Chapter 6
The sprawling mansion was eerily quiet as Archer led Pippa away from the bright, airy grandeur of the main dining hall. The luminous glow of the first floor gave way to the softer, more muted lighting of the private wing. The warm golden hues of the wall sconces guided them past gilded mirrors and ivory-paneled walls.
Pippa walked slowly, a pronounced limp betraying the agony in her bruised knees. Her sophisticated black maid dress rustled softly in the quiet corridor. Archer slowed his long, powerful strides, keeping a watchful eye on her slender figure, ensuring he did not outpace her.
They reached the heavy oak doors of his private study. Archer opened the door and ushered her inside.
The study was a sanctuary of deep leather, rich mahogany, and walls lined with rare books. It felt isolated from the rest of the vast estate, a fortress within a fortress. Archer directed Pippa toward a plush leather armchair positioned under a bright, warm desk lamp.
"Will you take a seat and rest your legs?" Archer asked.
Pippa sank into the chair with a quiet sigh of relief, smoothing her neatly tied white apron over her lap. Her softly oval face was pale, but her expressive brows conveyed a deep, lingering awe of the man who had just dismantled his own empire to protect her.
Before Archer could ask his next question, the quiet of the hallway was broken by approaching footsteps. An older man carrying a sleek black medical bag stepped into the doorway. It was Dr. Evans, the syndicate’s private physician.
"Will you examine her knees, Doctor?" Archer asked, gesturing toward the housemaid.
"Right away, Mr. Langford," the doctor nodded respectfully, kneeling on the thick rug before Pippa.
Pippa felt her rosy cheeks burn with embarrassment as she hitched her short A-line skirt up a few inches, exposing the angry, mottled purple and black bruising that covered her kneecaps. The skin was raw and inflamed from the prolonged contact with the hard marble floor.
Archer stood near the grand marble fireplace, his towering, masculine frame casting a protective shadow across the room. His cold, perceptive eyes locked onto the horrific bruising, his sharply defined jawline clenching tight. The extremely short stubble on his face seemed to bristle with an intoxicating mix of suppressed rage and protective instinct.
"Are there any fractures, Doctor?" Archer asked, his deep voice vibrating with quiet menace directed entirely at the absent Colette.
"No fractures, sir," Dr. Evans replied, applying a soothing, cooling salve to the inflamed skin before carefully wrapping both knees in soft, sterile bandages. "But she has severe deep tissue bruising. She must avoid kneeling, heavy lifting, or extended periods of standing for at least two weeks."
"Will you ensure she receives the appropriate pain medication?" Archer asked.
"Already dispensed, sir," Dr. Evans said, handing a small bottle to Pippa and packing his bag. "She should rest immediately."
"Will you see yourself out, Doctor?" Archer asked, dismissing the man.
Once the heavy doors closed, leaving them alone again, Archer walked behind his massive carved walnut desk. He poured a small measure of amber liquid into a crystal glass and offered it to Pippa.
"Would you care for a drink to calm your nerves before the real war begins?" Archer asked.
Pippa accepted the crystal glass, her fingers briefly brushing against the refined artistic tattoos on his hand. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm. "Thank you, sir."
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Archer poured a glass for himself and leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his long legs at the ankles. He took a slow sip, his cold eyes never leaving her beautifully tapered face. The soft, elegant warmth of the desk lamp illuminated the powerful breadth of his shoulders in his tailored three-piece suit.
"Are you aware of the retaliation that will follow Colette's dismissal?" Archer asked, his tone shifting back to the calculating, serious cadence of a man preparing for absolute war.
