Morgan and Archer: A Novella by Grace Burrowes Read Free Book Online Page A

schoolboy rows were mostly noise, while the professionals battled in silence.
    “And then you demonstrated yet more sound reasoning and took yourself off, to be seen bowing over some hostess’s hand in a far better neighborhood.” To begin drinking the memory of spilled blood and injured scruples into oblivion. “I, however, remained on the scene.”
    “What did you find?”
    “Not a what, but a whom. Archer Portmaine came along, stealthy as a cat.”
    The young man studied his glass rather than drain it. “Portmaine is the pandering idiot I followed in the park.”
    Followed with all the stealth of a drunken gorilla. That too was a discussion for another night. “Not such an idiot. I have reason to think he knew the Frenchman.”
    “What reason?”
    “Merely a hunch.” A hunch resulting from the way Portmaine had sauntered around the block, not once, but three times in the pouring rain. And though the fellow had lingered under the windows of a boarding house for young females, the diplomat had his doubts. “Nothing more than a hunch, one we’ll follow up on.”
    “I’d rather not be the one following up, if you don’t mind. You never said anything about this business being deadly. You said I was to attend the usual parties, frequent the clubs, listen in a few card rooms, and await instructions.”
    “And tonight, you followed instructions. You were to cozy up to the Frenchman, and he was not cooperative. I can assure you that in the general case, violence and killing, in particular, are frowned upon among those engaged in pursuits similar to ours. It’s messy and can bring down the authorities and the press. Nobody wants that, so killing is understood by all players to be a very, very last resort.”
    “ Messy? ” The poor boy put his head in his hands. “I wish I’d never set foot in that damned hell.”
    Such melodrama. The kindest thing to do was deliver a figurative slap to the fellow’s common sense.
    “Ah, but you did. Not once, but many times, and each time, your debts grew. If you want a new start on the Continent, my friend, if you want to be on hand to see your newborn son grow to manhood, then the course you’ve adopted is the only reasonable one.”
    “I’ve changed my mind.”
    Oh, they always changed their minds, or tried to. The diplomat did not laugh, did not even smile. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I want to go to America. When this is done, I’ll take my wife and son and go to America. The Continent is too close, and I’m bound to be recognized by some dandy making the tour.”
    America, of all the barbaric notions… “If that’s your choice, I can only accommodate it.” Provided the journey to America for the young man and his little family started by way of the Low Countries.
    ***
    Archer pulled his mouth away from the houri threatening to make a hash of his wits. “Morgan, for God’s sake, this isn’t—”
    She silenced him by virtue of a hand anchored on the back of his head and her mouth sealed to his. He could not get away; he did not want to get away.
    His fuse was so short as to be nonexistent, and before his common sense or scruples or some damned inconvenient thing could stop him, Archer scooped Morgan up and carried her to the bed. He settled her on the mattress and blanketed her with his half-naked, damp self.
    “Send me away again,” he rasped against her neck. “Scream, threaten me with something dire, Morgan.” He didn’t want her to see this side of him, the side that could take, that could need blindly and selfishly.
    “I’m not as innocent as you think, Archer Portmaine, and not nearly done kissing you.” She emphasized her point by spreading her legs and lifting her hips, a maneuver so bold it cut through some of the urgency fogging Archer’s brain.
    “Do that again.”
    She undulated more slowly this time, and much of the frustration eating at him ebbed away. “Again.”
    He curled down to her shoulder, feeling a different arousal awaken and