Morgan and Archer: A Novella Read Online Free Page B

well.” She looked right at him and spoke slowly, as if he didn’t hear well.
    “I’m sorry to—” Hear that. He accepted another section of orange from her. “That’s too bad, though given what goes on in the typical Mayfair ballroom, you might consider yourself lucky.”
    “You’re an idiot if you think deafness is a blessing.” Her voice was a low hiss, making it plain the subject was sensitive. Archer liked that the momentum of the conversation was in his hands; he did not at all like that she was upset.
    “Tell me.”
    She passed him some ham rolled up around a nibble of pineapple, suggesting the lady shared Archer’s penchant for fresh fruit. “Tell you what?”
    “Tell me what it’s like when your hearing troubles you.”
    She hadn’t expected that question—her expression was positively flummoxed. He chewed the tidbit and realized on the two occasions when he’d had substantial conversations with her, she’d chosen quiet locations.
    “Hearing trouble is a constant frustration,” she said, holding up another bite of ham. “If you’re blind, people will help you. They can close their eyes and get a taste of what you deal with. It scares them, but they know it isn’t catching. If you’re deaf…”
    She trailed off, staring at the food in her fingers. Archer plucked it from her grasp and held it to her lips. “Eat, Miss James. If you’re to interrogate me properly, you must keep up your strength. You were telling me what it’s like to be deaf.”
    She nibbled the food from his fingers, a delectable, delicate sensation with erotic overtones Archer suspected Miss James was oblivious to.
    “If you are deaf,” she said slowly, “people think you’re stupid. They shout at you—you can see when a voice is raised at you—they use little words and use them loudly. They give up trying to speak with you, and don’t think to write down their words instead. You let them give up, because the shouting causes others to stare, and the pity is worse even than the disgust.”
    Archer had an image of an intelligent young woman bombarded with shouting she couldn’t hear, and jeering glances she couldn’t avoid. “I’m sorry, Miss James.” To underscore the sincerity of his sentiment, he reached across the table and wrapped her bare fingers in his own. “I’m sorry it hurt.”
    “Everybody has hurts and burdens.” She said this wearily, like an aphorism passed down from exhausted, burdened mother to exhausted, burdened daughter.
    “We do. Lady Braithwaite was my burden for a few moments. My thanks for waving off his lordship.”
    Miss James brightened. “I considered letting him have at you, then I recalled His Grace’s comments.”
    Drat the damned luck. Morgan James’s interest in a very private conversation could well be that of a woman plotting mischief against the Crown.
    “How and why were you privy to that comment?” Archer still grasped her wrist, and she made no move to withdraw. Either she had the steady composure and regular pulse of a practiced spy, or she had nothing about which to be anxious.
    “I saw what His Grace said. He is well known to me, so I can make out most of his words. I could not follow you as easily.”
    “You saw what he said?”
    “Watch my mouth.” She sat back and slipped her hand from his grasp. “ How are you, Mr. Portmaine? ” She did not speak audibly, and yet he knew what words she’d formed.
    “I’m well enough for a man who must consider his every private word has not been private at all. The ramifications are… daunting.”
    Worse than daunting, considering the safety of the Crown was at stake.
    She patted his knuckles. “You needn’t worry. The ability to read lips is hard won and rare, also an imperfect skill. Every person I’ve known who had the ability was deaf. In my case, I manage much better with people I know, like His Grace.”
    “What did you see him say?” Archer held out a slender hope that the lady might be able to see