aside.”
“Oh,” she said, and even though her instincts were shouting that something was wrong, hope still broke loose inside her, buoyant and irrepressible.
He’d wanted to get her alone. Her brain spun out a brief fantasy before she could stop it—his big hands on her waist again, her back against the rough wood of the stall—
“You will have to tell your father you’re here,” he said.
Her heart pitched at the words.
He blew out a breath. “I’m afraid I’ve made that unavoidable with my deception. The next time Neri writes to your father, the signore will be sure to mention encountering you at Pomeroy House. You cannot hope to keep your whereabouts secret from your father now.”
“Oh,” she said again.
It occurred to Ruby then that she had closed the distance between them, edged nearer to his warm, solid form somewhere in between their remarks. She took a very small step back and hoped he would not notice. Cursed herself for her foolish, ebullient hope.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Tam and I talked it over yesterday—she’s going to do her best to persuade Neri to bring Princess Serafina to London, rather than inviting my father here. Alice has offered to accompany the princess on the journey. But still—” She swallowed. “It’s possible that Neri will mention me to my father. Perhaps if my father inquires, I can say that we stopped by to visit the manor on a brief sojourn from the Bridestowe estate.”
That seemed plausible. The earl would probably believe it.
“I don’t expect my father to ask too many questions of Neri,” she added. “At least—not about me.”
She said it casually—she thought she did—but Archer’s jaw ticked again.
She barreled onward. “In my letter, I’ll be certain to mention that you have everything well in hand here. I shan’t mention your crew, of course. I won’t—”
