Tanya Anne Crosby (10 page)

He examined it in her hand without touching it,
as though it were a distasteful bug. He arched a brow and asked rudely, “What the devil is that?”

Chloe straightened, wounded by his look. “It was my mother’s. Please take it instead.” It would ease her to know that she had sacrificed the ring for a good cause.

He made no move to accept the ring, though she offered it willingly. “That, I’m afraid, is little more than a cheap bauble,” he told her rather brutally.

It wasn’t a cheap bauble! His denigration chafed her. It certainly
was
worth something—and to Chloe it meant a great deal more! “My mother gave it to me before she died,” she informed him tautly, annoyed that he would discard her gift so readily. “What sort of crusader are you, anyway? Any gesture, great or small, should be duly appreciated,” she lectured him. Good night! He might be a savior to the townsfolk, but he was just as rude as Lord Lindale!

She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him closer. In fact, he was just about the same height as Lord Lindale, as well. But it couldn’t be.

She dismissed the possibility entirely. She just couldn’t imagine Lord Lindale resorting to something so low as to steal for money. He had money. Didn’t he? He certainly seemed to spend enough on himself. Besides, neither could she imagine him doing something so unselfish as to give it away to others.

“I’m afraid
that
wouldn’t buy a mouse a scrap of cheese,” he said, his tone amused at her expense, and entirely too familiar. “No thank you. The necklace, please…”

Chloe straightened to her full height, insulted by his outright refusal. She pushed the ring angrily back on her finger. “Well, I didn’t say it was worth a king’s ransom!” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “I was simply trying to make up for the unfortunate fact that I cannot give you the bloody necklace. As I told you, it is not mine to give!” She stood her ground, glaring at him, her hand once again going protectively to her throat.

Merrick wasn’t trying to insult her.

The look on her face as she’d offered the ring was so full of dismay over the possibility of losing it that he just couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Though even if he had, he doubted any man present would allow him to do it.

Standing before him now, her deep auburn hair shining under the moonlight, her cheeks a soft rose against her pale moonlit skin, she looked so adorably angry. He wondered what her hair would feel like gliding through his hands. He was sure it would be as soft as it looked…as must be her skin.

He knew those lips were sweet and he longed to kiss her.

And those velvety breasts…the rising curves beckoned to his mouth…his hands. What must
they feel like against his palm, the nipple pebbled against his flesh.

He wanted to bury his face in her sweet scent. Roses. He knew she would smell faintly of roses…like the one he’d left for her in the carriage.

Standing beneath the moonlight, her dress shimmering around her soft curves, the night fog swirling in delicate tendrils about her feet, she looked almost ethereal.

She was, indeed, an angel…as he’d thought at first glance.

A fiery angel.

His loins tightened, heat rushing through them.

Every encounter with her further enraptured him. She stood up to him in a way no woman—or man—had ever dared. She offered him her treasures, yet fought like a lioness to protect something that didn’t even belong to her.

Damn, but she was beautiful tonight.

To bad this had to be done; he needed that bloody necklace. He took the pistol from Rusty’s hand and pointed it at her. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter, miss. Take it off, or I’ll do it for you.”

She gasped aloud as the cold metal touched her bare flesh. “How utterly rude!” she exclaimed boldly, though her eyes showed a trace of fear.

He laughed softly, masking his regret. “Imagine that,” he quipped to his men, “a rude thief.”

Perhaps there were only a few men, but it seemed a hundred, or more, laughed at his jest.

Chloe bristled over his unremorseful tone.

It seemed she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Half a dozen shadowy figures with gleaming silver in their hands surrounded her. They stood at a distance, their weapons glistening by the light of the moon. In her quarter, the coachman sat with the reins still in his hands, not daring even to look in their direction.

Och, how could the evening have gone so wrong? Why, oh, why, had she agreed to this evening? What had she hoped to gain by accepting Lord Lindale’s invitation?

Even if she wanted Lindale—which she didn’t—he was hardly the sort of man who would lower himself to wed a commoner. He would dally with them, certainly, but he had nothing to gain by wedding someone without money or title, and he wasn’t the type to do anything lest it profit him.

Chloe had let herself be carried away by the moment, she told herself, by Aggie’s enthusiasm, by her own vanity. At twenty-three, it had simply felt good to have a man notice her—even if it were Lord Lindale. This town had scarce a man left in it who was unattached. And even if there were, there were none who were quite suitable for her. She didn’t want to feel herself vain and trivial, because it wasn’t so much that she felt herself too
good to lower herself to being a farmer’s wife, it was just that she couldn’t quite relate to them. Thanks to her father, she aspired to more than simply shucking peas.

“The necklace,” Hawk prompted, reminding her of the gun’s presence with a cold kiss from its barrel against her cheek.

She peered up at Hawk, slow to respond despite the chill of metal against her flesh.

How had he known she would come this way? He must have known. She cast the coachman a glance, studying his demeanor. He wouldn’t even look at her.

Fear or guilt?

Hawk’s gaze never left her as he waited for her to comply. Feeling helpless, Chloe turned, giving him her back. “You’ll have to take it from me,” she told him, vowing not to aid him, though once she’d have leaped at the opportunity. “I won’t just give it to you!”

“Removing anything from your body would be my utmost pleasure,” he told her, handing his pistol to one of his men. Chloe swallowed as his hands worked to unclasp the necklace. Her heart beat a little faster as his warm fingers grazed her back. She swore she could feel the heat of his breath as he bent close to better see the clasp.

Once he removed the necklace from her neck, though she remained fully dressed, she felt vulner
able and exposed. With the weight of it relieved, she felt utterly stripped of her sense of honor. To her dismay, she felt like weeping and she hadn’t cried since her father had died—and before that, when her mother had passed away. As horribly as she’d felt when little Ana had died, she hadn’t even cried then.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

It wasn’t supposed to make her feel as though she’d been violated. She knew what Hawk did with the money, knew it went for a good cause. And it certainly wasn’t that she was so attached to the necklace that she couldn’t appreciate the good it might bring to others, but she was, without a doubt, attached to her pride and honor, and somehow he’d just reduced that to mere slivers. And she realized in that moment that if she could feel this way about something that wasn’t even hers, how must others feel when he stripped them, unwillingly, of their personal possessions?

Yet, it could hardly be helped when there were far too many starving children in the world and far too many oblivious people.

Could it?

Her heart felt too heavy to beat properly.

There must be some other way.

“Now…I have something for you,” he revealed, and produced a crisp white kerchief.

Confused, Chloe merely stared at the offering,
uncertain what he expected her to do with it. Dry her tears after he was gone? She glared at him, piqued by the insinuation that, like some school-girl, she would weep her eyes out once he had left her. She might feel like it, but she wasn’t going to.

He held the kerchief out for her to take, opening his hand so she could better see it in his palm. It was then she realized that it was wrapped neatly about a small, rounded object. Curious, she reached for it, but he snatched it away, “A little something for the lady of the house,” he told her, “to make amends for the loss of her necklace. Tell her that it belonged to the occupant of the carriage I robbed some nights ago. He was rather insistent she receive it.”

Chloe grit her teeth and turned her hand, waiting for him to hand her the kerchief. She wasn’t going to allow him to tease her with it again. With narrowed eyes, she studied what she could of his face. His eyes were familiar to her…his mouth…that smirk…

He dropped the kerchief into her hand and her gaze fell to the tiny bundle. Whatever it was, it was small and heavy for its size—she tested its weight—like a ring, or a stone. It was probably just a rock—his idea of a joke.

She glowered at him.

“Now,” he said, bowing gallantly, completely
unaffected by her indignation. “I bid you good night, miss.”

Before Chloe could anticipate his intent, he placed a gentle peck upon her lips. She shrieked furiously at the violation, but he didn’t linger long enough to allow her to slap him for the shocking liberty. How dare he!

With a parting smirk, he gave a signal to his men to retreat. They were swift to obey. In less than an instant the night fog had enveloped them all and she hadn’t a clue in which direction they’d gone. They left her standing in the middle of the road with the white kerchief settled in her hand and the unmistakable taste of him upon her lips.

And suddenly, without a doubt, she knew the night had been carefully orchestrated. Lindale hadn’t intended to woo her at all. No, he’d used her for some other design. She fully intended to find out just what that was.

D
ismissing his men, Merrick hurried to the cottage before Chloe could arrive. He’d purposely chosen her old cottage so he could surround her with things familiar. Now he hid the necklace in a vase, intending to dispose of it later. The mask he hid outside in the bushes. He’d gleaned enough information from Rusty to know that Ian had a jeweler in Edinburgh who bought stolen gems. It should be a simple enough task to find the man—though he felt a pang of guilt after what Chloe had revealed to him.

Curious about the necklace, he retrieved the vase from the mantel upon which he’d placed it and lifted the necklace from within.

Had his father truly given the necklace to his mother? Had she kept it all this time? If she loathed him so much, wouldn’t she have rid herself of the memory entirely—sold it for what money
she could get from it—particularly considering the condition of the manor? It was in deplorable shape.

It was obvious the necklace meant
something
to Fiona, or she wouldn’t have presented it to Chloe to wear tonight. Her affection for Chloe was more than apparent.

Did his mother love his father still?

Merrick studied the necklace. It seemed familiar to him somehow. Distinct as it was, there could not be another like it, he was certain. And then it occurred to him where he’d seen it and the significance of its presence here was unmistakable. There was only one woman Merrick had ever seen his father publicly acknowledge his affection for—his own mother. In one of the paintings that graced the portrait gallery in Meridian, this necklace adorned his grandmother’s neck.

His father had truly loved Fiona. If the sheer number of his letters wasn’t proof enough, this necklace surely was. Could the two love each other still? After all these years? If so, how could his father have completely abandoned them? Unless he hadn’t the first clue what their circumstances were. His father’s pride was such that if he felt they were well taken care of, he wouldn’t extend himself. Which led Merrick to believe that whomever handled the books for Glen Abbey was someone his father trusted completely.

Edward.

Merrick couldn’t comprehend why Glen Abbey Manor had no funds available. Even if their rents and investments were scarce, his father was not a cruel man. Whether he loved Fiona or not, he would have taken responsibility for his child. But it was clear to Merrick that his father loved her desperately still. Had he strangled Glen Abbey’s finances to force Fiona to come crawling back to him? It was not his style, though it was certainly a possibility. Men—and women—did strange things in the name of love. And it had become obvious that there was much he didn’t know about his father.

At the moment he scarce knew himself, if the truth be known.

He wondered, instead of simply giving Fiona the letter he’d stolen from his father, what if he could bring the two of them face-to-face?

One thing was certain, Merrick wasn’t his father. He knew what he wanted and he intended to go after it. He didn’t intend to sit and bemoan his loss for the rest of his days.

He started to replace the necklace within the vase and then decided it wasn’t the best place to hide the jewels. In fact, it was the most obvious place someone might look. He took the necklace into the bedroom, where he doubted Chloe would step foot, and found a suitable spot beneath the mattress. He tucked the covers back into place—
just in time, as he heard the carriage wheel into the drive.

He scarce had time to meet her at the door.

The instant the carriage came to a halt, Chloe burst from it like a raging blue flame, her dress flowing about her as she marched toward him. Her cheeks were a deep, angry rose and her delicate throat was unadorned, but for the flush that deepened her lovely skin.

She showed him the kerchief in her hand. It remained neatly bound. Obviously she hadn’t opened it. “You’ll not believe what I’ve been through,” she exclaimed, and suddenly, surprisingly, burst into tears.

Merrick didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t had much experience with weeping women. Patting her shoulder reassuringly, he led her into the cottage.

It was all Chloe could do not to rage at him for his deception. And he’d brought her to her own cottage—the one he’d stolen from her—what a horrid slap in her face! But she realized she must keep her head to expose him.

The cottage was small compared to the manor. Since the repossession, it was rumored that Lord Lindale sometimes used it for his dalliances—a matter that somewhat disgusted her.

So he meant to seduce her, did he?

That fact made her all the more furious and she cast him a narrow-eyed glance.

The cottage was simple but quaint. Inside, it was elegantly decorated and well-kept, though it remained largely unoccupied. Nothing remained of her old life here. The interior had been gutted and remodeled to suit Lindale’s taste. Once a week servants came to thoroughly scrub it and place fresh flowers in the vases—just in case guests were entertained.

Tonight, dozens of candles were lit about the main room—an extravagance in itself, for it was obvious by their sweet scent that they were made of beeswax. The manor itself used tallow, which left a thin layer of soot upon everything in its way. The servants dusted furiously to keep the furnishings free of it. Unlike the manor, the draperies here were new and bright, and the furnishings fashionable. Seeing the disparities only validated what she’d always believed about Lord Lindale—that he was a wastrel and a rogue.

And yet, how could that be entirely true if, in fact, he was Hawk?

Chloe looked about her, chafing at the answer. Because he spent the money, not on the poor, but on himself. That much was apparent. So he gave a token bag of coins occasionally—that certainly didn’t qualify him for sainthood.

Rotten scoundrel.

The hearth was ablaze, bathing the room in warm, flickering light. Together with the candles,
it made a stunning effect. A small table in one corner sat elegantly adorned with crystal and porcelain. Lilies of various colors filled the vases surrounding it.

If Chloe didn’t know better, she might have thought he’d meant to impress her. But he was only using her. She knew that as well as she knew the taste of his mouth—that thought made her face burn. She shouldn’t know it at all.

He led her into the living area, toward the hearth.

What if she were wrong? What if he wasn’t Hawk?

Chloe chewed her lower lip. If she was, indeed, correct, then the jewels should be hidden somewhere in this cottage. It was her task to find them. Acutely aware of his hand on her arm, she cast him a surreptitious glance, noting the concern in his face, and quickly averted her gaze lest he see her thoughts. She sat upon the chair nearest the hearth and then set the kerchief in her lap.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

Chloe wiped the last traces of tears from her eyes. “I believe you now, my lord.”

He knelt before her, his hand gripping the arm of her chair as he peered into her face. Chloe stared at his strong, lean hand, unable to look into his eyes, trying to determine if it was the same hand that had only a short time ago held a pistol to her
cheek. “Tell me what happened, Chloe,” he demanded once more.

Hearing her name spoken so intimately upon his lips took her momentarily aback. “I—I was robbed,” she said, peering up at Lindale. Her heart beat a little faster.

“Hawk?”

Chloe nodded, watching his face for some expression that would betray him. She started to weep again in earnest. Was she so desperate for someone in her life, so lonely, that she would leap at any attention cast her way? And if she was wrong about Lindale, then she had, indeed, lost Lady Fiona’s jewels and she would never forgive herself.

Good night, he was particularly dashing this evening, dressed in a black coat and trousers. His high cheekbones and chiseled face were striking by the light of the fire. And his lips…the sight of them made her heart race a little faster. Ignoring the sound of her heart beating in her ears, she glanced down at his boots.

They were the same sort of boots Hawk had worn.

“I’m afraid you were right,” she relented, narrowing her gaze at him. “Hawk is not a very nice man.”

He arched a brow at her. “I tried to tell you so, Chloe. Thievery is hardly a noble pursuit.” He
placed his hand over hers, patting it gently. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he apologized, sounding entirely too sincere. “We should have ridden here together, but I wanted you to feel like a princess tonight.”

Chloe furrowed her brows. “I shouldn’t have come at all. I don’t belong here.”

He said nothing for a moment, and then, “But I’m pleased you did.” And he gently squeezed her hand.

Chloe narrowed her gaze at him. “If you mean to try to seduce me, it won’t work.” But she wasn’t certain it was the truth, because he was seducing her already with merely his look and his sweet words.

She shivered as she stared into his eyes…they were so blue…like big blue moons.

His tone was soft when he spoke again. “I asked you here, Chloe…because I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you.”

He’d barely acknowledged her when she’d come to Glen Abbey Manor. How could she believe anything he said now? Everything she knew about him seemed to be a lie.

“I don’t believe you,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “You were scarcely cordial when I came to reside at the manor.”

He lifted her hand up, kissed it gallantly, and
said, “Will you believe me when I tell you I am not the same man you knew then?”

Chloe arched a brow at him. That was an understatement. She could well believe he wasn’t the same man
anyone
knew.

They exchanged a long glance and then he released her hand and gestured to the bundle in her lap. “What is that?” he asked, then teased her with a wink. “Did you bring me a gift?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Chloe lied. “I haven’t opened it yet. Hawk gave it to me to give to your mother. He said it belonged to the occupant of the carriage he robbed a few nights ago and that she was to have it.”

“Really?” His attention was obviously piqued. His brows lifted and he eyed the bundle with renewed interest. “It seems Hawk has been quite the busy thief lately.”

“Indeed,” Chloe agreed.

“I wonder what it is.”

“Shall we open it?”

“Yes, of course. I would not blindly hand a gift from a thief to my mother.”

Chloe nodded in agreement. She braced herself for his reaction. And without further ado, she picked up the bundle and handed it to Lord Lindale. “Then I shall allow you the honor, my lord.”

He smiled slightly as he took the kerchief from her. Struggling with the knot, he wove it loose at
last. When it lay open before them, he cast her a stupefied glance.

“I-it’s a ring,” he said, stumbling over his words.

Chloe understood why.

It wasn’t the same ring originally placed within the kerchief. This one was hers and the ruby with the strange crest was tucked safely where he would never venture…between her breasts. A sense of satisfaction came over her as he stared at the ring lying upon the kerchief. His jaw dropped slightly. He seemed to want to say something and then closed his mouth again, having said nothing at all. He touched his brow, paused to think, and then looked at her with narrowed eyes.

Merrick pursed his lips as he studied her.

She knew.

The little shrew knew who he was.

Or…though it didn’t seem her style, perhaps greed had gotten the better of her. In itself, the ruby with the Welbourne family crest engraved upon its belly was worth a fortune—never mind the gold karats that encased it.

He felt her gaze upon him and wondered what to say. There didn’t seem much he could say without revealing himself. He scratched his head and then raked his fingers over his jaw as he stood.

He had to search the carriage. She would have left it in the carriage, he was certain.

Perhaps this was, somehow, a test?

He lifted the ring from her lap and examined it. He asked as casually as he was able, “You say Hawk said it belonged to the occupant of the carriage?” It had been dark outside, but he was certain this ring was hers…the one she’d tried to give him instead of the necklace. A quick glance at her finger revealed her own ring was gone. “I must wonder…why should this particular ring concern my mother?” he contemplated aloud.

Chloe peered up at him, looking entirely too innocent for his liking. The tone of her voice was far too sweet. “I couldn’t say, my lord.” She shrugged. “It seems just an ordinary ring.”

Merrick pocketed the ring. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough. Shall we go now?”

Her expression turned instantly to one of alarm. “Go where, my lord?”

“Back to the manor,” he suggested. “To give the ring to my mother.”

“Oh, but no!” she exclaimed, bolting to her feet. “We can’t go yet!”

“Why not? It’s obvious Hawk has ruined the evening for us already.”

“Oh, but it’s not ruined!”

Merrick arched a brow, challenging her. “Is it not?”

She sat back down and said in a small voice, scrunching her brow, “Not entirely.” She tilted
her lovely face at him and said in a rush, “My lord, I just can’t face her yet—not without the necklace. It was your father’s gift to her!”

Merrick frowned at her. He hoped she was squirming in that chair by the fire, because she would surely burn in hell for all her lies.

“Very well. But I should, at least, send a message with the coachman.” He told her firmly, “Stay here. I shall return in a thrice.”

Rotten little liar.

Merrick spun on his heels and left her there to wonder about his intent, fully intending to search the coach.

If she had that ring, he intended to find it.

As soon as Chloe was alone, she leaped up from the chair, knowing she had scarce little time to search the cottage before he returned. There was no time to waste. The vase was the first place she looked. Next she checked the desk. Nothing. Her heart tripping, she stood in the middle of the living area and asked herself…if she were a thief, where would she hide a necklace?