"I'm not opening this door." "I'm not opening this door!" Archer's voice bounced off the marble landing like a blade. Rain slapped Emmie's coat. Her knuckles stung from pounding the heavy wood. "Let me in, Archer. My shoes are ruined," Emmie said, voice tight. "Please—I've got to change." Archer leaned against the banister and smiled. "Change where? Your orphanage didn't have a floor plan, did it? This house has rules. You broke them." "Which rule?" Emmie asked. She didn't step back. Her fingers circled the brass knob until they ached. "Tell me one thing I did, and I'll—" "Two things," Archer cut in. "One: you came back without invitation. Two: you left your mess in Chiara's room." A drop of water tracked down Emmie's temple into her eye. She blinked it away. "Chiara—" "Is my cousin. Precious. Fragile. Unlike you." Archer grinned, pleased with himself. "You think I'm going to babysit your theatrics? The staff knows who belongs here." "You're not the staff," Emmie said. "You're the eldest son who likes to play gatekeeper." "Loud mouth." Archer flicked a towel at her door handle. "Go home, Emmie. The rain will wash you back to whatever hole you crawled out of." A maid at the base of the stairs glanced up, then looked at Archer with a careful neutrality. A valet stopped mid-step with a silver tray. Someone whispered, "Miss Buck?" "Miss Buck, maybe you should