Tanya Anne Crosby (18 page)

M
errick had merely one thing left to do before confronting his mother.

He spent the greater part of the evening at the cottage penning a letter to his father. He’d needed complete peace to consider how to best address the matter.

It was a delicate situation; he was going to marry Chloe and he didn’t intend to wait to do it. If his father wished it, he would remarry her in a traditional ceremony in Meridian, but that would be left up to his father to decide. For all Merrick knew, if he could deny one son, he could surely deny the other. He might very well disown Merrick for what he was about to do; that was a chance Merrick was willing to take. If he must live in the streets to be with Chloe, he would gladly do so just to be by her side.

He finished the letter and went into town to hire
a messenger to carry the letter to the London apartment where they had taken temporary residence, then made his way back to the manor. The distant smoke of a bonfire caught his scent and he smiled, pleased that his men had taken his advice.

He felt damned good about the decisions he’d made.

As he neared Glen Abbey Manor, he spied the orange glow in the evening sky and frowned. It was far too bright to be merely a bonfire, he realized, and the smoky scent in the air grew thicker as he drew nearer.

He spurred his mount into a gallop, his heart racing at the obvious conclusion. Glen Abbey Manor was on fire!

A bellow tore from his lips as he reined in before the raging inferno.

His first thought was for Chloe; his second for his mother. But Merrick knew his mother was unable to fend for herself and it was Fiona he knew he must go after first.

Bracing himself for the worst, he kicked open the front door. Smoke was heavy, but there were no visible flames. Fortunately, Fiona’s bedroom was on the ground floor and he made his way there first.

It was in the gallery he met the wall of flames. Angry tongues of fire licked the walls, searing
through portraits, reducing them to shriveled caricatures before devouring them completely.

Just beyond the gallery, he could see the door to his mother’s room.

Merrick stood in the hall, trying to determine how best to reach her when his mother’s door suddenly flew open.

For the briefest instant she stood there upon both her feet, choking on the smoke, and then an explosion of flames roared past her, knocking her backward.

He didn’t stop to think what it meant that she had been standing. He sucked in a breath as he leaped through the flames toward her. He reached her by the sheer will of God and lifted her into his arms, ignoring the slivers of flames that tore through his shirt and seared his skin.

Choking back the smoke from his own lungs, he made his way toward the window, knowing there would be precious little time to waste once he broke the glass. With his mother in tow, he slammed his fist against the window. Not caring that it cut his flesh, he continued to whack at the shards until there were none left to bar his way. He then slipped through the window with his mother on his back. They made it out just in time. The fire exploded into the room, engulfing it fully.

Spewing smoke from his lungs, Merrick dragged
his mother out far enough that she would be safe from the flames.

By now the servants had begun to filter out of the house. One of the maids came scurrying to Fiona’s side to aid her mistress, holding out her arms so that Fiona might lay in her lap and her head would not rest upon the dirty ground. Merrick deposited her into the woman’s arms. The maid wept softly over Fiona’s still form.

The servants’ quarters were on the third floor, he realized. Chloe’s room was on the third floor.

She wasn’t among them.

Panic seized him, taking his breath away.

“Where’s Chloe?” he asked them.

They shrugged, each in turn as he met their frightened gazes.

“Oh, God—no!” he shouted, and ran toward the house. But the front door was barred by a solid wall of flame.

The house was completely engulfed.

He had no inkling how many came to restrain him, but he fought desperately to get into the house. They wouldn’t release him. Speaking to him in words he could not comprehend because his heart was screaming, they dragged him away from the inferno as the roof caved in right before his eyes.

It was too late.

He sank to his knees. “Chloe,” he cried, swal
lowing the knot that rose like a mountain in his throat. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. He knelt on the lawn, dumb as grief swept through him like a dark plague.

They dragged him backward to where his mother lay. She began to cough and spew, waking. She looked up into his face and tears filled her eyes. Her hand fell open, revealing his ring, but Merrick was too numb to acknowledge it.

His heart felt as though it had been ripped from his chest.

“Merrick,” she said softly, calling him by name.

Her arms stretched toward him and he couldn’t help himself. Like a broken child, he fell into his mother’s arms, weeping, not caring who might see.

Chloe moaned in pain. “You’ll not get away with this,” she assured Edward.

“Of course I will,” Edward replied, his mood unruffled by her threat.

Chloe’s head hurt. She felt as though he had surely cracked her skull. “Fiona already knows you were embezzling. She’ll tell Ian. He’ll come looking for you.”

The horrid man had her trussed up and twisted down on the carriage floor while he sat above her, casually placing a foot upon her ribs as though she were some sort of hunting conquest.

He laughed a laugh that grated upon her nerves. “Fiona is dead,” he told her with certainty, “and Ian is worthless.”

Dread swept through her. “What have you done to her?” Chloe demanded to know.

He peered down at Chloe and smirked, digging his foot deeper into her ribs. She winced, but refused to cry out. She didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction.

“She had a little accident with her lamp,” he disclosed, his tone smug. “It seems to have turned over during the night and caught the draperies afire. You know how these things go. Tsk, tsk. Haven’t you told her more than once she must not leave the lamp lit?”

Chloe’s heart cried out for poor Fiona stuck in her bed. She imagined what it must feel like to be trapped by the failings of your own body. Anger surged through her. Chloe wanted Edward to be afraid. God help her, she wanted to strangle him with her bare hands!

“If you have no fear of Ian,” she told him, clenching her teeth, “perhaps you may of Merrick.”

He looked down at her, his brows colliding. “How is it you know that name?”

Though Chloe was afraid, anger was her ally. The tiny note of panic in his voice gave her strength. Chloe smirked right back at him. “He’ll
hunt you down. And he’ll kill you with his bare hands. Make no mistake.”

That was…if Merrick had the first inkling where to look for her…or even to look for her at all.

Chloe eyed Edward with disgust, seeing clearly for the first time in so long. She had mistakenly blamed Ian for the trials brought upon their kinsmen, but in truth it was Edward who had held the purse strings, raising their rents and bleeding them like too many leeches. It was always Edward who had come to collect monies. It was Edward who’d come to baldly inform her that the cottage was no longer her own and that she must vacate the premises at once. It was Edward’s greed that had killed poor Ana, she realized, and it was his wickedness that was slowly ravaging Glen Abbey.

She must somehow get herself free and find Merrick, she thought desperately. It might be too late for Fiona, but it wasn’t for the others.

Edward, the fiend, must pay for his sins.

T
he manor was completely in ruins.

Merrick retreated with Fiona to the cottage.

Everything had been destroyed, from the portraits in the gallery to the ledgers that had been left in her room. Merrick had assured her that he’d had no knowledge of the fact that his father had ordered them kept. It should have been a first clue that every last ledger could be found on the estate. Merrick, who had kept the books in Meridian, had never had even one forwarded for his inspection. In fact, he’d never even heard of Glen Abbey until he’d read his father’s letters.

Merrick would have told Fiona about the letters, but he’d determined that Ryo was right. It was his father’s place to tell Fiona, not his.

Thank God they’d found no trace of Chloe within the house. All the servants had made it out unharmed. His heart had never felt more empty
than it had in that instant when he’d thought he’d lost her. And he still might lose her… But not if he had anything to do with it. His mother said that after Chloe had shown her the ring, she’d sent Chloe to search for Merrick.

That was the last she’d seen of her.

Chloe hadn’t found Merrick, but it seemed someone else had certainly found Chloe.

Edward had gone missing.

The constable had come to make his report, of course. In talking to Tolly, Merrick determined that he was, indeed, a good soul who wanted nothing more than to save his beloved town from ruin. Merrick had been honest with him and had told him the truth—or most of it—that he wasn’t Ian. Tolly had likely guessed the rest of the tale though it was understood that the matter would be dropped.

It was no longer to be a concern. He’d already heard the news; Hawk was dead.

As for finding Edward, Merrick awaited his men. One last time they would ride together, but this time with deadly purpose. The carriage was missing; Edward wouldn’t get far. And when he caught the bloody fool, Merrick intended to be the man’s judge and his jury.

Edward stopped at an inn for the night, leaving Chloe to freeze to death in the carriage. Her toes
were numb from the cold and her fingers from lack of circulation.

She hadn’t the first inkling where Edward was taking her, but she sensed that now was her chance to escape. Whatever he intended to do with her, she knew it couldn’t be good. If he were willing to dispose of a woman he’d worked for for nearly twenty-eight years, Chloe knew he had no reason to spare her.

It was not very ladylike, she knew, but she cursed him beneath her breath. Not only was she trussed like an animal, but he’d tied her to the carriage for the night. She was bound so tightly that she could scarce breathe much less move. Shivering against the cold night air, she was unable to scream for the yards of material he’d shoved in her mouth. Her jaws were beginning to hurt.

She heard voices outside and tried to cry out for help, but her bellows sounded more like strangled murmurs. Desperate to free herself, she squirmed until her arms were chafed and her body ached.

She feared she would never get free. But suddenly the carriage door opened and Merrick’s face appeared before her like a beautiful, blue-eyed guardian angel.

Tears sprung at once to her eyes.

“Chloe,” he said, sounding relieved as he pulled her at once from the carriage and removed the gag from her mouth.

His men, unmasked, stood at his back. For the first time she saw their faces. They were all familiar to her and she had to laugh. Donald Lowson, whose wife had only just borne him a bairn. Angus Macpherson, whose brother owned the Pale Ale. Rusty she had already guessed. Lonny Macpherson, Angus’s youngest brother. And Jamie Brewer, Emily’s sweet, skinny cousin.

“Miss Chloe,” Jamie said, nodding. “Emily says ta tell ye that she’s verra sorry. She said you’d know what that meant.”

Chloe smiled gently as Merrick worked quickly to untie her bindings.

When she was free at last, she cried out in relief and threw herself into Merrick’s arms. His expression was sober, but when his gaze met hers, she saw the love there and felt safe at last.

“Where is Edward?” she asked.

“Gone,” Merrick told her. “He untied one of the horses from the carriage and fled.

“Come,” Merrick said, taking Chloe by the hand. Leaving his men to fend for themselves, he led Chloe into the inn, certain she was tired. It wasn’t as though there was a house left to return to, anyway. Fiona was sleeping peacefully at the cottage; Chloe needed rest, as well.

Tomorrow was soon enough to face the rest of their lives.

Merrick procured a room, ordered a bath, and
lifted Chloe into his arms to carry her to their room.

He thanked God he’d reached her in time.

He didn’t want to live without her.

Chloe clung to him, not speaking, clearly in shock.

He brought her inside and closed the door. She gently touched his forehead. “You’ve burned yourself.”

“It’s nothing,” he swore.

“Did he hurt you?” Merrick demanded. He would strangle the bastard when he found him.

She shook her head and started to weep. “I’m so sorry about your mother,” she said, burying her face into her hands. “I should never have left her.”

Merrick smiled at her, pulling her hands away so she could see his face. Tenderly he brushed his fingers through her hair. “My mother is fine,” he assured her. And grinned. “More so than you realize, in fact.”

Chloe furrowed her brow, tears still swelling in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, she can walk,” Merrick said simply, shaking his head in wonderment that she’d kept it a secret for so bloody long. “It seems it was all a ploy.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. “So it’s true. But why?”

“To get you to come to the manor.”

“I don’t understand.”

Merrick grinned. “She was trying to play matchmaker, I’m afraid—and it worked, though not quite as she expected.”

Chloe merely looked at him, studying him. It was clear she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to ask.

There was a knock upon the door. He left her long enough to open it and to help the attendants set up her bath. When they were gone, he went to the bed and, ignoring her protest, undressed her.

Chloe’s heart squeezed her painfully. She felt a sudden overwhelming shyness. It seemed she didn’t know him.

She studied his face, trying to see the differences between the brothers. Without Ian present to compare them, it was utterly impossible. They had the same face, the same body, even, it seemed, the same voice.

Everything she’d known about this man was a lie—from the very first to the very last.

Merrick lifted her from the bed and set her in the bath, then started to massage her shoulders. Chloe knew she was stiff beneath his touch, but she couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Ian. He wasn’t Hawk. And she knew absolutely nothing of Merrick.

Except that he had loved her sweetly.

The memory brought a blush to her body that
had absolutely nothing to do with the heat of the bath.

“Does that feel good?” he asked her, his voice gentle.

Chloe nodded, feeling awkward.

She waited a moment, letting the steam calm her, and then told him, “I showed your mother the ring.”

“I know,” he said. His tone was sober. “It’s all true, Chloe.”

Chloe inhaled sharply.

Her hopes plummeted. She hadn’t any chance then. She hadn’t been good enough for Ian, and Ian had been naught more than a simple lord. Merrick was a prince—someday to be a king. She hadn’t anything to offer him—no dowry.

Nothing.

Fiona had made the mistake of aiming too high and look where it had gotten her.

Alone.

He moved around the bathtub, washing her legs beneath the water, massaging them gently, lifting up her ankles to inspect the rope burns.

“Chloe,” he began, and his tone was far too serious. Her heart began to pound against her ribs. She held her breath, knowing what was to come. He would tell her she was sweet and that he’d enjoyed himself and he would explain how unsuited they were. He would apologize and then he would
leave her. Men like Merrick did not linger over their mistakes, nor would he suffer for it like Chloe would.

Her reputation had already suffered.

Still, she couldn’t quite think of him as a mistake.

She averted her gaze, fighting tears.

She could go on as with her own plans for her life…find a way to practice medicine. There was so much good she could do with her life.

He took her gently by the hand.

For the longest time Merrick couldn’t speak, so full was his heart, so thick was his throat with emotion.

As he looked at her lying within the tub, so vulnerable, he knew he wanted to take care of her for the rest of his life. This is what he’d been born for. In truth, he’d never been satisfied with the power of his position. It had never made him smile, nor had it filled his heart as Chloe did.

And suddenly everything became clear.

He didn’t want to rule a nation; he wanted Ian to have it.

He knew, with a certainty he hadn’t ever experienced before this moment, that he didn’t want to be king. For twenty-eight years, he’d had everything his heart had desired and nothing had ever pleased him.

In the few weeks he’d been here, he’d learned
more about himself through Chloe’s eyes and through the hearts of the men his brother called friends. These men weren’t kings or dukes or earls or barons, but he knew this for certain…they would, indeed, kill to protect those they loved, and he needn’t pay them a fortune to do it. They looked after their own and they loved Chloe as a sister. As soon as they’d been told what had happened, every single man had gone after his gun and his horse. He hadn’t had to ask them to join him.

Merrick had never had friends before now.

He’d rarely smiled.

Never loved.

Until now.

“Do you think…” His voice broke. “That you could be happy to be a simple farmer’s wife?”

Chloe’s eyes burned. Was he trying to marry her off to some unfortunate man? God, she shook her head, not comprehending. Surely he didn’t mean that he would give up everything just to be with her?

“I want you to be my wife,” he said with sincerity and conviction. “I want wee little ones like Rusty Broun’s who’ll climb upon my back and beg for rides. I want to be smothered in kisses by sweet-faced daughters. I want to teach my sons to hunt.” He made it sound like heaven on earth, but she knew he couldn’t possibly want that—not
when he could have any woman he desired and any life he chose.

Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. “How could I ask you to give up so much just to be with me?”

Merrick’s eyes, as she peered into them, moistened with tears, mirroring her own. “Chloe…when I thought I’d lost you tonight, I realized…my life is nothing without you. I’m not Ian,” he said. “Forgive me. But I am the same man who has loved you from the instant he saw you.”

Chloe was terrified to believe in him—terrified to hope—terrified to lose him. “But you were born to be a king,” she argued.

He shook his head. “No, Chloe. I was born to be your husband. It would be my life’s joy to care for you until the day I die—hopefully in your arms.”

Chloe’s eyes overflowed with tears. “You mean it truly?” she asked, overcome with joy.

He nodded without hesitation. “I will build you a hospital here where you can treat everyone for free. We can stay in Glen Abbey and raise our children together—let Ian take my place, if he will. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s his crown to do with as he pleases. He is the crusader…not me.”

Chloe’s throat convulsed. Her lips trembled. Her heart felt as though it would burst. She shook her head, wanting to believe in happily-ever-afters, but
afraid to. “You would loathe me someday for making you give up so much.”

Merrick, too, shook his head adamantly. “No, my love. I was imprisoned by my life before. Now I am free.”

“Then, yes,” Chloe said, nodding happily. “Yes!”

Merrick reached out and took her into his arms, not caring that she would wet his clothing. “Then marry me tomorrow,” he demanded, spinning her about, and Chloe laughed.

She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him joyfully. And then she felt suddenly wicked with him holding her naked to his chest. She smiled at him.

Merrick grinned, recognizing that look in her eyes. They fell down upon the bed together.

Chloe untied his cravat, her gaze never leaving his. Smiling, she impishly tossed it to the floor.

Merrick shivered at her look, at the slow, deliberate way she removed his clothing. “I have corrupted you, I fear,” he said, but he grinned and his body hardened with her every touch.

Chloe nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

Lying gloriously naked before him, her skin pink from the warm water, her lips wet from his kisses and her hair flowing down her back, she looked like a temptress…a siren…

When he was naked, as well, she rose from the
bed and lured him into the tub. They stood facing each other a moment and then she pushed him down into the water and sat upon his lap in the most scandalous fashion.

Her body fit over his like a velvety glove.

Christ, she was made just for him, her body tight and warm and soft.

“I will give you all the children you desire,” she whispered sweetly.

“And I will love you until I die,” he promised, his voice hoarse with desire.

And he meant it.

With every fiber of his being.

Chloe began to undulate over him, needing to feel their union once more.

It was a wicked dance they performed, writhing in the tub together. She rode him until he could bear it no longer and then he stood, holding her close so that they wouldn’t separate.

Merrick walked with her to the bed, lying her down gently.

Chloe moaned softly, moving beneath him as he covered her completely. Pushing himself deep inside her, he increased the tempo, burying himself deeper and deeper with every thrust, until it seemed they truly were one.

When at last they came together, the two of them collapsed wearily in each other’s arms and fell asleep until the morning light.