Читать книгу Sins and Scandals Collection - Nicola Cornick - Страница 17

MERRYN CAME OUT of the Royal Institution and shivered in the cold November breeze. The air had lost the last warmth of autumn and was cold today, the sky gray and sharp with an edge of sleet. She had enjoyed Professor Brande’s lecture on the chemical elements very much. It was the type of event that she loved: esoteric, intellectual, peaceful, a far cry from the ballrooms and entertainments of the ton. There were few attendees, just a small group of medical students and a sprinkling of gentlemen with an interest in scientific matters. Humphrey Davy, Brande’s predecessor at the Royal Institution, had been immensely successful and his lectures oversubscribed, but Brande was far dryer and less fashionable. Which was just the way that Merryn liked it. Her academic interests were, as she had told Garrick Farne, a refuge and an escape.

She did not want to return to Tavistock Street, where Joanna and Tess would either be out calling on their friends or entertaining guests and talking about something idle: the little season parties, the latest fashion in boots, the approach of Christmas. The thought of so much chitchat bored her. Her sisters had tried to take her shopping yesterday—for some reason they thought she needed some new clothes even though her current ones were not worn-out—but the idea of Belgrave House and the Bond Street emporia did not excite her. Instead she had spent the entire previous afternoon sifting through the Fenners estate papers, an exercise that was nostalgic but also practical. She knew it was folly to imagine that Garrick Farne would have overlooked anything remotely incriminating in the papers but she felt she had to look. Naturally enough she had drawn a blank other than to spot a reference to a meeting shortly after Stephen’s death between her father and someone called Lord S and the Duke of F. It had surprised her that Lord Fenner had met with Lord Scott and the late Duke of Farne. She could see no purpose for such a painful meeting at all. She took a hackney carriage to Grillons Hotel, an irreproachably respectable place where she had occasionally stayed when Joanna was out of town and wanted somewhere quick and easy from which she could come and go in her work for Tom. She ordered a luncheon of roast beef and watched the guests pass by. There was a clergyman with his wife and three pale, quiet daughters all dressed identically in sober gowns and dark bonnets. There was an elderly lady dripping with jewels who walked with a stick and raised a diamond-encrusted lorgnette to stare at Merryn for a full ten seconds. There were two country gentlemen who talked with their mouths full and drank copious tankards of ale, and there was a small, fair girl, governess or companion, Merryn thought, who looked anxious, as though she was nervous to be out on her own.

Merryn ate her meal and ignored the curious glances of some of the other diners. She was accustomed to solitude. She preferred it. When her meal was over she went out into the pale afternoon, heading for the booksellers in the Burlington Arcade.

She was walking back along Bond Street when she saw ahead of her the tall figure of Garrick Farne cutting purposefully through the crowds. He disappeared into a saddlery shop across the street and Merryn paused, watching his reflection in the bow window. She was not quite sure why she was spying on him. Garrick himself was unlikely to lead her to anything that would be useful. He was on his guard against her, determined that she should discover nothing. Yet still she lingered.

“You must find me utterly fascinating, Lady Merryn,” Garrick’s dry voice said in her ear, “to follow me here and study me so intently.”

Merryn jumped. The reflection had disappeared, scarcely surprising since Garrick was standing directly beside her, the elegant green superfine of his sleeve brushing hers. He removed his hat and bowed. The wind ruffled the dark red of his hair. An inexplicable shiver shot through Merryn, heating her from the inside out. She looked up into his eyes and met a most sardonic expression. Blushing, she shifted her gaze to his mouth. No, that was worse. She could not look at his lips without remembering his kisses, the warmth and the taste of him, the way in which she had melted inside, soft and sweet and yet burning with such a curious intensity like a scientific experiment she had once witnessed where copper had burned with a blue flame.

“Oh!” she said, her voice high and false. “I did not see you there, your grace.”

There was a silence just long enough to emphasize her falsehood and then Garrick smiled. “In that case you must have a particular interest in this shop, to be so intently peering in at the window?”

“Oh, yes,” Merryn said. “Yes, indeed.”

She had not actually noticed what sort of shop it was, having been concentrating on watching Garrick’s reflection but now as she turned back to the bow windows she saw it was a milliners. The window was full of jaunty bonnets, ribbons and other accessories. Merryn’s brow cleared. She might have no interest in fashion but she could pretend to one. Except … except that she was observant, and what she was now observing was that the shop was full of men. Which was odd. Unfathomable, almost … Were they buying gifts for their womenfolk, perhaps?

She saw one of the men follow a shopgirl through a curtain at the back of the room.

“The ladies are not selling hats,” Garrick said, even more dryly, reading her mind. “They sell themselves, Lady Merryn. The millinery is merely a front.”

“Oh!” Merryn blushed bright red.

“First you take to sleeping in other people’s houses,” Garrick said, “then you are almost locked up in the Fleet for debt and now I find you studying the ways of the courtesans. Your financial situation must be parlous indeed if you are considering taking to the streets.” His gaze dwelled on her face, bringing even hotter color into it. “You might do well. But I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I have no intention of becoming a courtesan,” Merryn snapped. “I was merely—”

“Using the window as a mirror to watch me. Yes, I realize that.” Garrick smiled at her. “You are following me for a change. How stimulating.”

Merryn gritted her teeth. “I was not following you. I was walking home.” She held out her parcel of books. “I have been to the booksellers.”

Garrick fell into step beside her. “Poetry?”

“I did buy some Byron.”

“Ah. To inspire you?”

“I imagine you think it would take more than that.” Merryn was stung. She looked up at him. “You read my poetry journal that night in my bedroom. That was not the act of a gentleman.”

“I apologize,” Garrick said. He slanted a look down at her. Merryn wished he were not so tall. Not only did she almost have to run to keep up with his elegant stride, she could not see his face, nor judge his expression. “It was unhandsome of me,” he agreed. “In mitigation, all I can say is that I was looking for your diary.”

“Oh, well, then!” Merryn felt even more indignant. “I forgive you at once!”

Garrick laughed. “You would not have minded if your poetry had been good and I had praised you for it.”

“This is not about the quality of my writing,” Merryn said crossly. “It is about my privacy!”

Garrick’s firm lips twitched. “Well, be careful of the Byron,” he drawled. “It can be very inflammatory to the senses.”

“My senses are in no danger of inflammation,” Merryn said coldly.

“All evidence suggests the contrary,” Garrick said. He stopped, put out a hand and lightly touched her arm. “Shall I demonstrate to you?”

“Farne. Lady Merryn.” A group of people had come upon them unnoticed and now encircled them. Merryn, acutely conscious of Garrick’s touch burning through the sleeve of her pelisse, shook him off and took a step back. She wished they had not been surprised just then, with Garrick looking down at her with that quizzical smile she was coming to know so well, his hand on her arm implying an intimacy she did not wish anyone else to see … She felt hot with mortification.

Nor were these acquaintances that she particularly wished to acknowledge. Merryn recognized Lord Ayres, an arbiter of fashion who practically worshipped Joanna but had never condescended to speak to her before, accompanied by his wife and Lady Radstock, another fashionable gossip. There was a younger man whom Merryn did not recognize but Garrick clearly did.

“Croft,” he said coldly, giving the man an infinitesimal bow. “How do you do.”

“Not as well as you, old fellow!” Croft raised his quizzing glass and ogled Merryn from top to toe in a manner that she found insolent and presumptuous. He let the glass fall from one languid hand. “Cunning move, what, to hand back the money and make yourself look good,” he said. He smiled at Merryn, vulpine, eyes gleaming. “Let bygones be bygones, eh, Lady Merryn, for the sake of thirty thousand pounds?”

Merryn saw Garrick’s eyes narrow. “Croft—” his voice was silky “—I do suggest that you think carefully about your next words.”

“Or … what?” Croft laughed. “You’ll call me out? There’s been enough of that sort of thing, don’t you think, old chap?” He slapped Garrick on the shoulder. “No, you are to be congratulated.” His gaze swept Merryn again. “Especially if you keep a part of that sum in the family. Nice work, Farne!” He sauntered off down the street, offering his arm to one of the ladies, swept along in a wave of bright fashionable colors and loud fashionable laughter.

Merryn saw Garrick take a step after them and grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” she said. She realized that her voice was thick with tears. Lord Croft’s derisive words rang in her ears.

Let bygones be bygones, eh, Lady Merryn, for the sake of thirty thousand pounds …

Everyone, she realized, knew about Garrick’s gift to them. No doubt it was the on dit, spoken of in every club, coffee shop and ballroom in London. Tess had probably boasted of it, told all her smart acquaintance of their newly acquired riches. A pain started in her chest. It was excruciating. She gave a little gasp. Her heart was pounding.

Everyone would think that she had sold Stephen’s memory for thirty thousand pounds, that she had betrayed him and that she simply did not care that he had died. She felt hot and breathless, the misery clawing at her throat.

“Excuse me,” she said, and her voice sounded high and tight. “I have to go now.”

From a distance she could hear Garrick’s voice calling her name and there was anxiety in it and urgency and some other emotion she could not place but she ignored it, ignored him, because all she could feel, all she could think, was that people were right: she had sold her brother, she had betrayed his memory, because she should have stopped Joanna and Tess somehow, she should have seen what would happen, should have known what everyone would think, and she would never forgive herself.

The late afternoon sunshine struck her in the eyes and she blinked. The noise of the street roared in her ears. Everything seemed too loud and too bright. Faces passed in a blur. She had a stitch in her side, she had been walking so fast. She stumbled a little, straightened, and tried to think. Her mind felt foggy. Simple matters, such as the way back to Tavistock Street, seemed impossible to grasp, so she set off walking again, quickly, to get away. She walked for ten minutes, blindly, thoughtlessly, until the coldness of the air started to penetrate her pelisse and finally made her realize that she needed to get home.

Merryn looked about her seeing her surroundings clearly for the first time. She had gone the wrong way for she was in Great Russell Street now which was not perhaps the most salubrious area for a woman to find herself alone, but it was only a step back to the main road and a hackney carriage home.

She turned on her heel, suddenly feeling exhausted and wretched and cold. Back in Tavistock Street Joanna and Tess would be preparing for a dinner that evening and no one would understand how she felt, no one would share her feelings, no one would in all probability notice that she was any different from normal. They would be happy because Alex could afford to make repairs to his estate now and give Chessie a dowry and Tess could buy yet more new clothes and nobody cared that Stephen was dead.

Her footsteps dragged on the cobbles. It was not much farther. As she reached the corner there was an extraordinary sound like the sharp crack of thunder overhead, then a roar that grew louder and louder until her ears rang with it and the ground beneath her feet shook. She could hear screaming and spun around, and in that moment something hit her with tremendous force, knocking her off her feet. She went down onto the cobbles, tumbled over and over like a rag doll, boneless, like flotsam on the tide. She was blinded by water; or at least it felt like water, but it was dark and it smelled strange, sweaty and brackish. She gulped for air but instead the liquid filled her lungs, making her choke. It tasted thick and malty and she thought it was going to smother her. Then her flailing hand caught the edge of something firm and she held on for dear life as the flow swept past her and dropped her hard, coughing and spluttering, in the doorway of what had once been a house.

Merryn sat up. Around her the flood lapped in dirty waves, plastering her clothes to her body, washing all manner of objects past her: a broken chair, a child’s toy, even a dead cat. The smell, sweet and rich, was everywhere, filling her nostrils. Her chest hurt from coughing. Her mind felt blank with shock. She did not seem able to think. It was like pushing at a closed door. She struggled to her feet.

There was another roar of sound, even louder than the first, and she looked up to see a solid wave of blackness rolling toward her. If she had had even the slightest flicker of breath left it would have been the first time in her life that she screamed. Then someone caught her hard about the waist, drawing her beneath him, sheltering her with his body. The wave broke over them, followed by the crack and scrape of falling masonry. The house was coming down.

It was her final thought.

IT WAS PITCH-BLACK and cold and wet, and Garrick could see nothing, but he could move and he could breathe. He ached all over but miraculously he appeared to have broken no bones. In his arms, Merryn was still breathing, too. Garrick felt relief, huge and overwhelming, and gratitude, and another emotion that he did not want to define but that grabbed his heart and squeezed it tight like a giant fist. He had reached Merryn in time. He had been able to save her. Thank God. He pressed his lips to her hair for one heartfelt moment and breathed in the scent of her, long and deep. Her softness, her sweetness, steadied him. He felt an enormous, primitive need to protect and defend her, to hold her and keep her safe.

Very cautiously he shifted his grip on her so that she was settled more comfortably in his lap, her head in the crook of his shoulder. Merryn instinctively nestled closer to him, seeking the warmth and comfort of his arms, murmuring something he could not hear. She was not heavy but for a small woman she was no lightweight, either, and Garrick had suffered untold cuts and bruises when the house fell. His head, in particular, felt like a ball that had sustained a prolonged kicking. He tightened his arms about her, drawing her closer. The movement jarred him but he gritted his teeth against the pain.

Merryn moved again. Groaned. She was waking up.

“Where am I?” she said. She sounded frightened. There was nothing but darkness around them and the weight of rubble pressing down on them and the taste of dust in the air.

“It’s all right,” Garrick said. “You’re safe.” His throat felt thick with the dirt and dust. He coughed, started again. “There was an accident, a flood—”

“You?” She had recognized his voice and she did not sound pleased. There was an edge to her tone that suggested anxiety and relief together, an odd mixture. Waking in the dark, Garrick thought, in a stranger’s arms would be terrifying. Waking to discover that she was trapped with him only marginally less disturbing.

He felt Merryn try to move again, levering herself upright, a maneuver that only served to press her rounded buttocks into his groin all the more firmly. She winced. So did Garrick, but for different reasons. For a second the unwelcome stab of arousal was almost enough to distract him from the pain in his head.

“What are you doing here?” Merryn demanded. “Were you following me again?”

“Yes,” Garrick said. He was not going to pretend. They were trapped alone together in the darkness. Any pretense between them now was impossible. “You were going the wrong way to get to Tavistock Street,” he said. “You were upset and I was worried about you. I thought you might lose yourself in a rookery and get into trouble. Which you did,” he added, “though not quite as I had imagined.”

There was silence. Then, “You were worried about me?” Merryn repeated. There was an odd note in her voice.

“Yes,” Garrick said. “Croft’s words distressed you. I am sorry for that.” He had seen the stricken look in her eyes as Croft had made his malicious remarks. Merryn did not deserve such cruelty. For a moment he felt a wave of utter fury wash through him again. He clenched his fists and wished he had planted the young peer a facer. That would have given the ton something else to gossip about.

“It is of no consequence.” Merryn sounded prickly, her tone warning him to keep his distance. Garrick knew she was trying to protect herself, that she did not want him to see the depth of her hurt. He suspected that for anyone to imply that she had been bought off in the matter of her brother’s death would be intolerable for her.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “It is of consequence.”

This time she did not deny it. She was quiet again for a moment. “You said that there had been a flood,” she said. “I remember now. There was a wave of dirty water …” She still sounded dazed. She put out a cautious hand and touched Garrick’s thigh, recoiling as though burned when her fingers brushed the soaking material of his pantaloons. Garrick grinned to himself as she rolled off his knee with more haste than finesse. There was a splash as she landed in the beer again.

“Why are we sitting in a pool of water?” she demanded.

“It’s beer,” Garrick said. “The buildings are flooded with beer.”

“Beer!” She sounded startled. Then her voice changed. “That smell! I wondered what it was.”

“I think the vat on top of the brewery in Tottenham Court Road must have burst,” Garrick said. “I’ve seen it happen before when a liquid ferments and puts pressure on the vat. The hoops snap and the beer pours out in a flood.”

“There was a sound like thunder, or cannon.” Merryn’s voice was still ruffled, a sign of her distress. “I am not describing it well,” she added, “but I have never heard an explosion before.”

Garrick smiled, there in the dark. How many women, he wondered, would be concerned at their lack of eloquence in a situation like this? Only Merryn Fenner would need the right word for the right occasion. Most other women he had known would be having the vapors or swooning. Not Merryn. She was more concerned with her vocabulary. He felt another rush of emotion, swift and sharp, admiration for her and something more, something deeper.

He sensed her shift toward him in the darkness although she was careful not to make physical contact again. Garrick could not see her because the gloom was stifling, like a blanket. It felt thick and heavy and it was starting to feel hot as well, as though they were inside a fermenting vat. The air seemed weighed down with the smell of the malt. Garrick could hear Merryn breathing in quick, light pants, and knew she was afraid. She was very close and he sensed she was facing him now. If he lifted a hand he thought it would touch the curve of her cheek. He wanted to touch her very much, and not just to reassure her. There was something knowing about the dark, something intimate that stripped away all layers of pretense and all formality.

“I assume that we are trapped?” Merryn asked. “Or we would not still be sitting here.”

“I’m afraid we are,” Garrick said. “The house came down on top of us. We are on the ground floor but there is no way out.” He could see no point in lying to her. She was an intelligent woman. She would soon work it all out for herself.

“I remember the walls falling.” She sounded a little more composed now but with all his senses alert Garrick could feel other emotions in her. There was the fear she was trying very hard to repress and also to hide from him, as though she was afraid it was a sign of weakness. There was anger, too. He could understand that. He was surely the last man on earth that she would want to be trapped with here in the intimate dark.

“Is there really no way out?” she said. There was a tiny catch in her voice. “I … I do not care for enclosed spaces.”

“I don’t know,” Garrick said. “We won’t be able to tell until daylight returns.”

He had already been thinking about their chances of escape. With all the chaos and destruction from the explosion it was possible that it might take rescuers days to sift through all the rubble but at least the daylight might show up little cracks and gaps in the fallen masonry, a weakness or a way out. There was air in their prison, so he knew it was not totally sealed off from the outside world. In the morning he would start searching for a way to escape. Until then though the two of them were captive.

“It is night now?” This time the quiver in Merryn’s voice was much clearer. Enclosed spaces combined with the long dark reaches of the winter night … Garrick could almost feel her shudder.

“Yes,” he said. “It must be some time near midnight now. You were unconscious for quite a long time.” He put out a hand to her. “I should have asked you before—are you injured?”

“No!” She spoke very quickly, moving a little away from him, rejecting his comfort. Garrick let his hand fall. “I don’t know why I fainted,” she said. She sounded defensive.

“Shock, perhaps,” Garrick said. “Fear.”

“That makes me seem dreadfully feeble.” Now she sounded uncomfortable, as though there was more than a ring of truth in his words.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Garrick said. “Most people with any sense would be frightened in this situation.”

“Are you?” Merryn asked.

Damn it. She had such a talent for putting him on the spot.

“I have been in worse situations,” Garrick said carefully.

She laughed. “You do not like to admit to fear?”

“What man would?”

“Oh, male pride …” She sounded dismissive. “If you had denied it outright I would have thought you a fool or a liar or both.”

“Thank you,” Garrick said ruefully.

“Not at all.” She shifted. “Perhaps someone will rescue us soon.”

Despite her bravado, Garrick could hear how desperately she hoped that would true.

“They’ll have to tear themselves away from drinking all the beer first,” he said.

She gave a gasp of laughter. “You think they would put drink above people’s lives?”

“This is a poor neighborhood,” Garrick said, “and free beer is free beer no matter how it is delivered.”

Merryn was quiet. The darkness wrapped about them dense and malty and hot. In the silences, Garrick thought, he could sense Merryn slipping away from him, feel her fear creep closer, feel her thoughts turning dark. A moment later she caught his sleeve. Her fingers brushed his wrist, sending a deep shiver of awareness through him.

“You saved my life,” she said. She took a breath. “I wish it had not been you.” She sounded very unhappy. “I wish it had been anyone but you.”

Garrick gave a short laugh. “I’ll take that as gratitude,” he said. This time he did reach out and touch her cheek. It felt soft and dusty beneath his fingers. She drew back sharply.

“When it comes to life and death,” he said slowly, “you cannot afford to be too particular about who saves you, Lady Merryn. That is something I do know.”

There was a silence. He could hear Merryn breathing again, quick and ragged. He knew she was fighting a battle with herself against the fear that oppressed her. She gave a juddering little hiccup and Garrick felt her raise her hands, scrubbing away what must have been tears from her face. His instinct, fierce and immediate, was to reach out to try to comfort her but he held back. He knew his touch would be the last thing she wanted. Besides, he was having trouble keeping his own mind from plumbing the depths of disaster. He knew that their prospects were not good. No one knew that they were there. They could be walled up until they starved to death, they could be crushed by another fall of masonry, they could drown, they could run short of air and be smothered or they might simply go mad. Garrick closed his eyes and forced away all the images of death and catastrophe by sheer force of will. The effort made his head pound all the more. He tried to think about Merryn, about the need to reassure her. It distracted him from his own pain and discomfort.

“You do not need to be afraid of the dark,” he said. “It cannot hurt you.”

“I know.” Her voice had eased a shade, as though talking made their captivity a tiny bit easier to bear. “I was locked in a chest once when I was young,” she said. “It was so small and dark and hot, just like this. I could not move and I thought I would never be found and that I would die like the girl in a Gothic novel I had read.”

“Which just goes to show how dangerous reading can be,” Garrick said. “Why were you in the chest in the first place?”

“I was playing hide-and-seek with Joanna and Tess,” Merryn said. He could hear her voice warm into amusement. The memory was distracting her. “I wanted to hide somewhere they would never find me,” she said, “just to prove that I was cleverer than they were.” Her amusement died. “Unfortunately I chose too well.”

“Presumably they were cleverer than you had anticipated,” Garrick pointed out, “or you would not be here.” He paused. “Why did you feel you had something to prove?”

Merryn did not reply for a moment. Garrick waited. It was odd not being able to see her. He had nothing on which to judge her responses other than hearing and intuition. But the darkness seemed to have sharpened his senses other than sight. He could read all the little nuances in Merryn’s voice. Her emotions were reflected in her breathing: her fear, her unhappiness and her determination not to crack and give in to weakness. He could smell her, too, the faint scent of flowers mixed with dust and beer in her hair and on her skin. He ached to touch her.

After a moment Merryn answered his question. He could hear reluctance in her voice, as though she were confiding a secret almost against her will.

“Jo and Tess were both so pretty,” she said ruefully, “and I was not. All I had was my book learning.”

Garrick remembered her telling him that he should address his gallantries to her sisters because she had no interest or experience in the art of flirtation.

“You look just like they do,” he said. “No one could doubt that you are related.”

He could feel her amazement. “No, I do not! I don’t look like them at all! I am short where they are statuesque.”

“You are smaller than your sisters, perhaps, but more of a perfect miniature.”

She did not appear to have heard him. “And I am fair whereas Jo is dark and Tess has dark red hair.”

“Blond hair is just as pretty,” Garrick pointed out. “Prettier.”

“And my eyes are not violet-blue.”

“No, they are more like sapphires.”

“And my nose is snub.” Merryn sounded defiant, as though this were the clinching argument.

“True,” Garrick agreed.

“Which ruins everything.” Now she sounded fierce.

“What a good job,” Garrick said, “that you do not value appearance in the least.”

There was a silence. “I was jealous,” Merryn said in a very small voice. “They had each other. They were friends. I was younger and I had no charm. Not a scrap of it.”

Garrick found that he wanted to pull her into his arms. The impulse grabbed him fast and violently. He forced his hands to his sides. To touch Merryn now just as they were starting to build a tentative alliance to see them through this ordeal would be madness. He had to keep his distance.

“It is true that you are not in the common style,” he said carefully, “but that does not mean that you are not …”

He stopped. What, Farne? he thought. He could scarcely tell her that she was exquisite, desirable, ravishing, even if he believed all those things to be true.

“Interesting in your own way,” he finished. It sounded lame. It was lame. His address had clearly deserted him. He wanted to kick himself.

But Merryn was laughing. “No one could accuse you of flattery, your grace,” she said dryly.

“I can see that having two sisters who are incomparables must be somewhat trying,” Garrick said.

“I felt like a cuckoo in the nest,” Merryn said. “You have brothers and sisters,” she added, taking him aback. “Why are you estranged from them?”

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.