Jo Goodman (18 page)

Colin heard what she said, but it wasn't what he was answering. His words were for the hurt he had glimpsed in her eyes before she'd blinked it away. "I'm sorry," he said.

She thought he was apologizing for not hearing her. Mercedes began to repeat herself, more loudly this time.

Colin held up one hand, cutting her off. "I told you, my hearing's fine. I'm sorry about the other... about laughing at you."

Flustered by this apology as she was flustered by little else, Mercedes looked away. It was only fair that he was holding her upright, she thought, since he was also the one continually setting her off balance. She believed that some concession on her part was probably appropriate and called for. "I wasn't trying to kill you, you know. Not really. I know how it looked, but it wasn't like that."

Colin used his raised hand to turn her chin back in his direction. "Then how was it?" he asked.

His fingertips were cool on the underside of her jaw. They exerted no pressure and yet she found it impossible to speak until he removed them. "I thought only to injure you," she said. "It seemed to me it would be enough."

"Enough?"

"Enough to prevent you from killing my uncle."

"How do you know I didn't?" he asked. "Your cousin seems to think I managed the deed."

Mercedes disliked the reminder that Severn was her cousin, but she didn't take issue with it. "Because in spite of what I said in front of Severn, my uncle
is
a coward. If he saw you arrive at the meadow, he would have fled rather than face you."

"Perhaps you know it for a fact."

"If you're suggesting that the earl's taken me into his confidence, you're off the mark. I only
know
my uncle." Mercedes watched him weigh her words. It pained her not to be believed, but she was well aware of the reasons for it. "You should go," she told him again. "I have no intention of telling Severn or the authorities what I've told you."

"By all means," Colin said, his tone derisive. "Don't tarnish Weybourne's sterling reputation."

"My uncle is what he is," she said calmly. "It matters to hardly anyone that he drinks to excess, not when alcohol sharpens his wit. And few people know the extent of his gambling debts. No one would believe he fled a match with you when he sought the challenge in the first place."

"You believe it."

"I told you, I know my uncle. But I'm only the poor relation. I'm not likely to be listened to." Mercedes thought Colin would finally be through with her. She tried to step backward, out of his grip, but he was not giving her up. "Did you think I might make some flattering point about your character?" she asked. "Some nonsense about how I believe you're an honorable man and could not have done what Severn's accused you of?"

"Now that you mention it," Colin drawled.

"The truth is," she said, as if he hadn't spoken, "I don't know anything of the sort. Your behavior toward me has been nothing short of reprehensible."

He was amused again in spite of himself. "Don't you think that's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?"

Mercedes graced Colin Thorne with her rare and radiant smile. "Go to hell, Captain."

Colin wondered if she knew how close she was coming to being kissed again. Probably not. She didn't seem to have any sense about that beautiful mouth of hers. He watched the shape of it change slowly from a sweetly generous curve to a more wary line. Well, perhaps she was learning to exercise some caution with it after all. His implacable gaze lifted to her gray eyes. "What time is dinner?" he asked.

She stared at him, stunned. "Haven't you heard anything I've said? Yes, of course you have. You've pointed out twice there's nothing wrong with your hearing." She frowned deliberately. "It must be another problem, then. Is it a difficulty with the language, perhaps? Do they speak no English in America?"

Colin offered his observation casually. "For someone I could snap in two without much effort, you demonstrate remarkable effrontery." Satisfied that she was momentarily silenced, he added, "Now, I seem to remember that you made an offer of dinner earlier. I can't see that anything you've told me changes that, so I'm asking what time you expect it to be served."

"Seven."

He looked at his pocket watch. "That gives us an hour," he said.

"Us?" she asked uneasily. "An hour for what?"

"I can't quite tell if you're hopeful or frightened." He thought she might take the bait he dangled, but she was learning not to snap at everything. Pity. "There's no reason to be either," he said. "I was only going to suggest a tour of the gardens."

All of Mercedes's reasons for not accompanying him were summarily dismissed. By the time she had offered the last of them she was already on the terraced flagstone path winding away from the manor. The delicate scent of lavender was lifted on the back of a breeze. Mercedes's skirt fluttered against her legs. Beside her, Colin was hatless. He didn't seem at all bothered by the wind ruffling his hair.

She suddenly had a sense of him at the helm of one of the great clippers, the air rushing past the bow of the ship, filling the sails until they strained the supporting masts and arms with their pressure. Colin would stand facing that wind, welcoming its lift and strength, greeting the power that was inherent in its nature. His shirt would be flattened against his chest, his trousers beaten tightly to his thighs. Strands of bright yellow hair would whip across his forehead.

Mercedes glanced sideways at him again. His stature hadn't changed. He was still leanly muscled, tall and straight. There was no tension in him, just the suggestion of potential strength in the line of his shoulders, the tapering waist, and the light, rolling walk. Still, quite without warning, it was as if his very presence had been altered, that he had somehow become as compelling a force as the wind he harnessed.

Colin wasn't looking in Mercedes's direction. He was appreciating the display of generously cupped roses along the retaining wall. What he was thinking about them had more to do with the woman on his arm. Their soft pink and peach petals were surely no smoother than Mercedes's skin, nor their hue more delicately tinted than her complexion. Just as he thought he might be overwhelmed by his fanciful digression, he reminded himself that these roses had thorns every bit as sharp as her knife and her wit. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

Mercedes gave a little start as her own thoughts were interrupted. She was pulled off the swift and stately clipper in her mind's eye and brought back to the present. "I'm wondering what we're doing here," she said. It wasn't what had been at the forefront of her thoughts, but it wasn't a lie.

"Admiring Weybourne Park's gardens doesn't please you?"

"I wonder that it pleases you."

Colin pointed to the carpet of silver-tinted foliage bordering the flagstones. Each stem radiated a deep red flower and the delicious scent of cloves.
"Dianthus deltoides,"
he said. Next he indicated the lilies-of-the-valley growing in the shade of a stone fountain.
"Convallaria majalis."

Remembering her earlier, sarcastic comment about the language barrier between them, Mercedes ducked her head. For all that he could be maddeningly, deliberately obtuse at times, he was clearly an educated man. "Point taken," she said quietly. "You've put me in my place."

"That wasn't my intent."

Finished with her brief penance, Mercedes slanted him a skeptical look.

"Well, perhaps I took a little satisfaction in it."

She looked away again, this time to hide her smile. It didn't seem quite fair that he could prompt one from her so easily.

"I have no liking for being indoors," he said.

Mercedes realized he was finally answering her question about why they had come to the garden.

Colin's steps slowed. "At least not for hours on end and not on such a day as this one." A skylark circled above them, marking off its aerial territory with melodious song. Colin's eyes lifted to watch the bird's acrobatic antics.

Mercedes's eyes lifted only as far as Colin's face. The mere absence of the taut and edgy smile was in itself evidence of his pleasure. She considered how he had spent most of his day in the small turret room and knew he must have chafed at his confinement. The windows would have been a mixed blessing, permitting him to see the sunshine but not feel it on his face. A little like viewing paintings in a museum, Colin would have seen the effects of the wind but not been able to touch it.

Mercedes was suddenly conscious of his arm supporting hers. She drew away, putting some distance between them.

Colin was immediately aware of her absence, but he made no move to correct it. "Without a body there's no proof of foul play," he said. Colin put more feeling into an observation about the weather than he did into this statement. Weather mattered to him more.

To Mercedes the air seemed to take on a chill. It was true the sun was noticeably lower in the sky than when they had first stepped onto the flagstones, but there was actually a lull in the breeze. She turned a little toward the west to better feel the sun's rays slanting across her face. "I said much the same thing to Severn," she told him. "He plans to bring help from his father's country estate and make another search."

"He can bring on a hundred men." It wasn't said with bravado.

"He has that many at his disposal."

"It doesn't matter," Colin said. "I didn't kill Weybourne." He paused. "Tell me about your cousin. I believe you said it was his father who would inherit if your uncle dies."

"That's right. But the Earl of Rosefield will let Severn take over Weybourne Park. He's wanted it for a long time."

"Wanted it?" he asked pointedly. "Or wanted you?"

Mercedes didn't answer, but her arms rose protectively and crossed in front of her. She strayed off the flagstones toward the arbor. The wooden archway was covered with the lush, dense foliage of purple clematis in full bloom.

Colin followed. When she would have ducked under the deep green and purple canopy, he stopped her, placing one hand on the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her reaction was out of all proportion to the gentle pressure he applied there. She actually gasped and twisted out of his reach.

"Don't touch me," she said sharply. "I've never given you leave to think I welcomed your touch."

Colin gave no attention to her words. His dark glance shifted from her pained expression to her shoulder. One of her hands had come up to shield it. "I didn't hurt you," he said. No amount of words to the contrary would convince him otherwise, and he didn't give her an opportunity to try them. "Show me your shoulder."

Now Mercedes did back under the cover of the arbor, instinct warning her to move out of Colin's reach. "Get away from me," she said. He seemed to fill the space under the canopy. In an attempt to avoid him, she found herself pressed against the side lattice.

"I'm not going to assault you," he said.

"You
are
assaulting me."

Colin didn't wonder that she thought so, but he refused to give up any ground. She had proven too many times already that she was as difficult to hold as a bead of mercury. "Let me see your shoulder."

"It's nothing. A small bruise."

In the shade of the arbor her eyes were like quicksilver. It hardened his resolve to press through her lies. "You had no bruise there last evening," he said. "And I did nothing to give you one. Now, let me see or bear the consequences." He reached into his boot and pulled out his knife. "I always carry mine. Can you say the same?"

Mercedes couldn't easily reach the buttons at the back of her gown. That morning she had struggled for ten minutes and finally left two of them for Mrs. Hennepin to fasten.

Colin motioned to her to turn around. "I'll play the lady's maid."

It had been years since Mercedes had had a servant free for that duty. More often she was the one who assisted Chloe and Sylvia with their gowns and dressing their hair. She turned around slowly and bent her head. She held onto the lattice, weaving her fingers in the slats and among the foliage.

"No one from the house can see," he said.

His voice was very close to her now. The deep timbre moved a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. She heard the sound of steel on leather and knew he was putting his knife away. She could duck and run, she thought, and though her mind willed her to make a move, there was no follow through by any part of her.

Colin had to unfasten five of the small, cloth-covered buttons before there was sufficient give in the material to free Mercedes's shoulder. Shadows lent her skin a gray cast and darkened the weal to a color as livid as the purple petals above her. The stripe snaked around half her throat like a broken necklace. He didn't touch. Colin's index finger traced the air above it, measuring the full-length at six inches and the width slightly more than a quarter of an inch.

He laid the strap of Mercedes's chemise in place, then carefully closed the back of her gown. Her fingers, he noticed, tight on the wooden lattice, were steadier than his own. Colin stepped away but Mercedes didn't turn toward him. "It's over, Mercedes."

"Go away." A dry sob lifted her shoulders just once. A breeze returned to the garden and fluttered the carpet of green leaves around her. There was movement then silence. "Go away," she said again.