Mistress by Midnight (17 page)

Her brow had wrinkled. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

Garrick hastily wiped the smile from his face. “Um…You, too, look most…disheveled.”

She frowned. “You were laughing at me. How ungallant!”

“You are right, of course,” Garrick said. “A gentleman should never make adverse comment on a lady’s appearance.” Yet still he could not take his gaze from her. The light was growing stronger all the time, illuminating the streaks of dirt on her face and the tracks of those fierce, angry tears she had shed when she thought she might have lost him. Her hands, as small and capable as the rest of her, were punctured with faint blue bruises among the cuts. Garrick raised a hand as though in a dream, and brushed away the smudges of her tears with his thumb. He heard her breath catch and felt her skin warm beneath his touch. He pushed the filthy hair away from her face. The back of his fingers brushed her cheek and she made the softest sound in her throat and turned her face against his caress like a cat seeking the sun.

He cradled her head in his hand and drew her forward for his kiss. This time it was not a kiss in anger or passion. It was gentle and sweet but so deep that when he let her go he found he was shaking. They gazed at one another, the moment spinning out, the dust motes dancing in the light that seemed to surround Merryn like a halo, and then she turned away and her face was in shadow and instead of pulling her back into his arms and kissing her senseless, as he ached to do, Garrick let her go.

The latest fall of masonry had revealed what had once been a chimney and now it stood straight and tall among the debris of tumbled walls, offering a tantalizing glimpse of light and sky. It seemed a very long way up.

“I assume,” Merryn said, looking up, “that we have to climb out of here?”

“Yes.” Garrick cleared his throat. “We do.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Merryn had already started to scramble over the rubble at the base of the chimney. Before Garrick could say anything she was reaching for footholds, clambering up like a monkey, clinging to impossible ledges and giving him a most enticing view up her skirts at the same time. Garrick felt distracted, hot and confused, left behind by her sudden energy. He had to make a very deliberate effort to get to his feet. His whole body seemed to rebel against movement.

Ten feet above him Merryn stopped and looked down. A shower of grit and small stones rattled past Garrick’s head and he flinched.

“What are you waiting for?” she said it again. She sounded impatient. Garrick thought that it was probably not the moment to tell her that ever since he had fallen out of a tree at the age of five, he had been afraid of heights.

“You will probably have more difficulty than I…” She had started to climb again and her voice sounded faint and far away. “Because you are much larger than I am.”

“Thank you for that,” Garrick said. He set his jaw. He had to do this. Was he to sit here and wait for Merryn to climb out and fetch help? That would be intolerable. She had been afraid of the dark. He disliked heights. Neither of them could pander to their fear. Another rattle of stone had him clenching his teeth so tightly they ground audibly. He knew he had to concentrate on each handhold, each foothold, on climbing steadily toward the light. He could not afford to think about falling or to allow even a flicker of fear to loosen his grip as Merryn slipped and slithered above him, one foot swinging free of the wall, her skirts filling out like a bell.

It seemed to take forever. Twice Garrick slipped and thought he would fall, and saw Merryn’s face, pale and strained, staring down from above him. Finally he was up at the top, his palms slippery with sweat, his heart racing, and he could feel the air on his face and it was fresh and cold, a whole world away from the dark, dank prison below. Merryn offered him her hand to pull him out of the chimney and he took it and felt the strength in her and saw her wide smile and he looked around and the world rocked and he almost fell.

They were on what was left of a roof. Garrick felt a little dizzy. Merryn’s hand tightened on his. She gave him a brilliant smile, lit up with relief and excitement. “We’re free!” she said. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Marvelous.” Garrick dared not look down. As far as he could tell the roof had fallen by perhaps five or six feet during the flood, which meant that they were still a good twenty-five feet from the ground since these houses were built tall and narrow, crowding toward the sky. Instead of looking directly down, Garrick fixed his gaze on the reassuring sight of the steeple of St. Anthony’s Church a few streets away. The sky behind the church tower was the palest white blue of early morning and beyond that, for street after street, he could see the skyline of London with its jumbled mixture of spires and towers, slates and tiles, stretching away to the frosty green hills beyond. The river curled like a lazy gray snake to the south, mist wreathing its banks, with tiny bridges and the smudge of roads barely visible in the dawn light. It felt very cold up here on the roof with the winter wind nipping at his exposed skin.

“You are very pale.” Merryn sounded concerned. “Are you sure you did not hurt yourself on the climb—”

“I do not care for heights.” Garrick bit the words out and saw her brows rise.

“Oh.” Her tone changed. “Oh, dear. And we are on the roof.”

“Quite.” Garrick forced a smile. “My father used to take me up on to the roof of Farnecourt when I was a boy,” he said. “He asked me what sort of a man I was if I could not even look down at the ground without turning green.”

Merryn’s face registered vivid disgust. “What a very disagreeable person your father was,” she remarked. She drew her knees up and laced her arms around them. “A pity he is dead. I should have liked to give him a piece of my mind.”

“That,” Garrick said, “I would have enjoyed.”

He could see that Merryn was looking down and he felt his stomach lurch.

“It does not seem too bad,” she ventured. “There is a wall to our left that I might perhaps climb down. Or someone might come soon, with a ladder. The streets seem to be deserted but it is still early.” She stopped. “You should look, you know.” Her voice had changed. “I have never seen anything quite like it. So many broken walls and beer stretching away in the streets like a lake! We are cut off as though we are on an island. It is extraordinary.”

She shuffled up so that she was sitting beside him on the ridge of the roof. Garrick felt his stomach heave again and tried to persuade himself that he had imagined the slight movement of the beams beneath them. This was not safe. They had to move soon—as soon as he had sufficient breath and courage.

“You did very well,” Merryn added, sounding, Garrick thought, like a governess trying to encourage a dull pupil.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her. The wind was teasing strands of her hair, picking out the gold beneath the dirt. “You were splendid,” he said. “Is there much call for climbing chimneys in your work for Bradshaw?”

She laughed. “None whatsoever. But I did enjoy climbing trees as a girl. It provided me with somewhere quiet to read.” She shivered suddenly. “It is cold out here, though. Oh, no—” She put out a hand to protest as he slid his jacket about her shoulders. “You must not! You need it yourself.”

“I doubt it will give either of us much warmth,” Garrick said. “It is ripped to shreds. Keep it, for what it is worth.” He watched her slip her arms into the sleeves. She was a little clumsy with the cold. The coat was far too big and after a moment he turned up the sleeves for her so that her hands at least were free rather than lost inside.

“We have to find a way down,” he said abruptly. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

Merryn scrambled up. “Look—” She was pointing to a corner of the roof some twenty feet away. “I do believe that there is a staircase.”

Garrick looked and saw that she was right. Part of the roof of the next building had collapsed, leaving the top of a stair poking at the sky like a pointing finger. The house itself looked sound, still standing. Merryn started to clamber across the roof toward it.

“Wait!” Garrick called. “It may be unsafe—”

She paused, waiting for him to catch up with her, and then she grabbed his hand again. They took the vertiginous slope, easing down from the roof, sliding over slates, scrambling over stone. Garrick wondered if his future nightmares would involve endless long dark corridors full of rubble and the smell of beer seeping even into his dreams. And then they were climbing down the broken stairs. The house was silent, deserted. The staircase had sheered off at the bottom of the flight leaving a gap of perhaps ten feet to the ground below. Or it should have been the ground. Peering over the edge, Garrick saw that the floorboards were gone, snapped like driftwood, and the cellar yawned black and deep beneath them. Away to their left were the broken spars of what had once been the floor.

Merryn stopped. “We’re trapped!” The disappointment was clear in her voice. She looked up the way they had come. “We’ll have to go back up.”

“No,” Garrick said. “It’s too dangerous. The staircase may come down.” He looked across the gap of about ten feet to where the floor still stood. “I’ll jump across,” he said.

Merryn caught his arm. Her face was pale. He could feel the tension and the anxiety radiating from her. “You cannot! It is too far, too dangerous!”

There was a cracking sound beneath Garrick’s feet. The wood of the staircase was buckling under their weight, too much, Garrick realized, for the damaged structure to bear. He covered Merryn’s hands with his own.

“It’s the only chance we have,” he said. “I’ll jump down and then I will catch you.”

Another splintering sound from beneath them; the fragile steps seemed to shiver. Garrick saw Merryn nod.

This time she did not cling to him as she had done in the cellar but stepped back very deliberately. She raised her chin. There was a challenge in her blue eyes. He knew, and she knew, that there was only the smallest chance he could get down without breaking his neck. The floor might smash or the stair break or he could miss his footing and plunge twenty feet into the basement beneath.

“Do it, then,” she said. “I’ll wager you cannot and you’ll be swimming about in the cellar before the end.”

“Such touching faith,” Garrick mocked. He eased himself over the edge of the wooden staircase. It creaked alarmingly, shards of wood breaking off and falling into the void below. Merryn gave a little gasp as it lurched to one side like a drunk.

There was no time for hesitation. Garrick gathered all his strength and took a huge leap across the chasm to the floor below. He felt the wooden boards give beneath his feet but they held firm. He spun round to see Merryn’s face, a terrified blur, as she clung to the last, cracking timber of the staircase.

“Jump!” he shouted.

She did not falter. With absolute trust she threw herself into space. The seconds seemed to spin out as she tumbled toward him and then he caught her and held her, the breath knocked from his body by the force of her fall. The whole stair splintered and disintegrated into darkness in the void of the cellar below. There was a huge splash as the wood plunged into the flood of beer, an echo of destruction that shook the entire house.

Merryn was pressed against his heart, her head sheltered beneath the curve of his arm, her hands gripping him so tight it felt as though she would never let go. Garrick kept his arms about her and looked down into her face and her smile lit him to his soul. He could feel her trembling so hard that her entire body shook. She felt hot and feverish beneath his hands, burning up with shock, excitement racking her at the same time as reaction set her shaking.

She reached up and kissed him, all heated passion and intense relief, and Garrick thought his heart would explode. He pulled her away from the yawning chasm of the floor through the doorway into the first solid room he could find. He slammed the door behind them. It was the last coherent thing that he remembered before Merryn kissed him again and his world narrowed to her, and nothing but her, the need to protect and possess, the desire that finally could not be restrained.

“G
ARRICK
…” Merryn breathed Garrick’s name against his lips. Her hands were resting against his chest and she could feel his heart thundering against her palm. He was blazing with the same sense of victory and release that she was. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, winding her arms about his neck, drawing his head down to hers so that she could reach him properly. For a second she felt the hesitation in him and then his mouth came down on hers with ruthless intent, plundering, rough in his hunger for her. Her heart leaped. Garrick had saved her life twice and had stood between her and the dark when she was fearful and alone. She had turned to him to blot out all fear, to deny the past and defy the future, and now she ached for him with so powerful a need that it stole her breath and made her feel as though she would die if she could not have him. She needed this force to consume her now and wash away the darkness once and for all. She opened her lips to his and gave him back kiss for kiss, matching the fierceness of his demand.

She pulled Garrick down to the floor beside her. Here, instead of the roughness of stone and the stinking pools of beer, she could feel the softness of carpet beneath her. It was like the most luxurious feather bed. She cupped Garrick’s face in her hands and brought it to hers again. His stubble was rough against her sore palms. Her mouth was eager and open on his; she wanted to drink deep and savor the renewal of life, grasp after every sensation in her celebration of their escape. She slid her hands over the hard muscle of his shoulders, feeling the torn material of his shirt beneath her questing fingers, sliding under the linen to touch his skin. She heard him groan against her mouth.

“Merryn. Wait…” Garrick sounded dazed. He tried to pull back. “We should not,” he said. “You’ll feel differently when—”

Merryn cut off his words with another kiss. She did not want to wait, did not want to think. Her heart beat a mad helter-skelter. Her body seemed to be burning up. She kissed him again with renewed passion and when she felt the tension ease from him and his grip tighten on her, she knew she had won and the triumph soared even higher in her blood. She felt him shift so that he was over her and suddenly she felt very small and very feminine against such hard strength and masculinity. It was a new and devastating sensation for her but it was banished as soon as it came by other, even more powerful reactions. She felt the nip of his teeth on her neck and the press of his lips against the pulse at the hollow of her throat and she squirmed beneath him. Her gown was already in tatters; it was the work of seconds for Garrick to rip it off. His mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts and Merryn’s mind spun into a new, untried world. Desire twisted deep within her and she cried out.