Tanya Anne Crosby (5 page)

Who was she?

The question plagued him.

“I was perusing the portraits in the gallery,” Merrick said carefully, watching her expressions. “Was yours never commissioned?”

She cocked her head, clearly bemused by his question. “Why should mine have been commissioned at all?”

Determined to discover their relation, he took a step toward her.

She took a step backward. “Are you feeling quite all right?” she asked.

He followed her. “Quite,” he assured.

But she retreated another step and found her back against the dresser.

Merrick moved to trap her at once. Enclosing her between his arms, he leaned against the dresser and looked directly into those beautiful brown eyes.

There was no fear there, only confusion. Her back remained straight and her chin tipped slightly upward. “My lord! What is it you think you are doing?” she asked, her tone full of reproach.

Merrick hadn’t the patience for banter. He wanted to know what he wanted to know. Right now. He gave her no warning of his intentions. He bent to take her mouth in a foraging kiss that made his loins swell with desire.

The advance took Chloe completely by surprise.

His mouth possessed hers, his tongue slipping through the defenseless barrier of her lips, tasting with furious abandon. For an instant Chloe could scarce think to react. Her knees buckled in response to his ruthless invasion and he caught her in his arms, holding her steady for his mouth play.

He was fierce and forceful, taking his pleasure as he pleased. But she was not his for the taking. He might have plundered everything else she’d owned, but he wasn’t going to take from her the only thing she had left of value: her reputation.

Regaining her senses, she shoved him away.

He went easily, withdrawing, the back of his hand going to his mouth. She thought he might be disgusted by the kiss, and it somehow added insult to injury.

He appeared to be studying her. “When was the last time I tasted those beautiful lips?” he asked her.

For an instant Chloe could only stare at him, dumbfounded by the question, her mouth hot and bruised from the unexpected assault. She lifted her fingers to ease the sting, her mind numb with the question. It was crude and entirely too personal, not to mention daft, as he’d never dared abuse her in such a fashion before.

And yet, the way he phrased it, the look in his
eyes, made her belly quiver and her body react in ways that confused her.

“How…how dare you,” she stammered. Her lips trembled. The bump on his head must have addled his lewd little brain, she decided. “No man has
ever
dared treat me so basely!”

He had the audacity to smile at that.

“My lord, I was employed to nurse your mother!” she reminded him. “Not to be abused by her son.” His lips curved into a slow smile that infuriated her. “If you ever do that again—”

“Are you threatening me, flower?”

She felt her face flame. “Don’t ever call me that again!” She knew her tone was out of line, but he must be held accountable!

“Or you’ll do what?”

“I—I’ll call you out!” she declared, and meant it. “Yes, I will!” she assured him when he gave her a doubtful look. Having said that, she turned and marched from the room, hurrying away while she still had a coherent thought left in her head.

She had always known he was a cad, but his indecent assault was hardly what she had expected. Perhaps he was far more dangerous than he seemed?

It was certainly time to rethink her presence here.

T
here was no denying it.

Her reaction to his kiss pleased him immensely.

His brother had never kissed her. That realization filled him with a sense of relief that was palpable. In fact, it was evident no man had ever touched those soft, sweet lips before him and it filled him with an inexplicable sense of relief.

He smiled to himself at the way she’d clung to him while he’d explored the depth of her mouth. He could still feel every curve of her body against his own, still taste the sweetness of her lips.

She’d threatened to call him out.

The very idea turned his smile into a grin. Damn, but she was a fiery little vixen. There wasn’t a woman in all of Meridian or London who intrigued him more. His grin widened as he thought of Ian in London. He’d like to see how Ian fared in his shoes amid the hordes of eager
debutantes. Unless Ian came forth at once, he was likely to be immediately inundated by the wearisome social schedule Merrick had managed, by the skin of his teeth, to escape.

But some things could not be avoided.

He made his way to the garden, his gut churning at the thought of facing his birth mother. He would need to face her soon; better that it should be on his own terms.

Would she suspect?

Would she recognize him?

Or, like everyone he’d met, would she be blind to the differences?

The garden was Fiona’s sanctuary.

No one could comprehend what this place meant to her. It reminded her of things impossible to forget. The roses she’d planted were the same as those that had once crept outside her window in Meridian. Only here they scarce bloomed, despite that she lovingly coaxed them. When, by chance, a blossom emerged, she cherished its rare crimson beauty. Along the garden pathways, in stark contrast to the deep green rose vines, grew vivid primrose, gayfeather and bright-colored lilies.

At times, such as this morning, whilst she’d looked over Ian as he’d slept, she felt acutely the pain of loss. And yet she could not quite regret the past entirely, for Ian had grown into such a re
markable man. And Merrick…she knew he would want for naught. Julian would give him everything.

Still, so many questions plagued her about him.

Julian, she knew, would never allow her to risk Merrick’s succession to Meridian’s throne. He’d threatened her quite enough through the years, warning her to keep her distance.

In truth, he’d never released her from his prison, only widened the perimeter of her cell. Edward was nothing more than her turnkey. Julian was a selfish, conniving, lying, controlling devil of a man who did not want her, but neither did he wish anyone else to have her. He’d stolen her life, her child and her freedom. She hadn’t the least control over Glen Abbey Manor. After her father’s death, Julian had retained the property
for her own good and that of his son.

And yet the years had not been merciful enough to erase the memory of his loving or the pleasures of his touch. After all this time, the memories could still ravage her heart.

By God, whoever said love and hate were opposites knew not of what they spoke. Fiona loved Julian and despised him both. What she truly wished was that she just would not care.

Noting a particularly healthy section of vine, she reached out to better examine what looked to be the promise of a bud. The sight of it gave her heart a little leap of joy. She reached for it, but it eluded
her and she eyed the chair with no small measure of disgust. The contraption might be a godsend to those who required it, but for Fiona it was a sentence—another reminder of her many deceptions—one more horrid lie atop the rest. After casting a glance about to make certain no one was watching, she lifted herself slightly from the chair to snatch at the bud.

“Hello, Mother.”

The stem pricked her finger, drawing blood. Startled, Fiona gasped. “Ian!” she exclaimed.

Whatever it was that Merrick had come to say, the words now stuck in his throat.

She looked very much like the portrait his father had secreted away in his drawer—a little more frail, a few more lines on her face, nevertheless the same.

“What are you doing out of bed—you must rest!” Her cheeks were tinted red.

He wanted to ask her what she was doing in that bloody chair if she could walk, but he feared his voice would break. “I’m fine.”

She gave him a reproachful look. “You always did think yourself invincible. How long have you been standing there?” she asked, averting her gaze as she examined her finger.

Long enough to see what she obviously hadn’t wanted him to see. “Just a moment.”

“I see,” she replied, and pointed to the bench. “Come. Sit and talk with me.”

Merrick did as she bade him, uncertain what to say or how to proceed. He sat silently upon the bench beside her, regarding his
mother
for the first time in his life.

It seemed she had her own speech prepared. “I feared you would leave me,” she said, her voice soft, breaking. Tears clouded her clear blue eyes.

Merrick couldn’t, at once, feel compassion. In truth, she’d left him long ago.

He clenched his jaw, refusing even a sliver of emotion to enter his heart.

“I feared I’d never be able to apologize to you for our disagreement last night,” she continued. “I hope you understand, Ian, why I cannot give you access to the accounts.”

She would not give Ian access to the accounts? His gaze narrowed. “Explain again,” he bade her.

She shifted her gaze once more, staring at the tiny prick of blood on the pad of her thumb, blinking away tears. “I simply cannot,” she said, and turned her pale blue gaze upon him. “And I must ask you to please leave Edward be. Do not question him further.”

“Edward,” Merrick repeated the name, making a mental note. His first task, he determined, was to discover who Edward was and what information he wasn’t supposed to try to glean from the man.

“Someday…after I am gone, you may pursue this matter, but until that day, you must promise to respect my decision.” Her tone was firmer now and she turned her self-composed gaze upon him.

It was obvious that she had a caring heart. He didn’t spy anything cold or calculating in her gaze, but her secrets evidently didn’t end with Merrick.

Why was she in that chair and what was it she didn’t want Ian to discover? Why, in God’s heaven, had she abandoned her child? He had so many questions; none of them came to his lips.

If he revealed himself now, it would deprive him of the opportunity to know his mother as his brother knew her. And if he came forward, he’d be forced to reveal Ian’s secret, as well. Still, he didn’t know how long he could keep up the charade. He might look like Ian, but he wasn’t Ian. And his own world was miles apart from this one.

“Ahem,” came a voice behind him. Merrick turned, following Fiona’s gaze.

“Yes, Edward?” she said tersely, addressing the man who stood behind Merrick.

At least he didn’t need to go far to answer the first of his questions. Merrick studied the man. He was dressed in servant’s livery, but there was an air about him that didn’t quite fit his position.

Edward gave Merrick an accusatory glance and announced, “Miss Simon seems to be taking her leave.”

His mother’s voice was full of concern. “What do you mean, she appears to be taking her leave?”

Merrick knew instinctively who they were speaking of.

Edward gave Merrick another pointed glance. “She claims she cannot remain another moment under the same roof as Lord Lindale. She is quite sorry, madame, but she feels she must seek new employment.”

“Oh, Ian!” Fiona exclaimed, turning her attention toward Merrick. “What have you done now?” She shook her head.

Merrick lifted a brow. What else had Ian done to
Miss Simon?

“Why must you bait her incessantly?” his mother rebuked. “If you do not like Chloe, simply overlook her!”

So, his mystery woman had a name: Chloe. How the devil could Ian not like Chloe? It seemed he and his brother had much in common, but that was not one of them. Not only did he like Chloe…he wanted Chloe.

“I must insist you speak to her at once!” his mother said. “I cannot manage without her!” She sounded on the verge of hysteria.

Merrick was quite unaccustomed to demands. He’d never heard them from his father, certainly not from the woman he’d believed was his mother.

He considered the woman sitting before him.
There were so many questions left unanswered. He wanted—needed—to know more, but the truth was that he didn’t want
Miss Simon
to leave any more than his mother apparently did.

He stood and faced Edward.

There was an unmistakable smugness in the man’s expression. What had his mother said? That he must not pursue inquiries with Edward? What answers had his brother been seeking from the man to no avail?

He met Edward’s gaze squarely and held it, warning the man without words to stay out of his way. “Don’t worry,
Mother.
” The word sounded awkward upon his lips. “I’ll speak to her,” he said, his eyes still fixed upon the steward as he walked away.

“Good Lord! That’s precisely what I’m afraid of. For the love of God, Ian,” his mother called after him, “whatever you do, don’t make matters worse!”

A
s soon as the carriage was brought about, Chloe intended to be rid of this infernal place.

In desperation, she’d accepted the position at Glen Abbey Manor hoping to recover the blessed deed, but it seemed an impossible task under Edward’s endless scrutiny. They’d probably burned the evidence long ago. In light of that fact, she certainly didn’t have to suffer the advances of a man she despised, nor was she about to allow her growing affection for Fiona to keep her shackled to this house. Lady Fiona would surely find someone else to attend her.

Chloe’s father had been a noteworthy physician, trusted and adored. He’d delivered most every bairn born in Glen Abbey during the past thirty years. She was certain the townsfolk would continue to seek her services. Her only dilemma was that few could afford to pay her, and she hadn’t
any residence from which to conduct her business. For that matter, she hadn’t the first notion even where to go.

A knock sounded at the door.

Chloe turned to find Lord Lindale, once again, standing between her and freedom. She gave him her most disapproving glare and snapped, “What do
you
want?”

But she really didn’t care what he wanted; she’d already made her decision.

He seemed to be weighing his words. “I’m told you plan to leave.”

“That is correct.” She tugged on her remaining glove, determined not to allow him to provoke her, and turned again toward the window, watching for the carriage to arrive.

“And where is it you intend to go?” He asked the question as though he believed she had no options available.

But, of course, she didn’t. That, however, was hardly his concern. Chloe spun to face him, furious that he should be so crude as to point out the impracticality of her decision. “
Where
I go is absolutely none of your affair,
my lord.
”

He stepped into the room and Chloe instinctively retreated, hating herself for showing him weakness. She lifted her fingers to her lips. They still felt bruised from his assault upon her mouth.

He averted his gaze, peering down at his boots
and placing his hands behind his back. He seemed to be contemplating his words. At last, his gaze met hers once more. “Would it change your mind if I apologized?”

Chloe arched a brow. It certainly wasn’t like him to offer apologies for anything—ever—but it was far too late for mere apologies. “No,” she replied, “but it would certainly be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

He arched a brow. “I take it you think I need lessons in social intercourse?”

Chloe lifted her chin. “I need not be noble born to know that no gentleman would treat a woman so rudely!”

“It wasn’t the gentleman in me responding to you, I fear. I beg your forgiveness, Chloe…”

He took another step into the room and Chloe sucked in a breath but stood her ground. She glanced over her shoulder. It wasn’t as though she had any choice but to stand firm; there wasn’t anywhere left to retreat to. He took another step and her heart beat faster. “As for my desire…I’ve known wives who did not think it so crude to be desired by their husbands.”

Chloe tried in vain to eradicate the memory of his kiss. “Perhaps, my lord, but I am neither a wife nor a husband,” she said tartly.

At her declaration, he came no further into the room. He stood midway, putting his back in a non-
confrontational stance, and Chloe released the breath she’d not realized she’d held.

His voice softened and his eyes slitted as they regarded her. “You would hardly be mistaken for a husband,” he quipped, and the silky sound of his voice sent a quiver down her spine.

Why did he seem so different? And why did her legs suddenly feel as unsubstantial as pudding?

Chloe fidgeted under the heat of his gaze. “Really, my lord, this is hardly an appropriate conversation.”

“You must forgive me, Chloe,” he said, and the intimate way he spoke her name made her breath catch. “I’m afraid I was beset by my injuries and did not realize what I was doing.”

Chloe arched a brow at his explanation. It was true that he hadn’t been himself since his fall.

He gave her a disarming smile—one she’d never witnessed firsthand, though she knew he employed it often. She’d watched him work his wiles on unsuspecting women and had sworn to never be his victim. And yet that smile made her heart beat a little faster, confused her.

It was all Merrick could do not to seize her into his arms and to carry her away over his shoulder like some barbarian. He might regret his approach, but hardly the kiss. In fact, he wanted to kiss her again. This moment. But he restrained himself. One step nearer and he would lose his reason. The
delicate scent of roses teased him even where he stood. It made him want to bury his face against her neck and to inhale the sweet scent of her soft skin.

She looked so beautifully indignant. By the way she had touched her lips, he knew that the woman in her had reveled in his passion. Unbidden, a vision came to him of her straddling him, her auburn hair spilling like silk down the length of her back, her expression in the throes of passion, and his loins hardened.

He could still taste her upon his lips…

She tilted her chin up. “Come to the point, my lord. What do you want?”

What he
wanted,
was her. What he
needed
was her help, he decided. He needed an ally. “I’m afraid the fall must have, indeed, addled my brain, Chloe.”

She arched a lovely brow. “I could have told you that, my lord.”

Saucy vixen. “I’m embarrassed to say I had forgotten who you were. In fact, I thought you were my wife. Isn’t that amusing?” he asked her.

Her brow furrowed. “Quite,” she agreed, though she didn’t return his smile.

“I assure you it will never happen again,” he told her, knowing it was a lie. If the opportunity arose, he would surely seize it. However, at the moment, he wanted her compliance and he wasn’t
ashamed to admit that he would say anything to obtain it. He wanted—needed—her presence at Glen Abbey Manor while he continued his quest. “As compensation, I’ll give you an increase in wages,” he added. “That is…if you agree to remain.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “You truly did not know who I was?”

He shook his head. “Truly.” That much wasn’t a lie. Neither was the pain that flared in his head. It ached him like the devil.

She seemed to be pondering his explanation and he closed his eyes suddenly, lifting a hand to his temple as he feigned a stumble.

She rushed forward. “Oh! You shouldn’t be out of bed. Come,” she demanded, pulling him firmly toward the bed. “Sit!” He did as she bade him and she studied him as he sat, nursing his injured head.

“Look at me. Can you see me clearly?” she asked. He did, and blinked at the look of concern nestled in those beautiful dark eyes. He couldn’t at once respond, so entranced was he by the warm depths of her gaze.

“My lord?”

Merrick shook himself out of his momentary stupor to find her regarding him critically. She reached out to examine his wound, nibbling gently at her already swollen lip. “I’ve heard of memory
lapses arising after a severe injury to the head. Tell me, is there aught else you don’t recall?”

It wasn’t precisely a lie. “It’s coming back to me slowly, Chloe.”

Chloe believed him. He’d never before called her by her given name—always Miss Simon. But she was certain it was a temporary loss of memory. As the injury healed, the fog would surely lift from his brain.

“I don’t wish to alarm my mother,” he said.

Chloe didn’t either, but she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to walk away with impunity. “An increase in wages, you say?” Additional funds might allow her to open her own clinic someday. If she could save enough, she would then be able to continue to look after the sick and the poor. She lifted her chin, determined to ask for far more than she knew he was willing to give. Miser that he was, he would surely try to bargain her down. “Perhaps I might be persuaded if you would consider doubling my salary.”

There was no bartering. “Consider it done,” he said to her surprise.

Chloe’s brows lifted. “Are you certain, my lord?” Good Lord, the fall had, indeed, juggled his brain!

“It appears you are indispensable,” he said for answer.

Chloe’s breath caught at his look. His clear blue
eyes seemed to say far more than his words. “N-not at all,” she stammered. “I’m certain Lady Fiona could hire someone far more experienced to nurse her.”

His blue eyes were fixed upon her, entrapping her gaze. “It’s not my mother who needs you most,” he said softly, and rose from the bed. Chloe’s heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t seem to look away. Something strange passed between them in that instant, some connection she couldn’t quite name.

“You…you should rest, my lord,” she said a little breathlessly.

“I’ll see that the funds are available to be dispensed at once.” His gaze released her at last and he turned to go. Stepping over her baggage at the door, he paused before taking his leave. “You would have made a lovely wife,” he said.

And then he was gone.

Chloe hadn’t the first inkling what had just transpired between them.

Lindale didn’t seem at all himself.

Could it be he was telling the truth?

It was quite rare to lose one’s memory, but not unheard of. If it were true, perhaps she could use his present state to her advantage? Perhaps the deed wasn’t lost to her, after all?

He’d said she was indispensable.

It’s not my mother who needs you most…

The memory of his words made her shiver slightly, but she didn’t trust him.

He wanted something from her, she was certain of it. She’d never known him to flatter anyone without reason. There was a time she’d thought him charming, but she’d come to realize every word that came out of his mouth was calculated. He’d grown from a boy who’d defied his station to play with commoners into a coldhearted, greedy landlord who took food from the mouths of bairns and who cared only for his own pleasures. It would behoove her to tread lightly with him and to believe none of his words.

“What do you mean, the funds are not available?” Merrick asked, stunned by the disclosure.

He sat in a chair facing the steward’s desk and took in the state of the room. It was comfortably furnished and slightly less kept than the rest of the household. A film of dust covered the draperies and furnishings…everywhere but the desk, which was apparently well used. Unlike the rest of the house, it was obvious this office was not maintained daily by the servants.

“Precisely that, my lord. The funds are simply not available to you.”

The cocky bastard had informed him baldly that he had no right to peruse the account books. They
were under lock, he’d declared—a lock to which, apparently, he had the only key.

Why would a steward have sole possession of the estate books and the house keys?

Was it possible the estate belonged, not to Ian, but to his mother? If so, how was it that Fiona trusted Edward over her own son?

Merrick rephrased his question. “By not available to
me,
do you mean they do not exist? Or do you mean that
I
simply do not have access to them?”

Edward stood rigidly by the cabinets where the ledgers were evidently kept, obstinately shaking his head. “As I’ve told you previously, my lord, I am not at liberty to speak of household investments. If you wish to know more, you must broach the matter with Lady Fiona.”

“I see,” Merrick said, and then added, surmising, “So you send me to my mother, she sends me to you and it goes precisely nowhere?”

The steward averted his gaze. “I am sorry, my lord.”

Like hell he was. It was perfectly clear by the man’s smug expression that he wouldn’t be persuaded to reveal anything more.

Merrick fully intended to get to the heart of the matter. He wasn’t accustomed to being refused; it didn’t set well with him. “I suggest you find a way to obtain those funds,” he told the steward, eyeing
him pointedly. “Miss Simon
will
be paid as agreed upon. I’ve no doubt my mother would tell you the same.”

The steward’s arrogant facade cracked a bit. “Yes, my lord, she is, indeed, quite fond of Miss Simon, but—”

Merrick stood abruptly and turned to leave without excusing himself. “Just do it, Edward,” he snapped, and left before his temper could no longer be restrained.

At least he now knew what answers his brother had sought from Edward to no avail. He experienced a momentary pang of regret for Ian. Was this what had driven his brother to thievery?

It didn’t matter.

Thievery was hardly a noble pursuit—no matter that Chloe seemed to think so.

As far as Edward was concerned, the steward only thought he was in control. Merrick was about to set the bastard back on his heels. His first task was to find out to whom the estate belonged—to his father or to Fiona. Merrick suspected the miser was his father, in which case, Edward had better find himself a rock to crawl beneath.

At the moment his greatest dilemma was in getting a message to Ryo without alerting Ian, his father or his mother. Ryo was the one person Merrick felt he could rely upon. Though the old man’s
loyalties lay primarily with Merrick’s father, ultimately Ryo would do what his conscience dictated.

Merrick had a feeling Ian wouldn’t reveal himself straightaway. There must be some way Merrick could alert Ryo that he had the wrong brother…or, at the very least, plant a seed.