came quickly to Mckinnon. “Of course,” he said lightly. “You smell like nothing.” He straightened his dressing gown and helped himself to a tumbler of scotch. His throat bobbed against his open collar as he swallowed it down in one gulp. The glass landed hard upon the wood. The smoky lamplight cast shadows over Mckinnon’s lean features as he glanced at Archer. “Well, perhaps like frozen death.”
Archer smiled blandly. “And you smell like wet fur.”
Mckinnon laughed. “Aye, well.” His eyes gleamed in the dull lamplight. “You haven’t come for my irresistible charms, I see. Then what? Eavesdropping give you a cheap thrill? I’d have to guess you’re still repressed by that juvenile fear of bedding whores.”
“Is that what you call it?” Archer flashed his teeth. “Here I thought it was an aversion to paying someone to want me. I’ll get my pleasure for free, thanks.”
Mckinnon grinned. “But are you? I suspect your presence here rather screams your fear of where your wife’s affections lie.”
Archer smoothed a wrinkle in his trousers, his hand shaking but a little. He was fairly certain where her affections lay. The thought of it coursed hot through his blood.
The man’s keen eyes took in what was certainly smugness dwelling on Archer’s lips, and he snorted in disgust. “I may be sick.”
“I’d mind your shoes, then.”
Mckinnon displayed a set of sharp canines in a parody of a smile. “Are you going to tell her you’re responsible for this? For all of them?”
Archer’s hands settled comfortably in his lap. “For Rossberry too, I suppose.”
A low growl, little more than a rumble, came from Mckinnon’s throat.
Archer forced a laugh he did not feel. “My, but you are an impressionable pup. More so than my wife.”
Mckinnon’s silky voice drifted across the dark. “But she’s thinking about things now?” His eyes crinkled in mirth. “Isn’t she?”
Archer simply stared, his heart thundering in his ears, the urge to crack Mckinnon’s spine making his fists clench.
Mckinnon’s smile faltered, but he straightened with bravado. Glass clinked as he fiddled with the crystal stopper on a decanter. “Why are you here then?”
Feeding on Mckinnon’s disquiet, Archer regarded him for a minute more and then spoke. “The ring.”
A dark brow quirked as Mckinnon glanced down at his hand and the slash of gold upon it. “Foolish to take my gloves off, wasn’t it?” He flashed his teeth. “I’d become too comfortable, I suppose.”
Confident or not, base jealousy pushed through Archer’s insides. Mckinnon’s smile grew. He poured himself another drink. The faint movement brought the musky tang of sex into the air. Archer breathed through his mouth and waited.
“You know,” said Mckinnon finally, “I don’t believe I shall part with the ring. It was a gift from my father, you see. And it holds such fond memories of seeing you suffer, and all that.”
It wouldn’t take much to snap the mutt’s neck.
Unaware of the danger, Mckinnon turned and leaned a hip upon the console. “I am, however, willing to consider a trade. A dip in your wife’s luscious—”
Mckinnon flew across the room, the blow from Archer’s fist slamming him into the wall, in a spray of plaster and flopping limbs. A painting of the Thames teetered on the wall above him as he fell in a heap on the floor. Mckinnon sucked in a ragged breath and then launched upward.
The impact caught Archer around the middle as Mckinnon tackled him. They fell back with a thud, sliding across the floor to crash into a writing desk. Wood splintered, paper fell like leaves about them. Archer felt the sharp prick of a broken table leg against his back and then he spun, throwing Mckinnon off him in one move. The man tumbled several feet then leapt up, just as Archer did.
“You’re stronger now,” Mckinnon observed with a breathless laugh. Archer rather had the same thought about Mckinnon but kept it to himself. Blood colored Mckinnon’s teeth red as he snarled and came at Archer again.
Archer slid past, catching Mckinnon’s outstretched arm. He swung the man around and tossed him like a rag into the far wall. Mckinnon collided with a curio cabinet in an explosion of glass.
“Faster too,” retorted Archer as shards of glass pinged upon the floor. He straightened his lapels, and when Mckinnon rushed him, he swung low, catching the man in the gut. Mckinnon roared and whirled round, his fist connecting with surprising force to Archer’s temple. Archer saw stars. He blinked them back and lashed out, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone as his