Merryn caught her breath on a little gasp and the Duchess looked sharply at her.
“You recognize my nephew’s wife, Kitty Scott? This was painted just before their marriage.”
Merryn’s heart was beating fast in her throat. “I…Yes, I do. We…met once or twice,” she stammered. “I was only a child…”
The Duchess nodded. “Kitty was a pretty little chit. I liked her spirit but she had the most vicious temper when she was thwarted.”
Merryn was shocked. She frowned, trying to match the memory of the Kitty she had known with the woman of the Dowager’s description. The Kitty Farne of her recollection had been the sweetest, kindest creature in the world, always giving her sweetmeats and little gifts, ribbons and thread, asking her what she had been reading, showing an interest in all the ordinary aspects of Merryn’s life that Joanna and Tess had been too wrapped up in themselves to care about. It was one of the reasons that Merryn had loved Kitty. And because Kitty had loved Stephen, of course…
The Dowager Duchess was looking at her very directly. “My nephew has suffered a gross betrayal in his life and experienced a great deal of misery and loneliness,” she said. “I trust, Lady Merryn, that you will not add to his unhappiness.”
I would not dare,
Merryn thought. Pinned under the Dowager’s cold, dark stare she felt like a specimen on a slab.
“I would never willfully cause anyone unhappiness,” she said.
The Duchess nodded briskly. “I believe that. You seem a straightforward sort of gal, not in the common style.” Once again that faint smile touched her lips. “Garrick says you are a bluestocking. That is all to the good since he is a notable scholar. And being a Duke is a lonely business. One needs a helpmeet.”
“Yes,” Merryn said. She thought of Farne House with its long, empty echoing corridors, devoid of life, of love. “Yes, I do understand that.”
She looked back at the portrait, at Kitty Scott painted on that verdant summer day so many years ago, so soon before tragedy. Kitty had not been much of a helpmeet to her husband, that was for sure.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not realize that Garrick loved her.”
The Dowager gave a dry laugh. “Oh, he did not. My brother sold Garrick into marriage to further his political ambitions. He was a blackguard, Claudius. It was a fine dynastic match and Garrick would have done his duty. A pity that Miss Scott’s heart and much else was already given elsewhere.” The Duchess’s voice was very dry.
“Yes,” Merryn said. She felt a dull ache in the region of her own heart.
Garrick would have done his duty…
Merryn did not doubt it. It was the reason that she now found herself betrothed to Garrick, because he was a man who held honor and obligation above all things.
She thought of what she knew of Garrick, the young rakehell who had been sold into marriage by his father for gain, who had been prepared to make the match work out of duty. She felt an enormous sadness. She looked up to see the Dowager Duchess watching her keenly, and with some other emotion in her eyes, something softer.
“I am sorry,” she said again and she was not really sure what she was apologizing for. The Dowager Duchess actually patted her hand.
“It was not your fault, child.” She paused. “But now you bear a huge responsibility. If you cannot love Garrick, you will, I am sure, do your best to honor and respect him.”
If you cannot love him…
Merryn jolted to a stop, staring blindly in front of her. Garrick had taken her body and left her heart shattered, torn with doubt and confusion. She had thought that it was because of guilt and grief and the impossible choices she had to make. But that was not the whole truth. She felt breathless, frozen with shock. How had she not realized that her feelings were involved? Perhaps it was because she had never loved before. Perhaps it was because Garrick was the last man on earth that she had wanted to love. Yet she knew she did. The truth beat through her mind until she wanted to cry out to try to drown the words. It was impossible but it was undeniable. She loved Garrick Farne.
She had known it, in her heart. She had known there in terrifying dark when they had been trapped together and she had turned to him with absolute trust to hold her and protect her and keep her safe. She had known but she had turned the feelings away, reaching instead for her hatred and her grief to build a barrier and defend herself against him. Now, though, she could deny it no longer. And the thought brought a new wave of terror. Garrick had not wanted to wed her. He had been honest enough to admit that he had never wanted to wed again and without love those burdens of duty and honor and obligation that tied him to her could become the heaviest of shackles. She loved him but in return he could give nothing of his heart.
“Lady Merryn?” The Dowager Duchess sounded impatient. “You are woolgathering, my dear.”
“I beg your pardon,” Merryn said, blinking, pushing away the tumble of thoughts and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “I was thinking…” She realized that she was still staring at Kitty’s pretty painted face and that the Dowager had misunderstood her.
“It was all a long time ago,” the Dowager said, “and nothing to do with you, child that you were. Don’t let it taint you.”
Too late.
She had let it taint her life for twelve long years.
Merryn shuddered. She had made so many mistakes, taken so many false steps. What if she had been wrong about Garrick from the start? What if…
What if it was not Garrick who had shot Stephen at all? What if there had been a terrible accident and Kitty had shot her lover and Garrick had taken the blame?
Merryn’s heart started to hammer in long, slow strokes. She thought of the instinct that persistently told her that Garrick was an honorable man. She thought of his life raised in duty and service. She trembled at the enormity of what must have happened.
Suddenly she was possessed with the most monstrous impatience. She had to speak to Garrick, to ask him to tell her the truth. She had to get him alone. Not even she could be so direct as to ask him in front of the assembled crowd at the Royal Academy whether his wife had shot her lover by accident and he had taken the blame.
She looked across at Garrick. He was standing with Alex and Joanna, admiring a William Collins engraving, The Fishing Boys. His head was bent, his expression grave and thoughtful. He turned slightly to answer some remark of Joanna’s and for a second a smile lighted his eyes and Merryn felt a rush of emotion so strong and turbulent that it stole her breath. He
had
to be innocent of the heinous crime of which she had accused him. She was sure that she was right. She
had
to be right. Kitty had shot Stephen and Garrick, out of duty and honor, had protected her.
Something urgent in her stance must have communicated itself to Garrick because he looked up and his gaze tangled with hers. For a moment they stared at one another while the crowd spun past them in a blur of color and noise. Garrick excused himself from Joanna and Alex and came across to her.
“What is it?” he said, raising his brows. His brown eyes were very steady. He took her hand, entwining his fingers in hers.
“I need to speak with you alone,” Merryn whispered.
The Dowager bent a very disapproving look upon her. “Not before the wedding, Lady Merryn. That would be quite improper. You shall be chaperoned at all times.” She looked around, summoning Joanna and Tess with the merest glance.
“It is time to take Lady Merryn home,” she instructed, making Merryn feel like a child. “I need hardly add,” she said, fixing Merryn with a very hard stare, “that the slightest sign of
inappropriate
behavior will destroy all the good work we have achieved tonight.” Her gimlet eye slid around from Merryn’s flushed face to Garrick’s rueful one. “Is that clear, nephew?”
“As crystal, aunt, I thank you,” Garrick said. He raised Merryn’s hand to his lips and placed an irreproachably proper kiss on the back. “Good night, Lady Merryn,” he said. “I will call on you tomorrow.”
As the coach trundled home Merryn sat between Joanna and Tess, the least proper chaperones in the world, she could not help thinking, and contemplated how on earth she was going to get Garrick alone now that she was watched over as closely as any virginal debutante. That was not her only difficulty. She could foresee that Garrick, who had guarded his secrets so well out of duty and honor, might not necessarily be willing to tell her the truth. She was going to have to make him talk.
Merryn’s heart was suddenly thumping, shivers of equal nervousness and excitement skittering across her skin. She understood now the power she had over Garrick. She understood how much he wanted her. She wondered if she dared to use his desire against him.
She had every intention of being very inappropriate indeed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I
T WAS THE
night before the wedding.
Garrick sat in the library at Farne House. One candle burned on the desk before him beside a half-empty brandy bottle. The faint light reflected in the speckled pier glass above the fireplace and barely penetrated the darkness of the cavernous interior of the room, rank upon rank of shabby mahogany bookcases with uncut books on their shelves, dusty and ancient, a testament not to his father’s love of literature but to his need to impress. Tonight the Farne Dukedom hung like a lead weight about Garrick’s neck. Tonight he was not sure he could go on without someone to stand by his side and share that huge responsibility. He realized that he had wanted that person to be Merryn. No one else could take her place. But now—he flicked the letter lying on the desk before him—now he had either to let her go or be confronted by a hollow sham of a marriage with no true intimacy. There could be no honesty between them. His hopes were dashed.
He looked down at letter although he already knew the contents off by heart.
“We cannot accede to your request. It was agreed many years ago that no one should know… Think of the child… For her sake, keep your promise…”
Sometimes Garrick felt as though he had done nothing but think of the welfare of the child for twelve years. She was the only reason to keep silence. He had robbed Stephen Fenner’s daughter of her father before she was even born so he had taken on himself the responsibility of fatherhood, of protecting her, keeping her safe. He, whose childhood had been so steeped in misery, had sworn that hers, despite its appalling start, would be better, happier than his own. And it had been. Stephen and Kitty’s daughter lived with her aunt in a family where love was plentiful. She was happy and healthy. She had a settled home. And Garrick would never do anything to put that happiness at risk.
Kitty’s family, the Scotts, had been adamant from the start that no one should know Kitty had had Stephen’s child. Her reputation had already been sullied. It had been impossible to keep the affair a secret, too. Lord Scott had hated Stephen for ruining his daughter. The events of that day when Stephen had died had utterly destroyed his family. They had wanted nothing more to do with the Fenner family for the sake of both Kitty and her child. They had forbidden Garrick ever to speak and he, equally devastated by what had happened, had given his word.
The grief hit Garrick then in a blinding wave. He had a choice, of course. One always had a choice. And perhaps if he had not been the man he was, he would sacrifice this older promise for the sake of his future with Merryn. But he could not. When Stephen Fenner had died he had sworn to do everything in his power to protect the innocent and the weak and to make recompense for taking a life. He could not abandon that principle now simply because there was something he wanted more. He could not be that selfish.
So instead he must sacrifice his chance of happiness with Merryn. They would both pay for his sin in taking Stephen Fenner’s life. He reached for the brandy but then pushed it away in a moment of self-loathing. It was not the answer no matter how much it called to him to give temporary release.
Merryn. He could not even think about her now without so sharp an ache in his heart that it stole his breath. He trusted her. He hated deceiving her. He wanted to tell her the truth. He was trapped.
He would still wed her. He needed her too much to let her go. That was selfish, he knew, but it was time for him to take something for himself and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to have her shining spirit, her honesty and her courage and integrity to illuminate his darkness. Yet the danger was that this secret, the truth he could not reveal, would always come between them and in the end it would dull even Merryn’s brave spirit. And that would break his heart.
Perhaps he should let her go. That would be the unselfish thing to do, not tie her to him for a life that was fettered by grief and regret. But if he released Merryn from the betrothal her reputation would be ruined forever. So he was trapped, destined to hurt her either way.
A draft stirred the candle flame, sending shadows scurrying along the walls. The grandfather clock struck a quarter to twelve. Garrick turned, shoving the letter into the desk drawer. Someone was standing beside the door, a shadow in the deeper shade of the darkness.
Merryn.
How long had she been there? The anxiety crawled down his spine that she might have seen the letter.
“You should not be here.” He stood up as she came toward him. She was cloaked in black, a wraith. “How did you get in?”
“The way I always got in.” She put back the hood of the cloak and the candlelight shone on the spun gold of her hair. Garrick felt an irresistible urge to touch and clenched his hands at his side. Something softened, opened and trembled deep inside him. He fought it. It was pointless now to acknowledge how much he needed her when he could not be honest with her.
“You are in a state of undress,” she said, allowing her gaze to drift over the shirt open at his neck to the coat he had discarded on the chair. “That could be useful.”
“You should go,” Garrick said. His voice sounded rough. Was it because he was so desperate for her to stay?
Her clear blue gaze searched his face. It felt so candid whereas he felt old and soiled and worn.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “but no one will let me see you alone. I had to buy Tess a copy of the new edition of
La Belle Assemblée
to distract her before I could creep out.”
“We are not meant to be alone together because it is not proper,” Garrick said. He sounded pompous even to his own ears. Merryn laughed.
“Stable doors, horses bolting,” she said. She loosed the cloak. It slid from her shoulders a little, revealing nothing but bare skin. Garrick stared.
“I came to ask you about the duel,” she said. “But I expect you knew that. I expect you had realized that I cannot marry you without knowing the truth.”
Garrick had realized it. He knew Merryn was too honest to tolerate any deceit. The irony stole his breath. Merryn would not marry him without knowing the truth. He had to marry her and could not tell her.
“I know,” she said, when he did not speak. “I know you will refuse to talk. You always do and I wonder why.” Her gaze was very bright. “At first I thought it was because you were guilty and too arrogant to admit to any wrongdoing. But now…” Her gaze drifted over him. “Now I wonder.”
Garrick felt the anxiety tighten in his gut. “Merryn,” he said, “please don’t do this.”
She shrugged. “I thought you would refuse. I have asked you time and again and now I am tired of asking. So instead I thought I would seduce the truth from you.”
The cloak slipped a little farther. She was holding the ribbons across her breasts now. Her shoulders were completely bare, all pale creamy skin and delicate curves and hollows. Garrick’s mouth dried. Was she wearing anything at all beneath the cloak?
“Have you been drinking?” he demanded, willing his errant body into stillness while every instinct he possessed demanded that he reach out and grab her.
Her gaze drifted to the brandy bottle. “No. But I see that you have.”
“Not enough to be incapable.”
“Oh, good.” She gave him a smile he had never expected to see on her lips. It was full of wicked knowledge, not Merryn at all. And yet the Merryn who had lain with him on the velvet bed of the bordello had been just such a wanton. Their wild lovemaking had woken her to physical pleasure. And they had released something in each other that could not be satiated. That desire stalked him now.
Merryn’s lowered the black cloak another inch, revealing the curves of the tops of her breasts. Garrick’s body, supremely indifferent to the control his mind was trying to exercise, sprung to even greater attention.
“This is madness.” His voice sounded so rusty that he had to clear his throat. “Seduce the truth out of me? I have told you the truth.”
“Not all of it.” She drifted closer. The cloak swung out, the hem brushing his leg. He caught a glimpse of bare thigh beneath and his mind spun. Dear God, she really was naked beneath that cloak. Her scent, that elusive fragrance of bluebells, enveloped him. He imagined he could feel the warmth of her skin. His head swam with memories of the wild wicked passion they had shared.
“Awaken a virgin to pleasure—” he ground out.
“And she wants more.” Her gaze drifted to his, glittering blue with desire. “Quite.” She smiled at him.
“So this is all about sex,” Garrick said. “You could try waiting until after our wedding. You only need exercise self-control for one more day.”
We have reversed roles,
he thought. It was usually the rake who seduced and the lady who protested.
She came close to him, putting her hands against his chest. Her breath tickled his ear. He thought she could easily let slip the velvet ribbons, and then the cloak would come tumbling off. He prayed it would not—and simultaneously hoped that it would.
“It’s not about sex,” she whispered. “It’s about honesty.” She drew back a step. Her gaze held his. “There was complete honesty between us when we made love before,” she said. “I do not believe that you could make love to me again and lie to me, too.”
“I assure you,” Garrick said, reaching for cynicism as his last defense, “most men would have no problem with that at all.”
“Most men, perhaps.” Her gaze was fearless. “But not you.”
Dear God, it was a mad idea, but as he watched the cloak slide farther down her shoulders, Garrick had the disconcerting suspicion that it might just work. She was right in that he had been building defenses against her from the very first, blocking her out because there was such a valiant integrity about her that he had known one day he must fall before it—and that he could never allow himself to do so.
“I have never lied to you,” he said painfully, truthfully, knowing it was no real answer because he had omitted to tell her so many things.
“We’ll see.” She had turned away, seemingly indifferent. The velvet edging at the neck of the cloak was below her shoulder blades now, the rich black a stark contrast to her white skin. Garrick’s body tightened unbearably. His throat was dry and his entire body shaking with the need to exercise such self-control over his raging lust.
“Merryn,” he said, a last-ditch attempt, the last plea of a soldier overwhelmed by opposing forces, “no—”
Too late…
She turned back to him and allowed the cloak to slide down her body so slowly that he almost groaned aloud. She was not naked but the gown she had chosen—if it could be dignified with such a name—was designed specifically to inflame rather than quench his desire. For a start it was transparent white, clinging to her breasts, so high and firm, showing the nipples dark through the gauze. It skimmed the gentle curve of her stomach, caressed her rounded thighs and drew Garrick’s gaze irresistibly to the shadowed valley between them.
No underwear. She wore no underwear at all.
His body hardened into painful arousal.
“Where did you get that gown?” he said, and he barely recognized his own voice.
“I borrowed it from Tess’s wardrobe.” There was defiance and a hint of anxiety in her voice. “I wanted something that would not be too difficult to remove.”
God almighty. Garrick thought he might just explode with lust.
The velvet cloak slipped and slithered sinuously down to pool at her feet.
This was the moment, Garrick thought, that a gentleman would pick up the cloak, wrap her in it, propel her out through the door and call a carriage to take her home.
He looked into her eyes and saw nervousness there as well as bright, burning desire. In that moment he knew that she was afraid. She thought he would reject her. She thought that he would laugh at this mad plan she had gambled everything upon and send her away. Despite the harlot’s gown and the attempt at wantonness she was too inexperienced to know if her strategy would work.
A huge tenderness filled Garrick to see the anxiety in her eyes. He gave a groan, caught her bare shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her with a famished desperation that was as much a product of his despair as of his lust. She made a gentle humming sound of pure satisfaction and anything-but-pure desire and pressed close to him, her breasts soft and yielding against his chest. He kissed her with hunger, with craving, and felt his self-control shatter and his emotions reel. This was wrong, the very last thing that he should do when he had a stark choice to make between letting her go and tying her to him in a barren marriage. Yet instead of releasing her he held her locked against him; he drove his hands into her hair and covered her face with tiny, frantic kisses.
“I need you…” He spoke hoarsely, the words torn from him. She had no idea of the depth of his longing and his desperation. She was the only light in his darkness and he knew he did not deserve her. Yet miraculously she was not going to turn him away. She lifted a hand to his cheek; her lashes fluttered, she smiled at him. Garrick felt as though a fist had smashed straight into his heart, transmuting his raw hunger into something far more frightening and profound.
He held her for a moment longer, his face pressed against her hair, shudders convulsing him deep inside. Then she made a slight movement, bringing her lips back to his, and he abandoned thought and kissed her long and deep, her bare skin hot and smooth beneath his hands, her mouth eager and demanding under his. Garrick reached out, swept all the household accounts from the long mahogany table, the piles of paperwork it had taken him so long to compile, picked her up and sat her on the edge of the table. Her head fell back, the golden hair spilling about her like a drift of corn in the sun. Garrick’s lips nipped and kissed the soft line of her shoulder and down to the slopes of her breast. The hunger drove him hard. He fought the urge simply to spread her and take her. That was not good enough for Merryn, that he should sate his lust on her. He wanted her pleasure more than his own, wanted to bind her to him with every bond of physical desire he could use. Yet he knew he wanted more than that; he wanted to smash the barriers between them and claim her soul as well as her body.