Tanya Anne Crosby (11 page)

She doubted he would hide it in the kitchen—that was alien territory for any man. Her best bet, she feared, was the bedroom, though she dreaded walking into it. Like a spider’s web, the very thought of entering made her tremble slightly. But she was desperate to find that necklace.

The master’s room was impeccably neat, with nary a hair on a brush left to catch the eye. Chloe knew she would need to search thoroughly but quickly, lest he catch her. She set to work, looking high and low.

T
he bloody ring was nowhere to be found.

Merrick checked even the closed bud of the rose he’d given her, thinking she may have slipped the ruby within. It wasn’t there; it wasn’t anywhere. Damn. Either she had tossed the bugger out the carriage window or it remained on her person. But though he’d seen glimpses of her fiery temper, he knew she wouldn’t have tossed so valuable a piece, so that left one place to search…

He raked his hands over his face.

Christ, this wasn’t just any ring. Passed down from father to son for over three hundred years, it bore the Welbourne family crest. Merrick would be giving it to his own son someday. Ryo would have known Merrick would never part with it—at any cost—and would have taken its delivery as a call for help. If Fiona knew anything of its value—and he was certain she did—she would have
known not to part with it until Ryo arrived to claim it.

What did little Miss Chloe intend to do with the ring?

What the devil did she know?

The little vixen.

Cursing, he left off searching the deuced carriage—a third perusal would be a wasted effort. She was probably already concealing the ring somewhere within the cottage…so she could return for it later. Damn. This evening wasn’t going at all as he’d planned.

She wasn’t in the living area when he returned. He checked the kitchen; it was empty, too. Which left only two possibilities. It was a small cottage. Either she’d managed to slip out while he’d been searching the carriage and was halfway to Edinburgh by now—he knew she no longer had familial ties in Glen Abbey—or she was in one of the two bedrooms.

He made directly for the master’s bedroom.

He found her there, standing before the oval mirror, casually brushing her hair.

The vision was such an intimate one that it took him momentarily aback. For a befuddled instant he couldn’t even remember why he’d been searching for her to begin with, so entranced was he by the sight of her.

Her dark auburn hair was swept down, framing
her lovely face. The ends of her long, silky hair curled gently…like a lover’s fingers about her breasts. Her skin was flushed from the curve of her breasts to her beautiful cheeks. He swallowed. Hard. And he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, catching sight of him in the mirror. “My lord!” She spun to face him when he entered, pretending to be startled by his appearance. “I—I hope you don’t mind terribly,” she said, her voice betraying a slight quiver. “My pins were giving me a dreadful megrim.”

Merrick still couldn’t find his voice to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking rather coy. “I shouldn’t have…it’s just that…I know I looked horrid with my hair a mess and tears all over my face.”

Christ, she looked anything but. She was absolutely ravishing.

Merrick’s mouth felt suddenly parched; he licked his lips gone dry. His loins tightened to the point that he hoped she wouldn’t lower her gaze. No trousers could confine the greedy beast stirring there.

He cleared his throat. “Not at all,” he managed to say. He forced himself to remain at the door, lest he go to her, lift her up, throw her down upon the bed and take her like some crude barbarian. He was that bloody aroused.

She wasn’t like the ladies of the town, who
gasped by day at the very thought of entering a man’s boudoir, but secretly slipped between his sheets at night.

Nor, evidently, was she some shy miss.

He remembered the way she’d peeked beneath his covers when she’d thought him asleep and experienced a sudden violent wrenching of his gut at the thought of her lying with some other man.

He had to know—as badly as he needed to find that ring—if she was still a virgin.

She shouldn’t have ventured into his bedroom, he thought darkly. Merrick considered himself a gentleman, but he was no saint and she’d changed the rules of the game when she’d entered his lair. Still, he didn’t dare move too quickly.

Like a tiger in a crouch, he waited for the right moment to pounce.

“You look…absolutely radiant,” he said, and meant it. His voice sounded thick even to his own ears.

Chloe’s heart began to thump wildly.

She hadn’t found the necklace, of course, but she knew it must be here somewhere. Looking into his eyes, she realized her foolishness. He’d sent the carriage away; she was alone with him now.

The hungry intensity in his eyes was the same as it was the morning he’d kissed her. His eyes were like blue flickering flames and his gaze, where it touched her, lit her body slowly afire. Her
skin prickled with something like fear as he took a step nearer, but it wasn’t quite fear, she acknowledged. She swallowed the knot that arose in her throat and with a mind for self-preservation, took a step backward.

“Tell me…what are you really doing here, Chloe?”

She gulped deeply at the sensual sound of his voice, low and rich. Her breathing grew heavy and her body convulsed in secret places. “M-my lord?” she said, feeling as though she would swoon under his scrutiny. His presence filled the room completely. “You invited me…remember?”

“To dine, yes, I know,” he finished for her. “I meant…what are you doing in my bedroom?” He took her ring out of his pocket, made a point to look it over, then walked past her to the night table, eyeing her as he set the impostor ring down upon the table.

Chloe watched him with a growing sense of alarm.

Why didn’t he ask her about the real ring?

If he did, she would return it straightaway. She’d only wanted to know the truth.

He was closer now and she had the impression that it was by design. He watched her closely as he said, “I sent a message to the house that you’ve been robbed. The constable should be alerted at once.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t thought about the constable. She knew he would be there at first light to interrogate her. It seemed to Chloe that he wished to catch Hawk more than he wished to breathe. What should she tell him? What if she were wrong about Lord Lindale? What if he was not Hawk, after all?

He must be bluffing, she decided, and straightened under his regard. She refused to be cowed by him. If he was playing games, she could certainly do the same.

“Good,” she said, nodding, but her tone wasn’t entirely convincing even to her own ears. She was a horrid liar. Even now, the cold metal ring stung the flesh between her breasts and she longed to pluck it out and cast it at him accusingly.

Heaven help her, she should never have come here to begin with.

She should have hied back to the manor.

God have mercy, she couldn’t stop staring at him, though she knew it was a dangerous game she played. His gaze locked upon her face, his eyes entrapping her.

For the longest moment of Chloe’s life, they stood staring at one another.

And she knew…

He knew.

Her heart beat like thunder against her breast. Her hand dropped helplessly at her side, the brush
slipping to her fingertips. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye and came and took it from her, tossing it upon the bed.

Chloe suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“My God, you’re so lovely,” he whispered, and his fingers slid through her hair, pausing at her cheek.

Chloe’s head fell backward at the shocking intimacy. She found it impossible to swallow, though she tried. As his hand cupped her face, she sucked in a breath.

Why was she reacting so wantonly toward him? Why was her body behaving so traitorously?

She was already seduced, she feared, and he’d barely touched her.

No man had ever affected her so strangely.

Was she so hungry for the touch of another human being that she would lower herself to such behavior?

She lapped at her lips. “My lord,” she protested, but it sounded more like a sigh when it came through her lips.

“Chloe,” he said, and it sounded like a plea. “I realize I promised I wouldn’t, but I want to kiss you,” he said, and his arm went about her waist, drawing her fully against him. “Tell me you want me to.”

Chloe’s lips parted, but no words came. Her heart pounded so fiercely she knew he must hear
it, as well. She melted against his embrace and closed her eyes, trying to summon the will to resist him.

“I
need
to kiss you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Kissing him would gain her nothing, Chloe reminded herself.

Loving him could lose her everything.

“If you tell me not to, I won’t.” His face touched her cheek, his lips lightly brushing her skin.

Chloe clung to him, her fingers clutching desperately at the sleeves of his shirt.

“But God help me, I’ve wanted you from the instant I saw you,” he whispered. His arms locked about her waist, the hunger apparent in his embrace.

Chloe wasn’t a child. Her father had never treated her as most fathers did their daughters. He’d never sheltered her from truth. She knew what kisses led to. But God forgive her for being so wanton, she needed him to kiss her, too. She nodded almost imperceptibly, but he must have felt her because his lips closed over hers within the instant. He pressed his mouth against hers so tenderly, so delicately, that Chloe could only moan in response.

He was an earl, she told herself desperately. This was foolish…she must stop… But her lips would not obey.

“So sweet,” he whispered against her mouth. Chloe felt his words throughout her body; the blood warmed through her veins and her breasts tautened until they ached. She gasped softly for breath as his tongue swept over her lower lip.

She was drowning in desire…felt with parts of her body she didn’t know could feel.

Merrick’s body reacted with an explosion of desire.

It had been so long since he’d lain with a woman—so long since he’d wanted to. But she wasn’t just some woman, he reminded himself. She was a rare flower and he never wanted her to wilt—never wanted to be the cause of it. By her response to his kiss, timid, but eager, he knew it would be so easy to lay her down upon the bed and take her…but he wouldn’t…not yet.

He wanted her not just willing, but forever.

If he violated her now, she would regret the hastiness of their loving. But if he walked away now, it also meant he couldn’t search her for the ring.

It was a matter of priority.

The ring or Chloe?

Instead of taking it, he would have to coerce it from her…make her want to give it to him. For that, he needed her trust.

Knowing he would pull away after one last taste of her, he drank deeply of her mouth, feeding from
the sweet nectar, and then, reluctantly, tore himself away, thoroughly ignoring the throbbing of his loins.

He couldn’t be alone with her tonight.

He couldn’t be trusted, he knew.

Aside from that, he couldn’t trust her to remain in the vicinity of the necklace.

His withdrawal left Chloe feeling both relieved and dashed.

If he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she might have crumpled at his feet, so dazed was she by his kiss.

“I’m certain you’re not in the mood for an elaborate dinner after the ordeal you’ve been through,” he suggested, sounding suddenly curt. “The carriage will return soon.” He turned her to the door and gave her a gentle shove toward it.

Stunned by his sudden, obvious dismissal, Chloe allowed him to lead her out of the room.

Panic filled her.

She couldn’t leave yet!

She certainly couldn’t leave the cottage without finding the necklace! “Oh, but I’m ravenous!” she lied.

“Not to worry,” he countered. “I’ll see you safely home and then have a meal sent to your room.”

There was absolutely nothing Chloe could say to that. His tone brooked no argument. She hadn’t
the first notion what she’d done, but it was evident by his demeanor that he no longer wished her to remain in his presence.

True to his word, it wasn’t long before the carriage arrived—or perhaps it had never left. Chloe was too confused to know.

Lord Lindale saw her aboard, then returned briefly to the cottage. Chloe suspected she knew why, but said nothing as he boarded the carriage and sat in the seat facing her.

He lifted up the rose before settling himself and handed it to her with a slight smile. “This, my love, belongs to you.”

But his look did not match his sweet words.

He’d called her
my love.

Could it be that he used sweet words for every woman he knew? That was, for those from whom he wanted something?

Or had he meant it?

T
hat very night, Chloe lay in bed twirling the rose in one hand, the ring in the other.

The evening had managed to thoroughly confuse her.

It seemed that Ian MacEwen—Lord Lindale—was not at all the man she’d supposed he was. She’d discovered more about him in the past week than she had in all the months she’d been in residence. And what she discovered was that he was full of secrets.

Had his wastrel attitude been entirely an act from the first day she’d met him?

Since his youth, Lindale was said to have had a greater taste for women than he did for his whiskey. Her belly turned at the thought of him wooing other women. It gave her a twinge of some emotion she didn’t dare confess to—jealousy?

Surely not.

Gossip would have it that he frequented every unseemly pub in the vicinity, flouting in the face of propriety. Chloe had to wonder now it if had merely been a cover for…other activities.

Could it be that he hadn’t wanted her presence at Glen Abbey solely because he hadn’t wanted her to unmask him?

Still, something about the situation did not add up.

I’ve wanted you from the instant I saw you…

Could it be true?

His words clung to her brain like the taste of him upon her lips.

At first Chloe had been invited to take her meals in the dining hall, along with Lord Lindale and his mother. Lord Lindale had repeatedly declined to join them, and then, the one day Chloe had not joined them, he’d returned to the table. It had sent a clear enough message to Chloe that she wasn’t welcome and from there on she’d declined to join them. Aside from that, however, he’d never mistreated her. In fact, he’d scarce talked to her. Like Edward, he’d barely acknowledged her presence.

And now he claimed he’d wanted her from the instant he’d spied her. It just didn’t ring true. The fall from his horse had obviously, in truth, rattled his brain.

She inhaled the sweet scent of the rose he’d
given her and then set it upon the night table, turning her attention to the ring she held in her hand.

By the moonlight she studied its design. The stone was a richly colored ruby that bore the etchings of a family crest upon its belly. She couldn’t see it now in the dim light, but she knew it was there. The ring itself was gold and it, too, bore intricate carvings that were unfamiliar to her.

Why had he given her the ring to give to Lady Fiona? Would Lady Fiona recognize the jewel? And why hadn’t he simply handed the ring to his mother himself?

Chloe considered her best course of action. Should she give the ring to Lady Fiona? Or should she use it to somehow draw out Hawk?

Chloe fell asleep piecing together a plan.

Lady Fiona took the news well.

She assured Chloe that the loss of the necklace wasn’t her fault, but Chloe felt entirely responsible. She fully intended to see to its return, no matter the cost. She didn’t dare bring up the ring, but Lord Lindale did, indeed, give his mother Chloe’s ring—which only made Chloe wonder if she weren’t mistaken. Perhaps he wasn’t Hawk.

As they sat in the drawing room examining the strange gift, Lindale seemed properly perplexed by the ring’s significance. He scarce looked at her. His mother wasn’t able to shed any light upon it, either,
though Lady Fiona cast Chloe a questioning glance.

Chloe’s face burned under Lady Fiona’s quick scrutiny. Judging by her expression, Fiona realized the ring belonged to Chloe. But she never revealed as much to Lord Lindale, and Chloe was beginning to feel Glen Abbey Manor was a house full of secrets.

After Fiona was settled in the garden, Chloe slipped out of the manor and ventured into town.

The one person Chloe knew who’d connected with Hawk was Emily. Chloe sought her out, discreetly sending a lad into the Pale Ale to ask Emily to meet her in the alley.

Emily emerged from the inn almost at once, her slim hips swaying beneath a faded blue dress. Her dark hair was pinned atop her head in a haphazard fashion. She was a lovely girl, not more than seventeen, though she looked and behaved far older than her years. Life had dealt her a brutal hand; the lass had been on the streets since the tender age of twelve.

Emily was obviously quite pleased to see her; she gave Chloe an eager embrace, then stepped back to examine Chloe. She said, without a trace of envy in her voice, “You always look so nice, Miss Chloe.”

Chloe thanked her, but she was anxious to enlist
her aid and came directly to the point. “Remember how you told me that you’d met Hawk?”

“Aye,” Emily replied with a wink and a grin, eager for the opportunity to carry her romantic tales of the highwayman.

“I need you to get a message to him for me. It’s
very
urgent. Do you think you could do that?”

Emily’s smile faded. She shrugged noncommittally, her expression suddenly uncertain. “Miss Chloe…I don’t know…you know I’m always grateful for your help, but I really don’t know if I should.”

“But you must!” Chloe urged her. If she must call in favors in the effort to find Hawk, she would.

“But he’s like the wind,” the girl said dramatically, waving her hand in a breezy motion. “No one can find him, he must find you,” she explained.

Chloe leaned close to whisper to the girl. “Emily, you
must
help me. You’re my only hope.”

Emily gave her a troubled look.

Chloe sensed the girl wanted to help, but her loyalties obviously belonged elsewhere. “I’m hoping that with all your…” she searched for a kinder word “…affiliations, you must know
someone
who knows how to reach him,” she reasoned.

Emily screwed her face. “I don’t know,” she said, but Chloe suspected she knew much more
than she was admitting. “But for you, Miss Chloe…I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Chloe said, relenting. “Please tell him that I have something he lost and that I wish to return it.”

Emily’s eyes lit up. “I see, so you want to help him?” she said.

Chloe nodded and withdrew a coin from her reticule as a gesture of thanks. She handed it to the girl. “If you merely try to get that message to him, that is truly all I ask.” Then, to ease the girl’s conscience, she added, “If you cannot, I will not be mad.” But she knew, somehow, by the look in Emily’s eyes, that Hawk would, indeed, get her message.

The carriage wheeled its way through nearly empty streets.

Merrick hadn’t the first notion where he was going, only that he needed to be away from the manor to think.

This town was hardly thriving, he realized. Nary a soul was anywhere to be seen. For that matter, he hadn’t seen Chloe since they’d presented
Hawk’s gift
to Fiona.

Of course, his mother hadn’t had the first inkling what to make of Chloe’s ring, but something in her expression had given Merrick the impression that she knew far more than she’d let on about Ian’s
endeavors. She’d given Merrick a very questioning glance, as though she’d expected Merrick to supply the answer to the ring’s meaning.

Merrick had only given Fiona Chloe’s ring to divert Chloe’s suspicions. Now, he was almost glad that Chloe had stolen the real ring, because he may have just given away the goose if, indeed, his mother knew about Ian’s misadventures.

Chloe, for her part, had been guiltily silent, unable to look at either his mother or at Merrick directly. And she’d fled their presence the instant she was able.

Last night had been the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do…walk away when he’d wanted nothing more than to make Chloe his own.

She was beginning to occupy his every waking thought. He couldn’t think straight anymore. Even his purpose at Glen Abbey had somehow become skewed.

As he passed the inn, a skinny young girl with ratty hair beckoned to him. The look upon her face had been almost desperate, though she was as discreet as possible in her summons. She disappeared into the tavern.

Curious, Merrick rapped upon the carriage roof and bade the driver pull over. A glance into the smoky bar gave him the impression that every male in town was here with his whiskey and a smoke. He took a seat at a table and the ratty-
haired girl came quickly to serve him. “The usual, my lord?” she asked him coyly.

Merrick raised his brows. Christ, perhaps there wasn’t much to choose from in this dying town, but Ian certainly hadn’t been picky about the company he’d kept. He nodded at the girl and prayed she was speaking of something other than herself.

She left him at once, returning swiftly with a stout glass of whiskey. The stinging scent of it cleared his nostrils from where it sat upon the table. Damn, but his brother must have a stomach made of stone. He withdrew payment for the girl and she smiled as she bent to quickly whisper something into his ear.

Merrick arched a brow when she was through speaking. “Really?” he asked, surprised.

The girl nodded.

He grinned and crooked a finger at her, luring her closer. “Tell her this for me…”