Royal Weddings(21)

The wide-eyed little blonde had stared at him with such somber admiration that he felt as if he could do anything with her by his side. And so he had married her.

It had seemed a perfect match. But lately . . .

Well, he did not know what to think. Her presence was a clear golden light that had become as vital to him as the sun, but he had the most awful feeling he was losing her. Her affection. And he did not have the slightest idea what to do about it. Affairs of the heart were not his forte! Or perhaps it was all in his head, for she never complained. This was a woman who had barely uttered a cry of pain in the agonies of childbirth.

To be sure, she was a good soldier. He had chosen her because he knew courage and integrity when he saw it—traits he had learned to spot in his men in the war. Elle was not just astoundingly beautiful, she had a core of steel. Ah, but this same stoic quality made her so reserved, so dutiful and conscientious, that he sometimes found her difficult to read—and even harder to approach.

She wore her calm, cool etiquette like a shining suit of armor, impenetrable. God alone knew what the woman was feeling.

If anything.

A troubled frown flicked over Archer’s face. Sometimes she seemed entirely indifferent to him, and this made him indignant. Didn’t she know that he could have easily found female attention elsewhere if he wished it?

But he didn’t. He only wanted her. They shared a house, but these days lived a thousand miles apart. She was so cold, so perfect. He longed to break through her layer of ice, but in truth he feared she might find the more passionate, soldierly side of his nature revolting. Vulgar.

So, what else could he do but put his blond goddess on a pedestal as the mother of his children, and show his regard in the usual way, by letting her buy whatever the devil she wanted?

Besides, a gentleman ought not bother his lady too much about his baser needs, after all, and it was just as well, for he was so exhausted from one bad night’s sleep after another and all his endless responsibilities that, though a man in his prime, he was too bloody tired for sex.

Nightmares of blood and smoke woke him up more nights than not, but rather than ponder the hell he’d survived, he kept himself extraordinarily busy. Aside from his usual parliamentary duties, he served on three select committees and sat on the board of twelve different organizations. Most of the time he refused to hand off the work to his aides, secretary, solicitor, and land agent, the way most other peers did. He’d been born a younger son and had always expected to work for a living. He didn’t mind it.

At least exhaustion helped to keep him faithful.

“Good evening, Lord Archer,” Juliana, Lady Margrave, purred, sidling up beside him without warning.

He stepped back to offer a tense bow. “Madam.” He scanned behind her. “Er, where is your lord tonight?”

“Indisposed. Again,” the raven-haired seductress drawled. “Awful flare-up of the gout.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Archer clipped out.

“Yes, he’s so much fun, isn’t he? But no matter.” She shot him an unmistakable look. “I’ll just have to find amusement elsewhere this evening.”

He stared coldly at her. It isn’t going to work.

Elle’s rival from their debutante days smiled back at him with the same smug mockery he had seen in her eyes the first night he had refused her months ago.

Northrop Hayes had put her up to it, of course, trying to bring him down with a scandal. The pair were as thick as thieves. But unfortunately for them, he had no intention of taking the bait.

He had no time for a mistress, and the lowering truth was, he was madly in love with his unattainable wife.

Archer turned away from the temptress yet again, shaking his head cynically at her efforts. “I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty, madam.”

Elle withdrew from her brief audience with the Queen, decidedly pleased with herself for her success. When Her Majesty had kindly asked after her family, she had managed to drop a modest hint about Archer’s pursuit of the Treasury post. The Queen had nodded with approval, agreeing that he would be an excellent choice.

She could hardly wait to tell him. But when she turned around and saw him with that woman, Elle froze, the breath knocked from her. She could barely believe her eyes.

How dare you talk to her in front of me? How dare you acknowledge her here?

She looked away, beyond furious, instantly sick to her stomach. But when her stricken gaze happened across Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold so joyously in love, her heart simply broke, shattering like glass.

And her long pent-up explosion was suddenly at hand.

Emotion overtaking her like an arson’s blaze rolling over a village, she strode blindly out of the Crimson Drawing Room, stumbling out to the gardens of Carlton House, where she stood gasping for air in the darkness of the night.