Jo Goodman (26 page)

The housekeeper shook her head, clicking her tongue. "You should be more careful, child."

Mercedes accepted the admonishment, bowing her head slightly for good measure. "What time is it?"

"Long past when you were expected, I can tell you. Gone ten. The boys went to bed an hour ago. Chloe's been asking for you. She and Sylvia want to show you what they bought in town."

"That will have to wait until tomorrow. I want to soak these bruised limbs of mine. Will you see that a bath's prepared for me?"

"Of course. Go on with you."

"Has the captain already retired?"

"No. I don't think that man ever sleeps. I've never known the like. I can stumble on him in the library before dawn and I'd swear he's never even been to bed."

Mercedes tried to be patient. She, too, had noticed Colin seemed to be able to manage with very little sleep, but she didn't want to talk about it now. "Then he's in the library?"

Mrs. Hennepin's head bobbed once. "I just carried some hot chocolate in to him. He was asking after you. I think if you hadn't returned soon he was going to make a search of it."

That information was helpful to Mercedes. It meant she could probably count on him remaining in the library for several more hours as long as she let him know she was home. She found his routine of keeping late hours away from his bedchamber suddenly very comforting. "I'll speak to him," she told the housekeeper.

"Very good."

Mercedes waited until Mrs. Hennepin was well on her way before she approached the library. A few moments alone were what she needed to calm herself and strengthen her resolve. She slid open the doors but remained there, framed on the threshold. "May I come in?"

Colin had already lowered his book. Now he closed it and set it on the table beside him. He made a small beckoning gesture. "Of course."

She closed the doors behind her but only took a few steps forward. Surely he would understand that it was an indication she did not intend to stay. "Mrs. Hennepin said you might be moved to search for me. I wanted you to know that I've returned."

"That's good of you. More considerate than it was to be gone so long to begin with."

So he had no intention of making this easy for her. In a way it hardened her to her task. "I'm sorry."

"Where have you been?"

She did not have to feign surprise. "You remember, we discussed me going to the Thayers earlier today. The basket... for the baby. I thought you realized I was going when you escorted the girls to the village. Wasn't that clear?" Mercedes knew it had been and that he had obviously forgotten. She almost smiled. She had needed this reminder of his fallibility.

"All this time?"

"It didn't seem so long when I was with the Thayers." That was true. She had given them the basket with her best wishes and refused all their invitations to join them for tea. The lateness of the hour was her excuse and they accepted it. "Mrs. Thayer was delighted by the gifts. She exclaimed excitedly over each one of the gowns. She hopes you'll honor them by attending Colleen's christening." This was also true.

"And Mr. Thayer? Did he appreciate the brandy?"

Of its own volition, Mercedes's left hand came up to rub her temple where she'd been struck by the flask. The earl hadn't left his silver-plated weapon behind. Mercedes had made a quick search for it but with no success. She wondered that she had even wasted her time. "Most definitely," she said. "I think he means to save it for a special occasion." Mercedes wished she did not have a need to embellish her lies. Colin might well expect to see the flask brought out at Colleen's christening. Now she would either have to dissuade him from going or draw Mr. Thayer into covering her story in some way. The floor under her feet began to feel as thick and as murky as bog water.

"Indeed," Colin said pleasantly.

Mercedes had heard it said that a guilty conscience needs no accuser. There was nothing in Colin's tone or his expression that pointed to distrust of her story, yet she felt it keenly. In her mind's eye she saw his one brow arching skeptically and his narrow smile curling faintly at the corner. The single word had been drawled, giving it the nuance of cynicism.

She blinked. He was still watching her, his manner patient, even indulgent. Could he see her distress? Mercedes wished he would throw her a lifeline.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" he asked. "I'm afraid Mrs. Hennepin's taken it in her head that I enjoy the stuff."

Mercedes felt her breath come more normally. The bog waters receded a little and she believed she could leave the library now, her soul only slightly soiled by her lies. "I'll take it to my room," she said. "Mrs. Hennepin's having a bath drawn for me." This time his brows
did
rise. There was no mistaking the keen interest in his dark eyes. Mercedes knew that if she were given to blushing, her cheeks would be beacons of color.

Colin raised the cup of cocoa and held it out for her. "Here," he said. "Enjoy. That bath won't come amiss either. You look as if you've taken a tumble."

Once in her room, Mercedes studied her reflection in the cheval glass. She didn't have time for a long inspection, but then one wasn't necessary. It was easy to see why Mrs. Hennepin and Colin had both remarked on her appearance. Not only was her gown stained with dust from her spill in the cottage, her injured temple was printed with her own fingertips where she had tried to massage the pain away. Wisps of hair rose at odd angles around her head. The dark strands, the color of bittersweet chocolate, would not be flattened easily. An unkind voice that resisted all efforts at silencing told her she looked like Medusa.

She remembered how she had reacted to Colin's final look at her. What she had mistaken for keen interest could have only been his sharp amusement. Just below the surface of her skin, heat rose again. This time she burned with embarrassment.

Turning away from the glass, Mercedes quickly undressed. She was in her robe by the time the hot water for her bath arrived. She watched the progress of the maids with ill-disguised impatience and dismissed them before the tub was even half filled. When they were gone she ignored the bath altogether and washed at the basin by her bed. She brushed out her hair until every tendril was tamed, then secured it loosely with a red ribbon. The nightgown she chose from her wardrobe was a sleeveless shift of white cotton. There was no ruffle at the hem or bric-a-brac along the scooped neckline. She had picked it purposely because of its lack of adornment, and when she glanced at herself in the glass again, she recognized the choice as a good one. The shift's simplicity was flattering, and the scarlet ribbon in her hair was exactly the right foil.

Mercedes hoped she wouldn't be seen, but she was dressed in the event the opposite occurred. The robe remained discarded at the foot of her bed, and she deliberately left her slippers behind.

The north wing was quiet. All the doors were closed. This made Mercedes's passage in the hallway much easier. Small alcoves along the wide corridor held lamps that lighted her way. The glow seeped into the warm, walnut wainscoting and distorted her shadow as she passed. She counted the doors as though they were milestones marking her way from Weybourne Park to London. The distance from the north to the south wing of the manor seemed almost as long.

Mercedes hesitated only when she reached the landing on the grand staircase which connected the wings. She listened, waiting to hear some noise that would confirm Colin's presence in the library. All she was privy to was the thumping of her own heart.

Turning back was not an option. Mercedes had been committed to this end since the earl had dangled his bait. Just as her uncle had suspected, freedom could motivate her powerfully. She hurried past the landing into the darker recesses of the south wing.

Mercedes and Colin had never discussed that he would take a room anywhere but in this section of the manor. It was a comfortable outcome for all of them. Mercedes did not have to worry that he would be bothered overmuch by the twins, or find the affairs of the girls tedious. She also didn't have to concern herself with tripping over him at every turn. The north wing had always been a sanctuary for her, the turret its bell tower. Colin's presence there would have been intrusive and cause her to reevaluate her own desire to stay at Weybourne Park.

Likewise, she imagined he found his accommodations similarly advantageous. He must welcome the opportunity it afforded him to be outside the range of Britton's and Brendan's antics, Chloe's pre-wedding insecurities, and Sylvia's chatter. He must also appreciate time spent away from her, Mercedes thought. He was used to the company of men and no doubt sometimes chafed at the mere sound of her voice.

The door to Colin's suite of rooms was closed. She stood outside, her ear pressed flat to the wood, listening. She forced her own calm so she could hear. When she was certain the chamber was clear, she entered. The door clicked softly into place behind her.

An oil lamp burned on the bedside table. The wick had been turned back so it provided only a fingernail of flame. Even this small light was sufficient for Mercedes's needs.

She knew where he kept his bank drafts. More than once she had been the one who retrieved the account book from his room and carried it to the library for him. It would be revealed eventually, probably sooner than later, that his trust in her had been misplaced. Mercedes had regrets but she didn't allow herself to dwell on that aspect of what she was doing. It was far simpler to reason that he would view this discovery not as some great revelation, but as confirmation of all that he'd believed about her from the beginning.

Besides the four-poster and chest of drawers, Colin's bedchamber was furnished with a writing desk and a large fan-backed chair. An upholstered footstool usually was slipped under the desk for the writer's comfort. She noticed that since Colin had occupied the room, the footstool was always at the side so he could stretch his long legs under the desk and lean back in his chair. He had written a few letters since his cooperative incarceration had begun. Mercedes knew because posting them had become her responsibility. One had been to Mr. Abernathy, Colin's solicitor in London. Another, to his bank. More interesting were the ones addressed to a Miss Jonna Remington in Boston. The name teased her memory until she recalled the great clipper that Colin Thorne commanded was the
Remington Mystic.
It seemed likely she was the daughter of his employers. He obviously had some intimate message for her that he could not trust to Aubrey Jones.

Mercedes's mouth flattened in disapproval but she didn't reflect too deeply on the source of her censure. She pushed any thought of those letters to the back of her mind and raised the polished lid of Colin's secretary.

Cream writing paper lay in a neat stack in one corner. Several crumpled pieces were scattered around, attesting to Colin's frustration at putting words to paper. The rest of the storage space was occupied by the book of drafts. She opened it and glanced through the tally of his accounts. He could easily settle two thousand pounds on her uncle. Carefully removing one of the specially watermarked pages from the middle of the book, Mercedes held it by a corner while she lifted one of his discarded letters to provide a sample of Colin's penmanship.

Her palms were damp as she lowered the lid on the desk. It slipped from beneath her fingers. The sound of it slamming back into place was like a gunshot in the quiet room. Mercedes actually jumped away from the desk. She dropped both pieces of paper. The blank draft fluttered gently to the floor, drifting back and forth on an invisible current of air, eluding her efforts to snatch it up. Her last attempt to grab it disturbed the flight enough to send it flying under Colin's bed. The crumpled letter rolled there as well.

Mercedes sighed.

She was on the point of dropping to her knees when a movement in the doorway caught her attention. It was the first she noticed the door was open and Colin Thorne was standing in the entrance.

Mercedes jerked to attention. Had he seen? What had he seen? She was no longer standing beside the desk. Had he heard the crack when the lid fell? Did he recognize the sound for what it was or could he be persuaded it had no bearing on her presence in the room. Question after question tumbled through Mercedes's head, and none were accompanied by ready answers.

Colin took a step into the room. He used the heel of his boot to close the door. "This is unexpected," he said quietly.

Mercedes strove for calm and managed it. "Is it?"

He smiled narrowly. "Perhaps not. All these nights when you've locked your door, mine has always been open."

How did he know? Had he actually come to her room? Her expressive eyes gave away the nature of her questions as clearly as if she had spoken aloud.

"No," said Colin. "I've never visited your room. I gave you an order and expected that you had sense enough to follow it."

For once Mercedes did not bristle at the notion she had been ordered. She stood very still, her hands at her sides, and took pains not to look anywhere but at him. The last thing she wanted was for his attention to drift to the underside of his bed where the evidence of her deceit lay.

"This changes things," he said. When she didn't reply, but merely continued to stare at him, Colin added, "Doesn't it?"

Mercedes nodded. The small movement was an effort. Her head felt very heavy on the slender stem of her neck, like a peony in full flower drooping on the end of its slim stalk. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. Colin did not make it easy for her. The words, she realized, would have to come from her. She had known this could happen. She had even dressed for this eventuality. It was only the words she hadn't considered. Mercedes had no idea what she might say when she opened her mouth a second time. "I think about you."