Bronwyn Scott (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

A
chill ran through Greer as he came down the stairs, full of nervous energy. A slice of silver gleamed in the front-hall salver, further compounding his feeling that something was wrong. He’d gone to Mercedes’s room that morning wanting to talk, decency be damned, only to find it extraordinarily neat the way a room is after someone has left it. Of course she hadn’t left, he’d told himself. It was nine o’clock in the morning. No one went anywhere until noon.

His reassurance slid away as he approached the salver, his worst suspicions confirmed. His hand closed over the necklace. His stomach clenched with confirmation. She was gone. Greer rummaged through the salver, looking for a note. Surely she wouldn’t have left without any word? Questions bombarded his mind as he tried to make sense of it. Was this her idea of ‘time to think’? Or was this outright rejection? Perhaps something else altogether? Had someone said something to her that had scared her off? She was acutely sensitive about their differences in station and after the proposal she’d feel any jab about her status keenly.

All he knew was that he hurt, physically hurt, at the thought that she was gone. She’d left
him
and he wanted answers.

Muffled voices from the estate office drew his attention. Ah, his father and Andrew were up early. Perhaps they knew something, or, came the sinister thought, had done something to drive her off. It felt good to have his hurt transform into anger he could use. He let it propel him into the office.

‘Where is she?’ Greer burst in, the necklace dangling in accusation from his fist.

‘Ah...’ Andrew gave a sad smile at the sight of the charm. ‘Miss Lockhart has left us, so I was informed. She called for a carriage early this morning.’

Greer’s anger ratcheted up a notch. ‘And you let her go without question? A woman calls for a carriage at dawn and you, who just happen to be up, oddly enough, let her drive away?’

‘She’s not my woman,’ Andrew sneered. ‘She left you, not me.’

‘You knew how I felt. You knew my hopes.’ Exactly. Andrew knew and Andrew hadn’t approved. Andrew had been awake far earlier than usual. He’d never wanted to do violence to his brother as he did this very moment.

Greer gave in to the base urge. He grabbed Andrew by the lapels, hauling him against the wall. ‘What did you do to her? What did you say?’

‘It has to be me?’ Andrew struggled to free himself, but Greer held fast. ‘Can’t you accept the fact that she’s had her fun and now she’s done? She decided she didn’t want you. I caught her yesterday going through our storage room. She knows you haven’t a feather to fly with. She’s decided she doesn’t want to be poor Lady Barrington after all.’ Andrew’s face was turning red.

‘I don’t accept lies,’ Greer growled. ‘Again, what did you do?’

‘Boys, that is enough!’ His father rose from behind his desk and Greer let Andrew go. ‘Miss Lockhart is gone and I say good riddance if she’s going to cause this kind of turmoil in our home. It’s further proof she’s not acceptable.’

Andrew sat down in his chair, smoothing his rumpled jacket. ‘Trust me, it’s better this way.’ He made a conciliatory gesture.

Greer looked from his brother to his father in disbelief. They were simply going to dismiss Mercedes as if she were a bill to settle, and move on. ‘Better for you,’ he replied. Had he always been a pawn to them? Had it taken all this time away to see the truth? They were not much better than Allen Lockhart, with their schemes and manipulations. He was better off on his own.

Greer exited the room. His direction was clear now. He was halfway up the stairs when his father called up to him.

‘If you go after her, you won’t see a penny of that money, my son.’

Greer turned on the stairs. ‘Neither will you. As for me, I’d rather have her.’ It was true, every last word of it, and saying it out loud was a bright spot in a dismal morning. He knew exactly where he’d find her. He was going to Brighton to claim her and to claim his future. He was done here. Devonshire could offer him nothing more.

* * *

No distractions!
Mercedes chided herself as she bent to the table and lined up a shot. Greer wasn’t here. She had to stop seeing him in every blond head that passed. She focused and made the shot. Those gathered around the table applauded.

The tournament began tomorrow and Brighton was bustling with business and tourists. Players and spectators alike crowded the subscription halls, none more so than Lockhart’s, to watch potential contestants play. Spectators interested in wagers assessed the odds while players sized one another up.

She’d played every game she could get. Her father hadn’t the heart to gainsay her. It was a convenient way for him to bow to the inevitable. In the weeks since leaving Devonshire, billiards was the one activity that took her mind off Greer, off the sinking sensation she felt every time she thought of him and what he’d been willing to give up for her.
Willing.
He’d chosen her and she’d not allowed him that choice. Her current misery was her own fault.

She collected her winnings and racked the balls for another set. There were plenty of men lining up to play Lockhart’s daughter for the sheer newness of it, if nothing else. She didn’t care what their motives were. She only cared about buying herself a moment’s peace from Greer Barrington. If anyone had told her in March she’d feel this miserable about playing in the tournament she’d have laughed and wagered against such an outcome. She’d wanted this opportunity. Now she had it and it was not enough.

‘Are you playing in the tournament, Miss Lockhart?’ someone in the crowd called out.

‘Absolutely. Are you?’ she called back while the crowd laughed.

‘What happens if you draw your father? Can you beat him?’ someone else chimed in. She’d become something of a celebrity since returning to Brighton. Everyone was interested in what she did and she always gave them a show.

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Mercedes said with a saucy smile. The scenario did unnerve her. She hoped they would avoid each other in the pairings. It had been something of a surprise to discover her father had entered his own tournament until she’d sorted through the pieces, the little clues that hadn’t made sense at the time like all the playing he’d done in Bath and afterwards. He’d used Greer as a smokescreen for launching his own career. The hard truth was, she had too. Only she’d fallen in love with her own mark, something she was willing to admit too late.

‘Who’s next?’ she called out, pasting on a smile. Men liked to play a pretty woman and any woman was prettier when she smiled.

‘I am.’ A broad-shouldered man parted the group from the back. Her breath caught and she had to remind herself that Greer wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming. She had left him and he wasn’t going to chase after her once cool-headed logic set in.

‘Hello, Mercedes.’

‘Hello.’ Her heart raced. She gripped the cue for support. Not every man was Greer Barrington, but this one was. He looked a bit tired around the eyes, but it was him.

He smiled. ‘Shall we play for dinner? I win, you take me. You win, I take you.’

‘Take me where?’ She chalked her cue, eyes not leaving him.

‘I’ll take you wherever you like.’ There were some whistles and catcalls to that answer. Her crowd was in a good mood.

‘It might be worth losing just to find out.’ Mercedes gave the tip of her stick a naughty blow. ‘Your break.’

* * *

In the end she won, although she suspected Greer’s inadequate slice might have had something to do with it. But she was more than willing to live up to her end of the wager. She had questions, and dinner would be the perfect opportunity for answers.

They chose the restaurant at Greer’s hotel, a lovely place on the promenade where they could eat outside and watch people as they passed on their evening strolls along the water.

‘What brings you to Brighton?’ Mercedes asked once they were settled at their table.

Greer gave a short laugh. ‘What do you think? The woman I proposed to fled my home in the middle of the night without any word.’

‘I left a note,’ Mercedes said defensively. Inside, her stomach was doing flip-flops. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage to eat anything.
He’d come for her.
Not for the tournament.

His face registered some surprise. ‘It did not reach me. But this did.’ He pulled out the silver charm. ‘I’d like for you to take it back.’

Mercedes took the charm and studied it. It gave her something to look at besides his handsome face. ‘I’ve regretted how we parted, but the reasons I left haven’t changed, Greer.’ She looked up briefly. ‘Your brother told me about the inheritance. I can’t let you give that up. Or your family. You will come to hate me. You don’t think so now, but you will.’

‘Have you missed me, Mercedes? I’ve missed you and in the weeks it took to raise my own stake for the tournament and come here, I realised that being with you was all that mattered.’ He reached for her hands and she let him take them.

‘I won’t change my mind, Greer.’ She hoped he wouldn’t call that bluff. Her mind was a malleable pudding at this point. Just seeing him again had reduced her insides to jelly. To have him touch her, to look at her with those eyes, was ambrosia.

‘Come with me.’ He grabbed up the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and took her hand.

‘What are you doing?’ People were starting to look at them.

‘Changing your mind. If you won’t change it, I’ll have to change it for you.’ He grinned wickedly as he guided her through the dining room. ‘Never say you’re afraid?’

‘Never.’ She smiled back, but she knew this was sheer madness. One more night with Greer would only remind her of all she was giving up because it couldn’t be any other way.

* * *

Upstairs in the privacy of his room, he stripped for her, seducing her with his movements as he took off trousers and boots, shirt and coat until he stood in front of her, gloriously and unabashedly nude. He would convince her any way he could tonight, with any tool he possessed.

At least she was willing to play along. Mercedes propped herself up on a pillow and licked her lips. ‘You certainly know how to give a girl a good show. What do you have in mind for act two?’

She let her skirts fall back and parted her legs ever so provocatively, making her expectations for ‘act two’ quite clear. He nearly spent himself right there. Act two would be a very short one, leading directly to the main event.

He covered her then. There would be more time for talk later. For now he wanted the desperation of his body to speak for him. His need for her had reached a fever pitch after weeks of enforced celibacy. It had been almost impossible to concentrate on billiards that afternoon. All he could think of was this.

Mercedes drew him down to her, her legs embracing him, urging him, and he took her in a swift claiming thrust that wrung a gasp from her. He thrust again, establishing their rhythm, aware of the feel of Mercedes’s long legs locked about him, aware of her body clenching about him, the tight warmth of her sheath as she took his length again and again. Had anything ever felt this good? This right? Then of course, something did. His own release was upon him, pounding and furious, obliterating all else but pleasure in its path until he was spent.

There was champagne then, but not in the usual way. He saw to it even that was an exercise in decadence. He drank champagne from her navel. He licked the juice of strawberries from her lips and her breasts, watching her grey eyes go black with desire, feeling her body arch to him, wanting the pleasure as much as he wanted to give it and he came to her again as a lover complete, until they were too exhausted for more.

It was well after midnight before they found the strength to talk. She lay in his arms, her head against his shoulder, the light floral scent of her hair in his nostrils. ‘I’m staying in Brighton, Mercedes, after the tournament.’ Greer began laying out the plans he’d formed since leaving Devonshire. ‘I am going to sell my commission and open a subscription room. I have a lead on a property not far from here. It’s small, but it’s a good location. I’m hoping the tournament will help build a clientele for me.’

She laughed softly in the darkness, a throaty sound he’d missed. ‘In other words, you hope to finish high enough in the tournament to win both money and attention.’

‘Yes. I’d forgotten how good you are at seeing to the heart of a matter.’ Greer ran a hand down her arm, revelling in the feel of having her beside him again. ‘My proposal still remains between us. My desire to marry you has not changed. Come run my subscription room with me. You can play. Perhaps you can even have a women’s club. Wouldn’t that be something? We’d be the only place in Brighton with one.’

‘Have you forgotten your family, your inheritance? Those things remain as well.’

‘I will not be their pawn, Mercedes. They can acknowledge me or not. That’s their choice, not mine. My choice is you. I wish you would trust that.’ He sighed, more than a little frustrated in her obstinate reticence. How else could he show her?

‘On one condition, Greer.’ She was all business, and his mind quickened at the prospect of one of her challenges.

‘Name it.’

‘Play me for it. Play me for our future.’ She rolled out of bed and dressed, while he watched, pondering the request. This was starting to feel like the twelve labours of Hercules.

‘Why?’ Greer asked.

She came to the bed and kissed his cheek. ‘Trust me, Greer. Stay alive in the tournament until you can get to me and you’ll see. You have to keep your promise this time.’

‘What does that mean?’ Greer answered, half humoured and half perplexed. He always kept his word; surely she knew that by now.

‘It means you broke your word once before when you promised me something.’

‘I don’t recall...’ Greer hesitated.

‘When you told me you wouldn’t fall in love with me,’ Mercedes prompted.

‘Oh, well, then I had my fingers crossed,’ Greer argued.

Mercedes shook her head. ‘And now? There can be no crossed fingers on this, Greer.’

From anyone else, he would have laughed at the melodramatic nature of the request, but not with her. She was serious and in earnest. He might never get used to the intensity she had for billiards, but he could not doubt her dedication. ‘Yes, Mercedes, I promise.’