Tanya Anne Crosby (14 page)

O
utside the door to the drawing room, Chloe paused before knocking. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but she’d heard her name and couldn’t help herself.

Hearing their discourse had somehow left her feeling emptier than she’d ever felt in her life. Even after her father’s death she hadn’t felt so utterly hopeless. She swallowed the knot that rose in her throat and turned from the door.

Her first thought was to leave this place. But no—where would she go?

Besides, it wasn’t her way to run away from anything. Her father had always told her that it was best to face the world with one’s head held high and to carry on proudly through life’s trials.

So what if Ian didn’t wish to wed her.

She already knew that much.

That she had allowed her heart to soften was her
own fault. Still, she couldn’t regret what she’d done last night, because she’d done it, not out of blind love, but because Hawk had deserved her protection. Though it was difficult for her to reconcile what she thought she’d known about Lord Lindale and what she knew about Hawk, he was still the man she had so greatly admired. And now, he was even more a hero in her eyes, because it was evident that he risked himself completely for the sake of others.

She’d heard his grief over the treatment of their people and it was palpable.

She made her way toward the garden, needing a breath of fresh air to clear her mind. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused them. She made her way along the pathway and sat upon a bench near Lady Fiona’s rose garden.

Nothing had changed in her life, she assured herself. She was still the same person, with the same dreams. She had never wanted a husband anyway.

Why should that suddenly change?

His kisses alone were not the source of her affection for him—nor was it the way he made her body feel. She had long ago fallen in love with the heart of the man known by all as Hawk. Now that he had a face and a name, and she knew him for what he was, she could not turn her heart away from him.

He was, indeed, kind and compassionate. He was generous, noble and brave.

Chloe hadn’t the first notion how long she sat there before she felt his presence, but suddenly he was there.

He sat beside her upon the bench.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said stiffly, crossing her hands upon her lap.

She hardened her heart against him.

He set his hand atop hers and the simple touch disarmed her at once. Tears pricked at her eyes. “No need for formalities between us, Chloe.”

Chloe lifted her chin and tilted him a glance, willing away the flood of emotion that threatened to overcome her composure. “What, then, shall I call you, my lord?”

He seemed genuinely perplexed by the question.

He just sat there, staring at their combined hands piled carelessly atop her lap.

For a moment Merrick was unable to answer.

What should she call him, indeed.

He wasn’t Ian and he couldn’t reveal himself as Merrick. Nor did it please him for her to continue to call him
my lord.
He laughed softly. “You seemed to have had plenty else to call me before now,” he said lightly, teasing her. “Selfish, arrogant, spoiled,” he suggested a few. “Shall I continue?”

She peered up at him and gave him a reluctant smile. “I no longer believe those things, my lord.”

“Ah,” he countered, “because suddenly I am beloved, kind, compassionate, generous, charitable, noble and brave,” he said, repeating the things she’d once recited about Hawk.

She laughed softly and the sweet sound of it completely enchanted him. “You’ve a great recollection, my lord. Have you committed everything I’ve said to memory?”

“Yes,” Merrick answered honestly. He smiled at her. “I live for your every word, don’t you realize?”

It was true.

He spent every waking moment that he wasn’t with her recalling their conversations and musing over Chloe’s perspective of the world. She was witty and intelligent. She was beautiful and kind. Through her eyes, he had learned to see his brother for who he was and even to respect him.

It was a gift he could never repay.

Chloe made him want to be a better man.

She lifted a delicate brow. “I rather doubt that,” she said.

“But it’s true,” Merrick assured her.

“My lord, you scarce even spoke to me before a week ago.”

Merrick squeezed her hand. “Then I was a fool,” he told her, and meant it. Whatever else Ian
might be, he was certainly a fool if he had not seen the treasure sitting right beneath his very nose.

“Come,” he said. “Let us walk together.” He tugged gently at her hand, dragging her to her feet.

“It’s really not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. I want to show you something,” he told her, his tone brooking no argument. He crooked her arm through his own and led her through the garden toward the aviary.

“It seems you haven’t been here much lately,” Chloe commented as they entered the bird sanctuary.

In fact, Merrick had only seen it from a distance. Inside, it was well kept, he noted, but held very few birds—two gyrfalcons, a peregrine and an old saker. Like Merrick’s, its color was almost white, a rarity for its breed. He went directly toward it and reached out to fondle its feathers. The falcon peered at his hand curiously.

“Sakers are the favored birds of Oriental and Arab falconers. Their hunting is far less hurried and impulsive than other falcons, but when it finds what it wants, it goes after it with deadly precision.”

Like the bird perched before him, it had taken Merrick a long time to find his heart, and now that he had, he wasn’t going to let her go so easily.

“Really?” she said, her tone genuinely curious. She reached out tentatively to touch the bird and
then changed her mind. “Have you always kept falcons?”

“Always,” he replied, and it was the truth. He suspected Ian had, as well. “For a time, I would even sneak the bird into my room and perch it upon my bedpost.” He laughed softly at the memory. “The maids didn’t like that very much,” he admitted. “And it was overall not a very sanitary practice.”

Chloe stifled a small laugh. He wanted to make her laugh again, see that laughter reach her eyes. While she was feisty and full of life, one thing he hadn’t recalled from her since meeting her was a true smile.

“I’m certain Edna had quite a lot to say about that,” Chloe commented.

“Edna?” he asked.

“You don’t remember?”

Merrick shook his head.

“Has much of it returned?”

Merrick answered honestly, “I see much more than I wish I did. Tell me, Chloe…my mother and your father…they knew each other a long time?”

Chloe peered up at him, smiling. “Yes. In fact, my mother used to complain that my father spent more time wiping your nose than he did mine.” She laughed softly. “Lady Fiona was…shall we say…a rather doting mother.”

Unarmed by her disclosure, Merrick raked a
hand over his face. She couldn’t have known that his mother had never doted upon him a moment in her life.

“She must have summoned my father every time you skinned your knee.” A sparkle came into her eyes as she revealed, “I’m afraid my father thought you were a mischievous little imp.”

Merrick had to smile at that. Apparently it was something he and Ian had in common. Ryo had often rebuked him for the same.

“I have to confess that I rather agreed,” Chloe told him. “I only saw you in church, but you never behaved and I didn’t particularly like you,” she confessed.

Merrick chuckled. “Not much has changed, I suppose.”

They shared a meaningful look.

“I no longer feel that way.”

Merrick tested the bird’s patience, reaching out to gently touch its head. It responded calmly, with just a quick fluttering of its wings. A small white feather floated to the ground. Merrick bent to retrieve it. He handed it to Chloe.

“Soft,” she purred.

Like her skin, Merrick thought.

Warm velvet.

His body convulsed at the memory of her silky flesh beneath his fingertips. He yearned to touch
her again. He wanted to touch her like that for the rest of his days.

He hoped Chloe would bear him sons and daughters. He wanted a houseful…a little brood like Rusty’s that would swing on his coattails and wipe their dirty little hands on his pant legs.

He didn’t need Fiona to tell him to do the right thing by Chloe. He
wanted
to make things right.

He took her by the hand and turned to face her, hoping she would see the sincerity in his eyes. “Chloe,” he began.

She averted her gaze, refusing to look at him, and snatched her hand away. “No, my lord! You needn’t do that,” she said, sounding utterly panicked. She then turned and ran out of the aviary, leaving him to stare, dumbfounded, after her.

“Chloe!” he called after her, but she ignored him, hurrying toward the house, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste.

He wanted to follow, but perhaps it was best to let her go for now. He couldn’t say the things he wanted to and until he could…perhaps it was best to say nothing at all.

Chloe hadn’t meant to flee like some silly miss; she just couldn’t have borne anything Ian might have to say. If, in fact, he were to ask her to wed him, she would know it wasn’t by his desire and she would have denied him. It would have broken
her heart. On the other hand, goodbye would have been just as excruciating.

Though she was far too preoccupied to participate in conversation, Lady Fiona’s pleasant chatter helped keep Ian off her mind while Chloe massaged her limbs. Their color seemed far healthier than it had been merely a week ago, she thought, and on impulse, gave the arch of the foot a gentle pat.

Lady Fiona’s foot twitched.

Chloe blinked, at first, disbelieving her eyes. But it
had
responded, she was certain of it.

She met Lady Fiona’s gaze in surprise. The two merely stared at one another—Chloe’s eyes questioning and Lady Fiona’s perfectly blank. Something about her expression—or lack of it—gave Chloe pause. It seemed to Chloe that Lady Fiona knew what had happened and yet she sat there, saying nothing about the miraculous recovery. In fact, it rather seemed to Chloe that she was attempting to ignore the phenomenon altogether. “Did you feel that?” Chloe asked her, thinking she would surely acknowledge it.

Lady Fiona smiled serenely and asked, “Feel what, my dear?”

Chloe drew her brows together, confused by her reaction. “I thought I saw something, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

Lady Fiona sat upright in the bed, her legs
stretched before her, looking completely unruffled by the incident. Chloe’s old suspicions reared. Contemplating the odd reaction, Chloe pulled the coverlet up over Lady Fiona’s legs, pursing her lips as she considered the possibilities.

“You’re doing such a great job, my dear,” Lady Fiona said, praising her but completely disregarding what had just transpired.

Chloe frowned. “Thank you.”

Was Lady Fiona faking her injury?

Why would Lady Fiona lie?

Each day, this house seemed to unveil another secret. Everyone here seemed to have them: Lady Fiona, Ian, even Edward. For a week now the cranky steward had locked himself away in the estate office. He’d taken his meals there and slept there, as well. Whatever could he be up to?

One thing was certain: whatever it was, it was evident he had Lady Fiona’s blessing, because she was the one who’d requested his meals be delivered there.

As for Ian, he’d journeyed to Edinburgh—to sell the necklace no doubt—and had yet to return. Chloe was glad he was gone because it pained her too much to see him.

Tucking the coverlet about Lady Fiona’s waist, she said a brief good-night. Unfortunately she left without putting out the light and didn’t recall it until nearly an hour later. Chloe returned to Lady
Fiona’s room, feeling miserable over the fact and hoping the light from the candle hadn’t disturbed Fiona’s slumber. She knocked softly on the door.

There was no answer.

Frowning, Chloe knocked again, a little harder this time.

When there was still no response, she peered beneath the door. No light seeped beneath. The candle was out. How strange. Lady Fiona was evidently a heavier sleeper than Chloe realized.

That…or she wasn’t in her room at all.

Dressed in a modest nightgown, Fiona stood, looking over Edward’s shoulder, watching as he removed entries from the ledger that sat upon his desk. Edward was the only person in the house who knew the truth about her condition. Unfortunately he knew about Ian’s misadventures, as well. Still, Fiona trusted him to keep silent. Whatever else he might be, Edward was also Julian’s agent. She knew he would never dare betray her confidences, lest he experience Julian’s wrath.

“I don’t want Ian to ever know where it goes,” she instructed him. “If he sees how much money is funneled into that account, he will surely wonder why.”

“Yes, madame.”

It pained her to know that Ian took such risks when the money was available to him—if only Ju
lian chose to release it. “If Julian wishes to reveal himself once I am gone, he may do so, but I cannot bear the thought of ever facing my son were he to discover all the hideous lies.”

“Yes, madame.”

“I am heartily ashamed,” Fiona assured him. And she was. She should have done something long ago, though what could she have done? She wanted desperately to be able to give Ian something after she was gone. If she kept her mouth shut, he would have a future with Glen Abbey Manor. If she didn’t, he would have nothing at all, and neither would she. Ian would surely disown her, and Julian would carry out his threat and seize the manor and everything attached to it.

He’d lied to her all those years ago.

She may not have ever left Merrick had she realized Julian would renege upon his word. She would have remained in Meridian with both of her sons and said nothing to risk being driven away.

“Yes, madame.”

As she studied the ledger, a particular entry caught her attention. She pointed at it, tapping her finger gently upon the open book. “What is that one, Edward?”