Bronwyn Scott (18 page)

Only the densest of people would fail to see the parallels there in his request. Or would she refuse because it meant choosing another man over her father, who had rescued her once before and to whom she felt indebted? Or would she refuse because she’d been using him all along? If he was gone, she could be the protégée just as she had planned.

He did not figure well in either scenario. But maybe would she choose him for the simple reason that she was Mercedes Lockhart, a woman possessed of a boldness unequalled? Greer turned back to the hotel. He wouldn’t know unless he asked.

Chapter Nineteen

M
ercedes could muster no enthusiasm for the sausages and eggs piled on her plate for breakfast the next morning. She’d decided around three that sleeping alone was not conducive to a good night’s rest. Around four, she’d concluded neither was a restless mind. Both of which had resulted in having very little appetite for breakfast. A pity, really, when the breakfast looked quite fine. She was certain it looked better than she did. She didn’t need a mirror to show her what she already knew. Her appearance was drawn, and dark shadows created purple circles beneath her eyes. She could practically feel the bags.

She was not alone in that regard. Greer, who always looked fresh, looked haggard in spite of his impeccable clothes and polished boots. He must have sent them out after he came back from his walk—his very long walk. She knew. She’d seen him leave the hotel from her window and she’d stood sentinel until she’d seen him come back, safe and unharmed, although the exercise had not resulted in a restful night.

She caught the faintest whiff of the sandalwood soap he preferred as he sat down. But all the grooming in the world couldn’t hide the tiredness in his eyes and she felt a twinge of guilt over having been the one to put it there.

‘How’s your hand?’ she asked quietly before her father reached them. He was across the dining room, finishing assembling his plate from the buffet.

‘Much better.’ He smiled and flexed the hand to show her. ‘We need to talk.’ He spoke in low, urgent tones, aware that their time alone was limited. ‘I’ve made some decisions.’ Ah, so that was what he’d been doing on his walk. Thinking. Deciding. Weighing all things in the balance. There was no time to hear more.

‘Good morning, everyone.’ Her father smiled broadly and took a seat, effectively interrupting. ‘Did we sleep well?’ Mercedes gave him a critical stare. He wasn’t fooling her. For all his apparent zest, he had not slept particularly well either, but it hadn’t diminished his appetite.

‘I’ve decided we should have a slight change of venue,’ he said between bites of egg. ‘The new railway line runs up to Manchester. I think we should go. We couldn’t have hoped to reach Manchester and get back to Brighton in time by coach, but a railway makes it possible. We can take the railway straight to London from Manchester and then—’ he snapped his fingers ‘—we’re home from there in plenty of time, just like that. What do you think? I can get us tickets on the eleven o’clock. The coachman can drive the team back to Brighton.’

It wasn’t really a question. She knew her father too well. He’d already decided. They were going to Manchester.

Greer pushed back from the table and set his napkin aside, his eyes serious as they darted her direction in a quick glance she couldn’t quite interpret. ‘I will not be coming. I told you last night that I was done and I meant it.’

Beneath the table, Mercedes’s fingers clenched around her napkin. Greer was leaving. He’d finally had enough of the manipulating Lockharts. This was the decision he’d alluded to. She’d known it would end. But she’d thought she’d have until London. Just yesterday they’d been walking in the botanical gardens, dreaming impossible dreams, and now it was over. Her heart sank with the sudden realisation she’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted Greer Barrington.

Her father took the news with his famous equanimity. If he was upset over this announcement, he didn’t show it. He took out his wallet and began counting out pound notes. ‘We can meet in London. You can take the coach to Coventry and carry on with the tour.’

‘No, thank you, though the offer is generous.’ Greer was all courteous politeness, but there was firmness as well. Whatever came next, her father wasn’t going to like it. ‘I will be ending my tour here. All of it.’ Translation—he was ending his association with them. ‘I think it is time for me to move on. I thank you for the experience. It has been illuminating.’

She shifted her gaze to her father. What would he make of that? He smiled and dug into his proverbial bag of tricks. ‘Is it more money you’re wanting? You’ve been playing well and you’re not an unschooled apprentice any longer. How does twenty per cent of the take sound, and a slice of the profits in Brighton? You’ve earned it.’ It was a generous offer. Her father must be desperate to keep him.

‘I must decline,’ Greer said solemnly. She knew it must be killing him to refuse the money.

Her father’s eyes narrowed at the last refusal. ‘Is my money not good enough? You think you can simply walk away whenever you want? After all I’ve done for you? After all Mercedes has done for you? Don’t think I don’t know what the two of you have been up to.’

Mercedes blanched, embarrassed. Of course her father would make her private business his own if he thought he could use it. But Greer was not cowed and Mercedes silently applauded him. When it came to knowing his own mind, no one knew it better than Greer Barrington. Watching a man be true to his principles was a gratifying experience. So much of her life had been lived around chasing the money, convictions be damned if they got in the way. Principles were easily trampled by pounds.

Greer dropped his voice to a dangerously low tone. ‘After all you’ve done for
me
? I think the accounts are settled. I have earned my keep, sir, and then some. You’ve done very well with me by your side. You’ve used my skill and you’ve used my name to great advantage. Whatever I’ve owed you has been well and truly paid and you know it.’

Greer rose and offered his hand to her father. There would be no further negotiation. She’d never seen her father so utterly silenced. ‘Will we see you in Brighton?’ her father asked with a hint of his earlier Lockhart smile.

‘If
you
do, it will be as my own man, not as your protégé,’ Greer replied. There was an odd emphasis in the sentence. He had said ‘you’ in contrast to her father’s ‘we’, and it had a singular tone to it. She was still puzzling out his intent when she felt his gaze on her, his hand outstretched.

‘Mercedes, will you come with me? My train leaves slightly earlier than your father’s.’ It was not a choice she wanted to make and certainly not in such a bold fashion. She would have railed at him if she hadn’t been so keenly cognisant that he was giving her a choice. He hadn’t assumed she’d follow him. He was letting her decide. He wanted her still.

The enormity of his question and all it denoted, all it stood for, overwhelmed her. She fought to master the sensation in the seconds she had to make her choice. She forced her mind to dissect her options with a gambler’s assessment of risk. Greer knew her most scandalous secret and he’d chosen her anyway. Because he loved her, although she’d asked him not to? Or because he didn’t intend to keep her long enough for it to matter?
He’s not Luce, and he’s not your father. He doesn’t think like that. What he feels for you is genuine.

Would it be enough? Did it matter? She wanted Greer Barrington and Mercedes Lockhart took what she wanted. She set aside her napkin and stood. She put her hand in his and felt the strength of his grip close around her, warm and reassuring.

‘Mercedes, think!’ Her father rose, disbelief etched on his face. ‘Don’t do anything rash. You know how it worked out the last time.’ It wasn’t a plea, but an accusation, a thinly wrapped threat.

She focused on the feel of Greer’s arm at her waist, ushering her towards the door. He was already gesturing for a runner to fetch her trunk and get it to the station.

‘Mercedes, stop and listen!’ Her father was at her other side, refusing to let them leave without saying his piece. ‘This is madness. What do you think will happen? He’ll use you like Talmadge did and then he’ll throw you away. You don’t think he actually loves you, do you? He could never marry you and eventually you’ll come crawling back to me, begging me to bail you out. He’s a lord, Mercedes, and you’re the daughter of a bootboy.’

Hearing her worst fears spoken so blatantly did nothing for her nerves. She had notoriously bad luck in love. For all her bravado, she’d never stood on her own. She thought of the stake money she’d won in Bath, neatly hidden in her trunk. She’d earned money once—she could do it again if need be. ‘This is not about Greer. This is about me.’

‘Taking her home, are you?’ Her father turned to Greer, ignoring her outburst altogether. ‘Devonshire, is it? That will be lovely.’ His gaze swung back to Mercedes, his features calm as if this was a usual conversation. ‘Home to meet the Viscount? Really, Mercedes? How do you think that will go? I know how it will go, but if you need to find out for yourself, so be it. I give it two weeks and you’ll be begging me to save you.’

He shuffled through a pile of cards he’d taken from his coat pocket until he found the one he wanted. ‘Here it is. There’s a gentleman from Bath who’s from that area. He invited me to come for a visit. I think I’ll change my travel plans and do just that. I’ll be there until the twentieth of June.’ His eyes softened. ‘You can come to me and all will be forgiven.’

‘I won’t.’ She met his eyes evenly. He was calling her bluff. But he didn’t understand all the potential that waited for her if she would just embrace it. This time she finally understood no one was going to give her a chance unless she gave one to herself. This time, he would lose.

‘I’m going with Greer,’ she said firmly.

It was a final declaration of independence. She turned, stepped out the entrance into the bright morning light with Greer beside her, and walked into the busy streets of Birmingham, into her future.

* * *

They spoke little on the drive to the station. Her mind was still reeling with what she’d done, acknowledging what she’d done. This time it
was
different. Walking out with Greer was about taking charge of her life, of deciding she wasn’t going to be one of her father’s pawns any longer. She wasn’t going to hide away in his Brighton mansion playing hostess, ignoring her talent and hoping to be noticed some day for what she was. When she’d accepted the offer to come on the road, she’d seen Greer as her chance. She’d not imagined in what way that chance would come. But here it was and she was going to seize it.

* * *

Greer settled into the plush seat across from Mercedes. He’d paid extra for the private accommodation. It would be worth it. There were things that needed settling and there was no time to wait. He’d seen their trunks boarded and they’d had time to settle their turbulent emotions. Now, with the sliding door shutting out the aisle, they needed to talk. The morning had not been without its share of drama.

‘I hope your decision is a little bit about me.’ He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his head in a casual pose. She’d come. He told himself not to get greedy. Last night his goal had been to free her. He’d done that. He’d made the opportunity available and Mercedes had taken it.

‘Of course it is. You know it is.’ She gave him a small smile that assuaged his male ego.

He understood. She didn’t want him to feel any pressure, to feel any sense that she was under his protection now. She was, though. She would protest if he ever said it out loud. But he would protect her, care for her, as long as she would let him. He would have to be subtle about it. She wouldn’t tolerate any blatant chivalry.

He also understood that for Mercedes, getting on the train wasn’t entirely about him, although for him, asking had been entirely about her. He’d have to change her mind, but for now it was a start. She was still smiling at him, the colour returning to her face as the train pulled out of the station. ‘So, we’re on the train. Where exactly are we going?’

He laughed the first real laugh he’d had in a while. ‘Shame on you for getting on a train with a strange man without even knowing where it goes.’ But it was exactly the kind of thing she would do, the kind of thing that made her Mercedes Lockhart, the woman he loved.

‘That’s nothing.’ She gave a wide smile, her eyes lighting up. He shifted his position slightly to accommodate the beginnings of an arousal. He’d have to address that in short order. ‘I once heard of a man who went on the road with a woman he didn’t know simply because he lost a billiards bet.’

‘Probably the best adventure he ever had.’ Greer grinned and reached for her. She came willingly, straddling his lap.

She reached up and flipped down the curtain that covered the small window of their sliding door. ‘It’s about to get better.’

It most certainly was. Her mouth was on his, her hand between their bodies, stroking his cock through his trousers. He groaned, his nascent arousal growing in full force. ‘I see great minds think alike,’ she murmured against his mouth.

She slid down to the floor and worked the fastenings of his trousers, pushing them down past his hips. ‘I believe it’s my turn?’ They’d not done
this
yet and Greer’s breath caught in anticipation.

‘I hope that’s a rhetorical question.’ Real thought, real response beyond the physical was becoming an increasing impossibility. Greer gave a soft moan as she touched her lips to his phallus, kissing, licking, building him to a frenzy with each wicked stroke of her tongue, until she took him in his entirety into her mouth.

Her hand found his balls, and she squeezed ever so gently, just enough to increase his pleasure to nearly unendurable limits. Greer moaned and arched against her, his hands tangled in the silky expanse of her hair. He’d never been touched so sensually before, never experienced such depths of eroticism as the ones summoned up by her hands, her mouth, caressing him in tandem. And yet, when he arched against her, spilling himself in the achievement of his pleasure, the core of him knew that it wasn’t the eroticism of the moment alone that had conjured such ecstasy.

She looked up at him, a veritable Delilah with her hair falling over her shoulders, looking for all the world like a very happy cat who’d licked the cream, which of course she had.