Lady Browning squared her shoulders. “I’m doing no such thing. I just thought . . .”
He strode toward the door, long legs making short work of the distance. “You thought wrong. Now, if there’s nothing else . . .” Derek held the door open for her, gesturing for her to leave.
“No, that was all, I’m afraid.” Lady Browning straightened her gown and walked out the door, head held high.
Meredith sat on the bench by the fountain, anxiously awaiting Derek’s arrival. Alex and Ophelia would be looking for her if she wasn’t back soon . . .
Her heart filled her chest at the first glimpse of him walking up the path. He’d changed, his coat having been thoroughly drenched from the storm, into a dark gray waistcoat and jacket. The dark colors made his bronzed skin stand out that much more.
He took a seat next to her, saying nothing. His face was stoic, the muscle in his jaw occasionally flexing.
The same man, who mere hours ago had been so sweet, so kind, was now acting as if nothing had happened. She thought they’d gotten past it all, that things were finally right between them. She’d actually considered the possibility of a future with him. But suddenly, she felt Derek retreating again. And for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.
“Do you remember the ring I gave you?” he asked, his tone serious.
The question came out of nowhere. “I do,” she answered quietly.
“Do you still have it?”
She took a shaky breath. “I do not.”
“You don’t?” He didn’t sound surprised.
“I didn’t throw it away or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Then what did you do with it?”
“I had it sold, so the money could be sent to my mother.”
His brow furrowed together. “And why would you do that? Why does your mother need that money?”
More confessions that she hadn’t been up to making. “Because she’s been struggling to pay her debts.”
“If you needed the funds so badly, why didn’t you just sell it sooner?”
Meredith wrung her hands together. “Because I couldn’t bear to. My mother needed the money, and I had nothing else to give her. I’d already exhausted all my possible resources. I’ve sold all my jewelry—everything I owned that was worth anything. That ring was all I had left.”
“Why is your mother struggling so much that she’d turn to you for help?”
“My aunt helps where she can, but it’s just not enough. She has nothing.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Nothing?”
His line of questioning had taken a harsh turn that bordered on bizarre. What purpose did this interrogation serve? She’d sent off the ring, and for that, she was remorseful. “Destitute.”
“I find it difficult to believe your mother is in such financial straits, yet is still able to parade around Brighton and travel around the continent—in luxury, no less.”
If she’d been drinking anything, she surely would have sprayed it out her mouth. “What makes you think my mother’s been travelling anywhere?” Her mother could barely afford to keep a roof over her head, let alone go on holiday.
“The King’s Ransom Transports keeps excellent records. I saw her name on one of the registers. And when I last heard from
my
mother, she asked after you, as she frequently does. She seemed to think that your mother was doing quite well. She said she saw her when she last travelled to Brighton.”
Meredith shook her head. Impossible. “Well, your mother is mistaken.”
“Are you calling her a liar?”
“No, just that she might be mistaken. I have years’ worth of letters from my mother—all explaining why she needed money and how ill she is. My mother can’t even leave to visit me, let alone travel anywhere on one of your ships.”
“Well, she has. The passenger log doesn’t lie.”
She was so confused, so very confused. “Why do you suddenly care so much about that damn ring?”
He arched one brow. “I just find it coincidental that you seemed to have held onto it for sentimental reasons, but the moment you suspected it was worth anything at all, you were more than willing to sell it. It’s interesting just how quickly you’re willing to trade your sentiments for coin. But then again, I wouldn’t expect anything more from
you
.”
Meredith stood, having had quite enough of his verbal tirade.
The fire was indeed extinguished.
He didn’t speak, or even dare to look at her again after that.
But she didn’t cry. In fact, she was actually surprised at the lack of tears, considering what an emotional mess she’d been since he’d come to London. But it would seem there was a threshold for tears, and she’d unwittingly crossed it. It was as if the pain she felt was so great, that crying would only trivialize it. No, her heartbreak was best suffered in a soul-crushing silence, like a saint.
Besides, what would be the point? He’d outdone himself, really. He didn’t deserve her tears . . . he deserved her applause, her admiration, after a performance like that. He’d managed quite superbly to dull her senses using an unequivocal concoction of sex and kindness. You can’t fault a man for being so willing to sacrifice whatever it took to achieve his dreams.
After all, hadn’t she done the exact same thing?
She’d been nothing but a distraction to him, an ironic realization, but one that struck her to the core. He saw nothing wrong with fooling her into thinking he still cared for her, and why would he? She’d been a willing enough participant in his little game. It was what he’d been waiting for all along, to finally convince her to fall for him once again.
Meredith had been a pawn in his scheme to right a wrong from years ago. And she’d fallen for it.
She’d fallen for him.
She was so hurt, so devastated by his actions, by his rejection. Now she understood why he resented her so much. She’d done the same to him five years ago. Broken him, and he’d finally succeeded in breaking her right back.
It had been Meredith’s experience that when life knocked you down, the best thing to do was get back up and . . . look gorgeous.
Her aunt had finally made it to the Marshall’s, reminding her of the reason she’d travelled there in the first place. She had no more time to stall.
Lizzie had weaved ribbons through her hair and she’d borrowed some of Alex’s best diamonds, making a mental note to tell Alex that she’d taken them sometime after dinner. She’d decided against the mint gown, and opted for one with a bit more color—vermillion. It was hardly appropriate for an unmarried lady to wear something so bold, but it wasn’t a night for abiding by what was and wasn’t deemed proper.
Because tonight, she was proposing to Mr. Garrett Marshall.
Not literally, of course. She was just going to give him an ultimatum, and after his shameless behavior throughout their friendship, she had little doubt he’d be ring shopping by week’s end. Much like cattle, men often needed just a little prodding to get going in the right direction.
She took a look in the mirror and admired her reflection before stepping out the door. Her dress accentuated her figure divinely and she’d even gone so far as to put on a bit of lip stain. She’d never looked better.
Or felt worse.
There was still a bit of time before dinner, so Meredith took a few minutes to walk around and explore the house. Passing the library and inhaling the sweet smell of old leather and brandy, she suddenly knew exactly where she would find Garrett.
He always smelled of saddle soap and hay—the man spent half his life in the stables. But he’d be alone for the most part, and that meant she’d have ample opportunity to exercise whatever means necessary to convince him that marrying her would be in his best interest.
She hadn’t much time to lose, having dawdled away the last five years.
Meredith entered the stable, her nostrils burning at the myriad of odors assaulting them all at once. She walked past the horses, taking the time to pet and coo at each one. The Marshall’s had an impressive number of mounts, obviously bred from the finest stock. It was a luxury that she’d only ever dreamed of, having more than one horse to ride.
The realization that it could all one day be hers should have made her giddy.
But it didn’t.
Her excitement wasn’t building as she made her way through the stable, closer to her future. The feeling deep in the pit of her belly wasn’t one of elation, rather one of apprehension. With every step, her heart protested, screaming to stop. But she was determined to get this over with. She needed a husband before her aunt married at the end of the summer.
She’d come to London in search of a suitable marriage, and after years of postponement, she’d finally found an acceptable match. She just needed to convince
him
of that.
Meredith saw him brushing down a fine looking mahogany-colored stallion. He was talking to the animal in a hushed tone, clearly enjoying the work. Mr. Marshall was an attractive man with an excellent build. His hair was always neat and he never had a bit of stubble on his jaw.
What more could a woman want?
She thought woefully.
“Mr. Marshall?” she called, sounding surprised.
He looked up from the horse. “Miss Castle? What are you doing out here?”
She shrugged. “I thought I’d just come out and see some of the animals. They’re absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you. They’re my pride and joy.”
“As they should be. I haven’t seen horse flesh of such quality since . . . well, ever.”
He beamed with pride. Aunt Cynthia always told her the only acceptable place to stroke a man was his ego.
“I’m glad you like them. I honestly didn’t think you had much interest.”
She shook her head. “I think they’re magnificent animals. I just don’t ride as much as I used to. No need, really. I spend much of my time in Town. I’m sure if I had a country home, something like this, it would be much different.”
Meredith always knew she’d end up back in the country. There was no mistaking that she loved London—the vibrant life of the city, the people, and the hum of their activity. But she missed the solitude of the country and the closeness that only country people seemed to share.
Despite its booming population, London had a way of magnifying loneliness.
“I see your point,” he agreed.
“Were you just out for a ride?”
He put the brush down. “I was, actually. Just returned a little bit ago. I wanted to make sure he was given a good rub down before I put him away for the night.”
“And you do it all yourself? You don’t use your stable hands for this?”
“Not too often.” He shook his head. “I love my animals and prefer to care for them myself whenever possible. That way I know they’ll get the best possible treatment.”
“I find such loyalty . . . refreshing,” she said. After all the hills and valleys Lord Sutherland had dragged her over, she gladly welcomed the idea of someone being so steadfast. Meredith wandered to the other side of him, putting some extra sway into her step.
He noticed. Garrett turned his head, following her with hungry eyes as she walked across the stable. “This is quite a nice building. Did you design it yourself?”
“How did you know?” He grinned.
She shrugged. “Intuition, I suppose.”
“Intuition?” he repeated.
She looked down and then up suddenly, catching him staring at her. It was a clever little maneuver she’d learned not so long after moving to London. Flirtation was a dance just like any other. As with any dance, learning the proper technique and all the right steps was essential for success. “My intuition is very strong, and almost always right. I’ve often been accused of having a sixth sense.”
Garrett leaned against a post and folded his arms over his chest. “And what else does your intuition tell you, Miss Castle?”
Something shifted in the air around them, the innocent flirtation transforming into something considerably more dangerous. She’d been so certain of her path before, so sure Mr. Marshall was the answer to all her problems. But standing there alone with him—his eyes raking over her as if her feigned interest had granted him free reign to gawk, evoked nothing but doubt.
Her bravado was gone.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she abruptly turned away and started petting the nose of the horse in the next stall.
“Miss Castle, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look quite lovely tonight.”
He was closer now, his breath warm on her neck, sending a surge of apprehension down her spine. She planted her feet firmly, commanding them to stay rather than flee as was her instinct.
“Forgive me for being so bold, but did you by chance dress for me?” he asked, touching her just below her cap sleeves. His callused hands were cold against her bare skin.
Her body went rigid under his touch—it felt nothing like Derek’s. Derek’s hands, though weathered and rough, had been excruciatingly gentle. Garrett was squeezing her arms roughly, the chill from his cold hands spreading over her body.
She turned, wriggling out of his grasp.
His smile turned into something wicked. He wanted her. The evidence was making itself painfully known right there in the tenting of his breeches. She turned away, too embarrassed to face him.
Suddenly her little game was becoming dangerous and she wanted out. “I’m afraid I’ve made an awful mistake in coming here . . .”
Garrett tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing.”
“Actually, I believe there’s
quite a bit
wrong with this.”
He bent his head, his lips coming down on hers hard, possessively. He kissed her with a fair amount of skill, but with none of the passion she’d felt with Derek. No, Garrett’s kisses were far tamer in nature and lacked that ability to ignite her body with a single flick of his tongue. She felt herself shriveling inside . . .
She wanted Derek, not Mr. Marshall.
She pushed against his chest, trying to put some space between them. But he remained firmly planted in his place.
“Miss Castle,” he groaned. He roughly squeezed her left breast, as if he were trying to extract juice from a piece of citrus.