see his expression and felt an inordinate surge of hatred toward the hard, full masks he wore. He was so much more than what he chose to show. Curse it, Victoria had seen what lay beneath; why not she?
“Where are you taking me?” Miranda asked.
“I should think it obvious.”
She eyed him impatiently, and he made a small bow of acquiescence. “As you are clearly wasting away from boredom, I must make it my duty to keep you entertained.”
Her mouth opened, then promptly closed as an elegantly turned-out couple glided by, their eyes determinedly held away from Archer.
Archer guided her down another corridor and into the zoological collections.
“You have not asked why I was following you,” she said when they were alone again.
They paused beside a display case filled with beetles. “To question would imply that I do not know the answer.” He glanced at her. “It is because you are the most stubborn, impetuous, overtly curious creature I have ever known.”
Something rude passed over her lips, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. She turned away from him and studied a wall of pinned butterflies.
Archer’s sigh of resignation broke their stalemate. “All right, I’ll play your game. Why are you following me?” Despite his jesting manner, irritation sharpened his voice.
“The peerage murders,” she said without thinking.
Until Archer, she hadn’t thought of stillness as explosive. The black mask faced her, the eyes behind it flat as pewter as the wide expanse of his chest hardened like mortar. Her heart sank with dread. Why had she prompted this conversation? Curiosity would be the death of her.
“You think I had something to do with them,” he said in even, awful tones.
“No!” She gripped the handle of her parasol. “No. But they have all made assumptions based on your appearance, and such skewed logic galls me. Guilt or innocence ought to be established on proof, not hearsay.”
His arm brushed hers as he moved past. “So your boundless curiosity bids you to discover my innocence,” he said over his shoulder. “Or is it evidence of guilt you seek?”
Miranda quickened her pace to catch up to him. “I’d like to believe you are innocent.”
“Why? Don’t want to lose the security of my income?”
“Our income.”
A snort escaped him. “Better to see me hang then and collect all of it, darling.”
“Oh for pity’s sake!” She thumped her parasol on the floor for emphasis. “I cannot believe it was you.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
He stopped abruptly and his eyes pinned her to the spot. “Which are?”
She held his gaze. “I rather thought that my line. Is there a purpose for all this evasiveness, Archer? Or do you simply enjoy driving me to madness?”
His chin jutted forward in a rather pugnacious manner. “I should not have to explain myself to my wife.”
“And I should not have to ask for an explanation. Yet here we are.”
Laughter rumbled behind his mask. “A fine pickle we are in.”
“A fine pickle? An Americanism?”
“Yes. Ten years there and my language is polluted.”
She ducked her head, trying not to smile. They turned a corner and walked out into the light-filled main stair. She glanced over to find him watching. “I shall ask it once, Archer. Whatever you say, I will believe it.”
His steps slowed to a stop. “Why?” His voice was a ghost in the quiet. “Why give me your trust when you know it is such an easy thing to break?”
“Perhaps the easy giving of it will make it harder to break.”
He made a soft sound of disbelief. “Lying is quite easy, Miranda Fair. I can assure you.”
“Amusing. But I don’t believe that of you.” She shifted to face him, the effect of which unfortunately brought her mere inches from his solid frame. She couldn’t move away without drawing attention so she went on as if unaffected. “You hide many things, Archer. But you do not lie. Not to a direct question, anyway.”
The wide expanse of his chest brushed against hers as he leaned in. “You’re collecting pieces of me, aren’t you?” His voice turned thick as warm toffee, rolling over her skin, heating it. “A bit here. A bit there. Soon you’ll set me out on the table, try to fit me back together.”
Ignoring the flurries plaguing her belly, she affected blandness. “I’ve only got the corners. But it is a start.”
A warm breath touched her neck. “I believe you have the centerpiece as well.”
Before Miranda could reply, he spoke again. “No. I did not kill them.”
Relief eased the tightness in her shoulders. She dared