strike him. He caught the hand neatly.
“Temper,” he warned lightly, though there was little humor in him. He let her go abruptly, and she fumbled back a pace.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I should say the same to you. You wouldn’t want that mask to come off in a scuffle. People might see what lies beneath.” She gave his chin a light flick, her finger clicking loudly against the hard mask.
The cold cruelty of the gesture cut into Miranda, and she bit her lip hard.
“You do not want your sweet bride to run off, no?” Victoria went on, when Archer didn’t respond. She tutted sadly. “I ought to have said virgin bride. You cannot have bedded her.” She laughed hard, a near mannish sound in all its unfettered glee. “I can just imagine how quickly she’d leave should she gaze upon your horror.”
Archer’s hand rose high, vibrating with the effort to hold back. “If you weren’t a woman,” he whispered fiercely.
“Oh yes, you would, Archer.” She glared up at him without fear. “We both know you’ve done that and worse. You ought to have stayed hidden away in darkness where you belong. Why you choose to subject anyone to your presence astonishes me.”
Pain radiated from him in palpable waves, and it made Miranda ache for him. His hand lowered.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said in a low voice. “Why are you here?”
Victoria made a turn, letting her long train swish elegantly, and Miranda caught a faint whiff of her heady perfume, thickly sweet like carnations and roses, yet acrid underneath from the overuse of lemon. Victoria’s wide mouth turned in a pout.
“I was bored.”
She cocked her head slightly, her eyes slanting. “Your pretty wife is quite stimulating, no?” Her lips curled into the semblance of a smile. “This must be why you wed her—the titillating conversation.”
Archer might have been a block of carved basalt.
“Ah, but you guard her well.” Her melodious voice was becoming less so.
“Answer the question.”
Victoria inclined her head toward the door, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to make Miranda’s breath freeze. She eased back behind the statue.
Victoria’s voice drifted overloud to her ears. “Do you truly want me to answer you while the mice are at play?”
Miranda felt rather than saw Archer turn toward the door, for by then she had slipped away, her heart pounding, her feet moving as fast as they could without making a sound.
“You bitch!” Archer’s hand twitched at his side. Striking her would be useless. “So that was all for her benefit, was it?”
Victoria laughed, throwing her head back with delight. “Of course,” she said, snapping round to glare at him with full venom. “Your little chit, as they say, is an amusing distraction. Now then”—she moved to wrap her arms about his neck—“let us kiss and make nice.”
He pushed her then, a hard shove that made her fall back a step. God help him, he shouldn’t have. But his weakness was already exposed. And it made his heart pound hard.
Her humor died with a snarl. “We had an understanding.”
“Based on lies.” He brushed by her, and she struck like lightning, grasping hold of his arm so that he jerked back. The thick miasma of her floral perfume filled his nostrils, making his temples throb.
“I love you, Archer.”
For a moment, he might have thought her capable of such an emotion, but for the sight of her cold, soulless eyes. “How odd,” he said. “The last time we spoke you told me you hated me, never wanted to set eyes upon me again.”
She smiled thinly. “You understand nothing of women then.” Her fingers bit into his arm. “Have your toy if you must,” she said with flat reserve. “But I will not be pushed away again. Only I know what you truly are. We belong together, and it is time you remembered.”
He drew her in, vaguely aware that a low growl rumbled in his breast. He would end this now. For too long, he had ignored her mad attachment to him. Victoria’s eyes widened, watching him, waiting to see what he would do. A faint sneer curled her red lips. She underestimated him; she always had.
“This way, darling,” said a voice from behind them. “Oh, I say…”
Archer turned to see young Mr. Hendren framed in the doorway with his latest mistress clinging to his arm. The pair eyed him with varying levels of distaste and wariness.
“Have we interrupted?” The jeer in Hendren’s voice was poorly hidden.
Archer almost told him