Mistress by Midnight (15 page)

Garrick laughed ruefully. “You are unfailingly direct, are you not, Lady Merryn?”

She sounded surprised. “I ask things because I want to know.”

That, Garrick thought, summed Merryn up precisely. She had never learned the art of compromise, never seen why she should adopt all the little accommodations, lies and deceits that made life run so much more easily. When Merryn wanted to know something she asked a straight question.

“I am not estranged from Ethan,” he said, taking her question very literally to avoid addressing the more painful truths about his family and their appalling lack of sibling spirit.

“Ethan is your half brother, is he not?” Merryn said. “The one who married Lottie Palliser?”

The word
brother
seemed to dance on the air between them for a moment and the atmosphere thickened with emotion. Garrick could sense the fragile pact between them slipping away when it was barely begun. How could it not, with Stephen Fenner’s death always lying between them? And yet suddenly, fiercely, he was not prepared to accept that. He and Merryn had to survive this disaster together and he would fight for that against all the odds.

“Unfortunately Ethan is the only one who does not hate me,” he said conversationally, trying to distract her. “The others refuse to speak to me.”

“Oh…” Merryn almost laughed. Garrick could feel the huge effort she was making not to allow Stephen Fenner’s memory to come between them. It was the only thing that she could do, trapped alone with him in the dark. She needed comfort and reassurance, someone to talk to, and he was the only one there with her.

“Why should they hate you?” Her voice was almost normal. “You are the eldest. Did they not look up to you?”

“They took their cue from my father,” Garrick said.

She digested that. “I never met him,” she said. “But I heard about him. He sounded…” there was a shiver in her voice “…rather unpleasant.”

“That was one word for him,” Garrick agreed. His father had been the most malevolent man he had known, eaten up by raging ambition and eventually by disappointed hopes. “I am afraid that I was a great source of discontent to him,” he said.

“Because you were a rake?” Merryn said. “I have heard something of your reputation.” She sounded like a disapproving maiden aunt and the censure in her tone made Garrick grin. It also made him want to kiss her. That, he knew, would be as dangerous as allowing Stephen Fenner to divide them. In a moment, though, he would be sitting on his hands to prevent himself from touching her.

“That was a part of the problem,” he said. “My father disapproved of my rakish ways, which was somewhat hypocritical of him since he was the greatest rake in the kingdom himself.” He sighed. “More than that he disapproved of my scholarly ambitions. Those, he said, were quite beneath the dignity of a gentleman.”

This time Merryn did laugh. “Yet he sent you to Oxford.”

“Only because it was the done thing,” Garrick said. “He did not expect me to study. That, he felt, was quite wrong and inappropriate to the station of a Duke.”

“How extraordinary.” Merryn sounded astonished—and resentful. “I would have given so much to be accorded the educational privileges that you and Stephen—” She stopped.

Stephen again. This time the silence was more difficult to overcome.

“You were at Eton and Oxford with Stephen,” Merryn said. She sounded tentative as though she, as well as Garrick, did not quite know where this might lead.

“Yes, I was,” Garrick said. Suddenly this was dangerous ground. He did not want Merryn to pursue this and yet he did not want to cut her off when this tenuous thread was all there was holding them together.

“Stephen was a very poor scholar,” Merryn said hesitantly.

“Yes, he was,” Garrick agreed.

“You do not try to comfort me by pretending otherwise.” Merryn sounded as though she might be half smiling.

“What would be the point?” Garrick said. “You knew Stephen as well as I did. You know he had no academic pretensions.”

“He was your friend.” This time Merryn did not say it with any hint of accusation in her tone. Instead she sounded sad. Garrick winced to hear the pain in her voice.

“Yes,” he said. “Stephen was my greatest friend.” He took a breath. Was it pointless to try to explain to her? Would it be too little, too late? Would she even want to hear? “My life was bounded by duty,” he said. “Stephen’s friendship helped me to escape that sometimes. With him I could forget the burden of responsibility, my father’s expectations, the obligations that had been weighing on me from the moment I was born.” He stopped. “I was trained to be a Duke from the cradle,” he said. “It was good to forget that sometimes.”

“Stephen was a master at that,” Merryn said. “At escaping obligations.” He heard her sigh. “My father deplored his behavior. We did not have the money for him to gamble and drink away. He was a wastrel and a gamester and we could not afford him.”

It was the first time that Garrick had ever heard her utter any kind of criticism of her brother. “I thought,” he said, “that you idolized Stephen?”

“I loved Stephen.” She corrected him. “That’s different. It means that I can still see his faults. But he was kind to me and generous and the most loving brother I could have asked for.” Her voice cracked. “Sometimes…” She spoke so quietly Garrick had to strain to hear her. “Sometimes I am so afraid that I will forget him,” she said. “I have nothing left of his, no possessions, no paintings, nothing real to remind me… Sometimes I cannot even see his face clearly anymore. Even my memories change and fade.” Her tone hardened. “I know Stephen was weak,” she said. “I know he did wrong. But still he did not deserve to die.”

Her words hung in the air between them, an accusation and an unspoken question, the question they could never escape.

Why did you kill my brother?

Garrick said nothing. He could feel Merryn looking at him through the dark, could feel her gaze on him like a physical touch, puzzled, frustrated, that edge of anger back now because he would never discuss Stephen’s death, never bend, never tell her what happened. He ached to do so but he knew he could not. He had given his word, a solemn promise borne out of protection and penance and until he was absolved of that he had to keep silent. Each day, though, the torment seemed to grow. He had written, the previous night, after his discussion with Purchase. Perhaps when they were out of here an answer would come and then he would be free to follow his instinct. The urge to trust Merryn was even stronger now, here in the intimate dark. Only that fundamental promise held him back because he was not a man to give his word and then break it. He could not. Duty was the only thing that had redeemed him.

Merryn shifted. “Tell me about your wife,” she said. “Tell me about Kitty.” She sounded angry now because he had not answered her. Her words ran hot with it.

Garrick sighed. “Why do you ask?” he said. Talking about Kitty was always torture. His memories of her were so poignant, filled with regret. He had not been the husband Kitty had wanted. He had failed in that and failed her in so much else, too. He had failed to protect her when most it had mattered. The ache in his head pounded suddenly. He had forgotten about it for a short while; now it hurt.

“Did you love her?” Merryn said. Her words dropped into the dark like stones. The air was hot and still, burning with emotion now. How had they moved so swiftly from a cautious truce to this painful ground? Garrick felt as though he had taken a false step somewhere in the dark. The knowledge angered and dismayed him.

“I cared for her,” he admitted. It would have been impossible not to care, he thought, nursing Kitty through her final days, seeing the misery that had torn her apart after Stephen had died.

“So you did not love her.” There was satisfaction in Merryn’s voice. “Did it pain you,” she continued, “that your wife preferred my brother to you?”

Garrick winced. This was getting excruciating. He understood the devils that spurred Merryn on. He understood her need to do this. She had lived with nothing but doubts and questions for years. But raking up the past would be as unbearable for her as it would be for him.

“Of course it hurt me,” he said.

“She loved him.”

“She did,” Garrick agreed. That at least had been true. Kitty had adored Stephen Fenner, unworthy cad that he was.

“You killed Stephen for that,” Merryn said. “Because you were jealous.”

“No.”
Garrick wanted to shout but he schooled his voice to calm. The images were in his head, images of Stephen, his face twisted with a cruel disdain, laughing, images of Kitty, desperate and begging. He could feel the huge, ungovernable rage rise in him in mocking resonance of that moment all those years before when everything had toppled over into tragedy.

“No,” he repeated, fighting the demons back. “That was not how it was.”

“You’re lying.” Merryn sounded impatient as well as furious now. “You
know
that there was no duel, you know you escaped trial for murder through deceit.”

Her voice was so clear and vehement that it rang through the cellar like a bell, causing the walls to tremble. “Perhaps,” Merryn said, “perhaps if you had tried to make amends in the past for the terrible things that you had done then I would not despise you so thoroughly as I do now.” She paused. “You are a coward,” she added. Garrick heard her shift, gathering herself. “I don’t mean simply in the matter of Stephen’s death. You’re a coward because you ran away. You didn’t face the consequences. You
hid.
You’re spineless, no man at all.”

The air buzzed with the force of her contempt.

Well, hell.

This, Garrick thought, was going too far. He understood why Merryn was behaving like this. She was angry, lonely and afraid, trapped with the one man she could not stand to be with, a man who had saved her life, a man she could not bear to be beholden to for anything. But what did she know of the consequences on him of that fateful day when he had shot Stephen Fenner? Nothing. Nor did she know what he had done to try to make amends for his actions ever since. He fought a brief, fierce battle to prevent himself from blurting out the truth.

“You know nothing,” he said roughly.

“Then tell me!” There was so much anguish in her voice.

Garrick felt ripped with tension and regret. If only…“Stop this now,” he said roughly. “It won’t do any good.”

But Merryn was beyond stopping. She had goaded herself too far. Her misery and anguish drove her fiercely on.

“I’m leaving,” she said. “I’ll find a way out. I cannot stay here with you. I cannot bear it.”

Garrick heard her scramble to her feet, heard the frantic flutter of her hands as she brushed down her gown as though she was trying to slough off both the dust and the suffocating atmosphere. He heard stones scrape and slip away to their left and the fear grabbed him. The whole building was unstable, their safety on a knife’s edge. Merryn could see nothing. She might blunder into walls in the dark, hurt herself or set off another fall of stone…

“Be careful—” he said urgently, but it was too late. He heard her stumble and caught her blindly as she tripped over a pile of fallen masonry and lurched full length back into his arms.

This time she was not limp and quiescent. She began to fight him, struggling to free herself. He tightened his arms about her in an effort to hold her still and prevent her from hurting herself, from hurting them both, but she was too fearful now, angry, panicked and desperate to be free of him. She kicked out at him, a glancing blow against his shin that jarred a bruise Garrick had not previously realized he had.

“Let me go!” He could hear the tears bubbling in her voice now and the edge of panic. “Leave me alone! I hate you!”

She broke free of his grip, her elbow catching on a pile of tumbled brick. She gave a sob, sharp and shocked, and in the same instant there was an ominous rumble as the rubble shifted and settled about them. Garrick grabbed her, following her down, pinning her to the ground beneath him.

“That’s enough,” he said, injecting steel into his tone. “Lie still before you bring down the rest of the house.”

It was too late. Merryn writhed beneath him, sobbing, too lost in the grip of grief, anger and fear to hear him, let alone obey him. Garrick took the only other option, allowed the press of his body to trap her against the floor and brought his mouth down hard on hers.

It was harsh but damnably effective. She froze beneath him. Her struggles ceased abruptly. It was as though she had forgotten to breathe, let alone move. For a moment they both lay still and then, as he was about to release her, Garrick felt the change in her. She went soft and acquiescent. She made a sound in her throat, a sound of desire and surrender that had Garrick’s body hardening into instant arousal. He tried to resist. This was wrong, it was madness, it was the worst possible thing that he could do. But Merryn clung to him now, pressing against him, her mouth sweetly demanding beneath his own. There was a moment when he hung on the edge and then Garrick’s mind—and his self-control—shattered into pieces. He gathered her close, his arms going around her, and he kissed her back with raw need, aware of nothing but the tight, painful spiral of his desire.

CHAPTER NINE

M
ERRYN WAS LOST
in a sensual maze. The only thing that gave her comfort, the only thing that kept the shadows at bay, was this man, his mouth on hers and his arms about her, shielding her from the dark. As soon as he touched her she felt safe. She knew she should not feel like that. She knew that Garrick Farne was the last man she should turn to. Yet instinct was all she had left now. It told her that she needed the protection and comfort that only Garrick could give. It told her that she wanted him to blot out the fear.

Garrick’s mouth had gentled on hers now, subtle, sweet, teasing a response from her. He drew back for a moment and she felt bereft but then his thumb skimmed her lower lip and she touched her tongue to it and heard him groan. In the hot, intimate dark the sound made her shake with sheer need.

He kissed her again, parting her lips, his tongue sliding deep. Her head spun. Such intriguing feelings… Her body felt so tightly wound, yet so hot and yielding. She realized that she wanted to be free of the clothes that imprisoned her. They felt too constricting, impossible barriers. She wanted to run her hands over Garrick’s naked skin, to draw him to her, against her, inside her. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her body and just the thought of it made her tremble violently. Her stomach clenched with heat and desire.

She wanted to make love with Garrick Farne, the man who had killed her brother and ruined her family.

The thought intruded like a shower of ice. Merryn shivered with shock and self-disgust. Garrick felt her instinctive recoil and let her go at once.

“I’m sorry.” She could hear that he was breathing hard. She felt him half turn away from her, as though that would lessen the desperate need that shimmered between them. He sounded as shaken as she felt. “I should not have touched you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Merryn stared at him through the dark. She wished that she could see him. The madness had gone from her blood now and she felt lost and confused, ashamed, not of what she had said to him because she meant it in the deepest part of her soul, but upset at the way it had all flooded out in so unstoppable a tide.

“I am sorry for my anger and panic, I mean,” she added meticulously, in case he misunderstood. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

“It’s understandable.” He sounded strained. She sensed that he was looking at her. She could hear the ragged edge to his voice, taste the malt bitterness of the beer on the air, smell the scent of his skin, a sensation that made her head spin.

“About the kiss…” She hesitated. “I can’t seem to help myself.” Honesty was a habit with her, even with this man, especially with this man. “I find you very attractive,” she said with painful sincerity, “and I wish I did not.”

Garrick gave a crack of laughter. “Believe me, Lady Merryn,” he said, “both of those sentiments are mutual.”

“Why did it have to be you?” Merryn whispered. “I don’t understand.”

Garrick did not pretend to misconstrue her.

“You are a scholar, Lady Merryn,” he said. He sounded grim. “So you will understand the concept of the chemical reaction. Sparks, heat, light leading to the explosion…”

Merryn did, but she also knew that it was more than that. Chemistry was not responsible for intuition and affinity. She rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of her feelings. It should feel wrong to be within ten feet of Garrick Farne, let alone to touch him, and yet it did not. Rational thought drove her from him. Whenever she remembered what he had done she hated him, she was repulsed. Yet instinct, deep and inexplicable, persistently threw her into his arms. It made no sense.

She found that she was shaking. Tiredness and frustration racked her. “I think,” she said, “that when we get out of here it would be best if we never see each other again.”

“I think that would be a good idea,” Garrick agreed, and he sounded weary to the soul. He was sitting with his back to her and he made no move to turn or draw closer.

There was quiet once more. Merryn felt horribly bereft, so lonely when the only other human being trapped with her was a man she could not approach for comfort, either mentally or physically. She wanted to rationalize her feelings away, to find an explanation for the instinct that had told her she could trust Garrick. Yet there was none.

“I expect,” she said, “that our current attraction is merely a product of our situation. We are imprisoned here together and it is frightening and perfectly understandable that we should seek reassurance in one another. Besides, the beer fumes are making us both light-headed. It is a transient thing…” Her voice trailed off unhappily. If she did not believe her excuses she was sure that Garrick would not, either.

“By all means,” Garrick said, “think of it in those terms if it makes you feel better. I refuse to accept that I am only attracted to you because I am drunk.”

Silence again. The darkness fizzed with emotion—bitter, brittle anger, despair and longing.

“What can we do?” Merryn said helplessly.

“Nothing,” Garrick said. She heard him sigh. “I am going to sleep. My head hurts.” His voice sounded slurred. Now he really did sound drunk.

“You can’t go to sleep!” Merryn said sharply. “Wake up!” She was remembering another of Professor Brande’s lectures that she had attended the previous year, this time on medicine.

“The effects of a blow to the head may be delayed but they may also be fatal… If the patient sleeps he may not awaken…”

Panic grabbed her by the throat. She reached out for Garrick and gripped his shoulder hard.

“Don’t go to sleep,” she said again, and she could hear the raw anxiety edge her own voice. She grabbed his arm, shook him. “It could be dangerous. Did you sustain a blow to the head when the roof fell?”

“I don’t remember…” Garrick sounded as though he was drifting away from her. “Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Merryn snapped. “It’s purely selfish. I don’t want to be left here on my own, that is all. I find after all that some company, even yours, is preferable to none.”

Garrick did not respond. Merryn shook him again and heard him groan. “Leave me in peace,” he said. “I’m a Duke and I can go to sleep if I like.”

“You’re gabbling,” Merryn said coldly. She felt scared. She wondered if she should slap his face. Except she could not see where it was. “Did you not hear me?” she demanded. “If you fall asleep you may never wake up.”

“That should suit you very well,” Garrick muttered. “An eye for an eye, or whatever.” He gave a sigh. She could tell that he was settling down to sleep.

Merryn scooped up a double handful of the sticky, warm, brackish beer and threw it in his general direction. She followed it with a second measure. There was a splash, a movement and then some very colorful swearing.

“What the devil—” At least he sounded wide-awake now. Merryn found that she was smiling. “That’s better,” she said.

“I’m glad that you think so.” He sounded very grumpy. “Who would have guessed you could be such a shrew?”

“You should be thanking me,” Merryn said. “You might have died.”

“I almost did die—of beer inhalation.” But he sounded himself again. Merryn’s heart skipped a tiny beat.

There was a pause. She could feel his hesitation. Then he took her hand. She almost jumped at the physical contact.

“Thank you,” he said.

The tears pricked her eyelids, foolish, weak tears she did not understand.

His thumb moved softly over her palm. “We
will
get out of here,” he said. His voice had gentled and once again it tugged at her emotions. “I swear we will.”

“Will anyone miss you if you do not return home?” Merryn asked. It had not occurred to her before, but surely someone, somewhere would raise an alarm?

“I doubt it,” Garrick said. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going to be.”

So no one cared where he was or what he did. Merryn thought it sounded very lonely.

“But people will surely miss you,” Garrick added.

“Yes.” Merryn felt a clutch of apprehension mingled with hope. “Joanna will worry when I do not return to Tavistock Street,” she said. The guilt pricked her. “I was supposed to be working for Tom this evening but I told Joanna that I was attending a concert with a friend,” she said. “She may not realize that anything was wrong for a few hours and even then she will have no idea as to where I might be.”

“But if Bradshaw knows,” Garrick said, “he may contact your sister to ensure that you are safe.”

“Yes…” Merryn said. “It is possible but I think it unlikely. Tom believes me to be at a meeting of the Royal Humane Society tonight. He would hardly expect me to be in the rookeries off the Tottenham Court Road.” She raised a hand to her aching head. Suddenly everything seemed intolerably complicated. It seemed very unlikely that Tom would go to Joanna and Alex, but if he did then her secret life would unravel faster than a ball of thread. On the other hand, if he did not realize that something was wrong, and she and Garrick could not find a way out, they might be trapped for days. The panic fluttered again but the warmth of Garrick’s hand in hers helped her to quell it this time. She felt stronger with him near. She did not like the thought but she had to accept that it was true.

“How well do you know Bradshaw?” Garrick asked.

“Well enough,” Merryn said. “He’s not my lover,” she added then wondered why on earth she had seen the need to mention it.

Garrick laughed. “I know that. You told me that you had never been kissed before.” He had half turned toward her. “I think that I would have known it anyway,” he added slowly. “When I kissed you at the ball you looked as though you had discovered a wonderful new pastime, one you had never indulged in before but would love to explore further.”

“Oh!” Merryn whipped her hand from his and pressed both her palms to her burning cheeks. That had been exactly what she had felt. She had not realized, though, that she was quite so transparent.

“I did like it,” she admitted after a moment. “I enjoy new experiences and it was intellectually fascinating.”

She heard Garrick laugh. “Indeed! I have never before considered kissing an intellectual pastime. In what way was it…ah…intellectually fascinating?”

“Because I had no previous knowledge of it,” Merryn said, “and I found it interesting to analyze my responses—”

“Analyze your responses? You mean you had time to think?” Garrick sounded slightly taken aback. “Was it better than reading a book?” he asked. “Or some other comparative academic activity?”

“That,” Merryn said, “would depend upon the book. It was better than reading
Clarissa,
which I found turgid, but not quite as good as reading
Mansfield Park,
which I enjoyed a very great deal.”

“Mansfield Park.”
Garrick sounded amused. “I hope it was an exceptionally good read.”

“Outstanding,” Merryn agreed.

Garrick took her hand again and this time pressed his lips to the palm. “Whereas kissing me is merely…satisfactory? Interesting?”

“Very interesting,” Merryn amended. Her heart thumped. Her skin was prickling. She could feel Garrick’s stubble rough against the softness of her hand, chasing shivers along her nerves. For a second she felt as though she was trembling on the edge of something unbearably sweet; she wanted him to take her in his arms again, to kiss her until every other thought was banished and she was eager under his touch; she wanted to tumble headlong into whatever hot, blissful temptation waited for her.

She pulled her hand away, only to curl her fingers protectively over as though trapping the kiss.

She heard Garrick sigh. “I’m glad we straightened that out,” he murmured. The teasing note in his voice faded. “I think that you should get some sleep, Lady Merryn,” he said. “It will be for the best. And in the morning we will find a way out.”

Merryn knew he was right. She could forget the past for a few minutes perhaps and allow herself to luxuriate in the pleasure of talking to a man whose mind seemed so delightfully in tune with her own. She could even allow herself the seduction of his kisses, a different but equally tempting sort of pleasure. But then memory would taunt her, making her stomach lurch with misery and self-reproach, and she knew that there could be no future for them. It was impossible. She should not want it.

“You always call me Lady Merryn when you want to put some distance between us,” she said slowly.

“I do,” Garrick agreed. She waited but he made no attempt to narrow that distance or to touch her again. After a moment Merryn settled herself down on as dry a bit of the floor as she could find, wrapped her pelisse around her and willed herself to sleep.

W
HEN
T
OM
B
RADSHAW
arrived at the house in Tavistock Street it was the early hours of the morning and he discovered that Lady Grant was hosting a dinner. The dining room blazed with light and it spilled out across the terrace and the gardens. Tom, lurking in the shadows, could see that Merryn was not among the assembled guests. That did not surprise him. He knew exactly where she was. And whom she was with.

As soon as Tom had heard about Garrick Farne’s strange, quixotic gift to the Fenner sisters he had set Heighton to watch on Merryn and report back to him. Garrick, Tom thought, had been quite exceptionally clever in buying off the Fenner family. He had grave doubts now that Merryn would follow through on her intention to ruin Garrick because it was not in her interests to do so anymore. Tom understood all about self-interest. It was his prime inspiration. So he could hardly blame Merryn for throwing in her lot with Farne. But it did mean that he no longer trusted her and he could no longer use her.

Heighton had followed Merryn the entire afternoon. He had tailed both Merryn and Garrick to the rookeries of the Tottenham Court Road and had witnessed the beer flood. Barely stopping to sample a swift pint, he had made his way back to report to Tom.

So now Tom was in a very powerful position. He was prepared to tell Lady Grant and Lady Darent what had happened to their little sister—at a price. He was even considering revealing to them that Merryn had been working for him for two years, and then charging a higher price still for his silence, for Merryn would be utterly ruined if the truth came out. Tom was ruthless in discarding those for whom he had no further use and Merryn had served her purpose. Now she could make him some money.