Читать книгу Sins and Scandals Collection: Whisper of Scandal / One Wicked Sin / Mistress by Midnight / Notorious / Desired / Forbidden - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 18

AT SOME POINT Merryn woke, feeling cold and stiff. One of her arms was numb where she had been lying on it and when she shifted it hurt so excruciatingly that she could not help but cry out. The darkness was absolute and the night was silent. She felt as though she had woken alone in hell, the beer fumes pressing down on her like a blanket, smothering the life out of her.

A second later, Garrick was beside her, crossing the space between them, reaching for her.

“Are you hurt?” His hands were already moving over her, checking for any injury. She willed herself to accept his touch as impersonally as he offered it but somewhere deep inside she was shaking in response.

“I am a little stiff, that is all,” she said. “And cold.”

And so very lonely …

Garrick drew her into his arms. She could see nothing of him. He felt more familiar now, though, treacherously so, as though she had learned how to be in his arms. The brief rub of his cheek against hers was rough with a day’s growth of stubble now, all evidence of the elegant Duke extinguished. The smell of him—lime cologne and the scent of his skin—was reassuring. It soothed her senses.

Merryn was too tired now to try to distance herself from him either physically or mentally. Instead she tangled her fingers in Garrick’s shirt and drew him close, her head against his chest. She felt his breath stir her hair, then his body relaxed, his arms going about her more closely and holding her against him softly and protectively as though she were a child. Sleep crept around the corners of her mind again like mist. She let it claim her.

She woke again some unmeasured time later, her heart racing, the panic fluttering through her blood again as she gasped for breath. In her dream she had been thirteen years old, running through the meadow near her home at Fenners, the grass whipping her legs, her skirts tearing. She had to reach Stephen, had to get there in time because it was the only way to save him. Her heart was thumping with the effort of running but she knew it was already too late, knew Stephen was sliding away from her, dead, gone and it was all her fault … She gave a sob, coming fully awake, the tears choking her throat and the ghosts of the dream filling her mind.

Someone was holding her in a strong grip and for a moment she fought it, before she recognized his touch and all the fight went out of her.

“Hush,” Garrick said. His voice was a soft rumble in her ear and it soothed the frayed edges of her fear. “You are safe. All is well.”

Still dazed with sleep, her mind cloudy and dull, Merryn allowed herself to relax into his arms again. It was gentle and sweet and for a moment she clung to him. She was too exhausted to pretend to either of them. She wanted Garrick to comfort her, wanted his strength and his tenderness. For one long moment she allowed herself simply to hold him and be held and then she sat up, pushing the hair back from her face, made clumsy by both tiredness and acute physical awareness.

“Did you sleep?” she asked.

“I was honor bound not to, if you recall.” There was an undertone of humor in his voice. “So no, Lady Merryn, I did not sleep.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly Merryn wanted to see him. She was so tired of this darkness. Except when they were next face-to-face in the full light of day it would be the moment she walked away from him forever. Her heart lurched and she felt sick and torn.

“It must be past dawn.” Garrick had let her go and stood up. She heard him move a little away from her. She felt cold and repressed a shiver. “The quality of the light is different in here now,” he said. “You can see the chinks of daylight appearing. Soon we may be able to find a way out.”

Merryn scrambled to her feet, mad hope soaring within her. “Oh, let us try now!”

“Such haste!” Garrick sounded ruefully amused. She knew that he thought she was desperate to escape him and it was true; she was. Or perhaps it was herself she was trying to run from, and the persistent instinct that told her to seek comfort in his arms.

Garrick’s movements, too, were slow and stiff. She could see his outline now, a dark shape against the lighter blackness. He was right. The quality of the light had changed. Tiny specks of daylight were seeping into their prison, illuminating tumbled piles of brick and stone, and cold dark water lapping at her skirts. Merryn had almost forgotten how it felt to be warm and dry.

“Careful!” Garrick’s voice stopped her as she stumbled against a rough pile of brick. He caught her before she tripped and for a second he held her close again, a perfect fit against his side, as though she had been made specifically to lie within his arms, safe and secure. Then he put her from him with exemplary courtesy and for some reason Merryn’s heart tumbled into her soaking boots and she wanted to cry.

“I need to …” She paused delicately, unable to think of a way to express various urgent physical necessities to a man.

“I need to, too.” He sounded gentle and amused, easing her discomfort. “I will move a little away and turn my back. I undertake not to turn around.”

“Thank you.” Teeth chattering, cold, stiff and shaking, she hurried to do what she had to do.

“I hope you are not too hungry?” Garrick’s matter-of-fact tone as she rejoined him eased her embarrassment.

“I’m famished!” Merryn confessed.

Garrick laughed. “I am sorry that there is nothing we can do about that at present.” He held out a hand to her. “There is less danger of you falling if you hold on to me.”

After a second’s hesitation Merryn took his hand. It was warm, reassuring and slightly rough. She rubbed her fingers across his palm and felt the cuts and abrasions he must have suffered when the walls had first come down. She heard his sharp intake of breath and realized with a strange skip of the heart that it was a reaction to her touch. The thought made her feel confused, heady, powerful, a little in awe to be able to do such a thing to such a man with so small a gesture. For a moment she paused in the caress, then, unable to resist, stroked his palm again, aware this time of each tiny cut and chafe, sensitive to the tension she felt now in Garrick’s whole body and the way that the air between them seemed to shiver.

“Lady Merryn—” Garrick spoke very slowly, his tone was a warning.

“I’m sorry,” Merryn said, allowing her hand to lie limp as a frightened mouse in his.

Garrick sighed sharply and took a stronger grip on her, drawing her forward. She followed him carefully over piles of rubble that shifted disconcertingly beneath their feet, around fallen walls, under hanging beams. Garrick seemed very surefooted, stumbling only once and biting off whatever expressive oath had sprung to his lips. Merryn followed, her hand tight in his now, every sense she possessed aware of him, of the roughness of his palm against the softness of hers, the sound of his breathing.

“Where are we going?” she whispered, and he turned his head, so close that she felt his breath feather against her cheek.

“Toward the light.”

It sounded simple, but the light was elusive, skipping a little ahead of them all the time. Merryn caught her foot in the hem of her gown and almost fell again and Garrick went down on one knee and then she heard a ripping sound and the bottom twelve inches of her skirt and petticoats came away.

“What on earth are you doing?” she gasped.

“Preventing you from breaking a leg.”

“And for that you needed to … to disarrange my clothing?”

In the growing light she actually saw him grin. He straightened up. “Don’t tempt me,” he said.

Merryn looked up into his face. He was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. She felt her stomach swoop at the intimacy of it. She wondered if she would ever be free of the acute awareness she had for him.

For a long moment they stared at one another and then Merryn tugged on his hand. “Come along,” she said again, sharply, compensating for the warmth of her feelings with the chill of her tone. “Toward the light.”

She was not sure whether it was getting hotter in the darkness or whether she was starting to develop an ague. The gloom was disorienting now, with tiny pinpricks of light dancing before her eyes, tempting her on only to lead to deep pools of stagnant beer or piles of rubble that were impossible to traverse. Their progress was excruciatingly slow and when, finally, they were confronted by a blank wall with only the tiniest hint of light beyond, Merryn could have cried out of sheer frustration.

Garrick was kneeling on the floor; she heard the scrape and chink of metal on stone and then a strange, hot breath of stale air engulfed her.

“All these houses have open cellars beneath them,” Garrick said. “They lead on from one house to the next.” He straightened up, dusting his palms. “I need to go down and see if they are flooded. If not we have a good chance of getting out that way—”

“No!” Merryn was shocked by the terror that hit her as hard as a tidal wave. She grabbed him and shook him. “Don’t go!” she said. “It’s dangerous. You might drown—” Her voice broke on a sob. She realized that she was holding Garrick so tightly that the material of his coat was scoring her sore palms. She felt frightened, an inch away from losing all control. All she knew was that he could not leave her. With him she was stronger. Without him she felt lost. And if anything were to happen to him … She could not bear the thought of it.

And then his arms came about her and they felt like steel bands, so strong and firm, and his lips were pressed against her hair and she could hear his heart beating steadily against her ear.

“Merryn,” he said, “I have to go. It’s the only way we can get out of here—”

“No,” Merryn said. She burrowed closer into his arms. “You might be hurt—”

Garrick put a hand under her chin, forcing it up so that she was looking at him. Her heart was pattering like a trapped bird but she could still feel the steady beat of his against her hand and when he spoke, his voice was very calm, too.

“Nothing will happen to me,” he said. He bent his head. His lips were very close to hers. “I’ll come back for you,” he said. “I promise. I won’t leave you.”

I’ll never leave you …

The words trembled on the air between them.

Merryn prized her fingers from his jacket and took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He sounded fierce. The kiss he gave her was equally fierce, brief, forceful, setting her head spinning. He turned to go. Merryn closed her eyes and prayed hard that he would not be gone for long and that he would find a safe way out.

Barely a second later there was a scraping, sliding sound that started softly but grew to a ferocious roar, and then without warning the world was falling again, the dust thick as a cloud about them, the brick and stone plummeting down and the only constant was Garrick’s arms about her and his body shielding hers as once again he stood between her and destruction. “GARRICK! GARRICK!”

Merryn’s voice sounded a very long way away and it came from a place Garrick did not want to go back to. He knew that to return would hurt; even now, with consciousness lapping at the corners of his mind, he could feel the pain eating at him in a dozen different places. But Merryn had never called him by his name before and that mattered. He did not know why, but it mattered profoundly. She sounded frightened and lonely. She was so brave. He had to help her.

He tried to move. Nothing happened. No response at all. Oh, well … At least he had tried. He started to slip back.

Something brushed his face. Her hair. He could smell the scent of bluebells—astonishing when they had been trapped with beer and dust that Merryn Fenner could still smell of fresh flowers. Then her hands were moving over him, shifting aside some of the dead weight that was pressing down on him and robbing him of breath. He felt something else against his face, something warm and wet … Tears?

“Don’t die.” She sounded furious. “Damn you …” More tears, though he heard her sniff as though she were trying to dash them away.

“I’m fine.” The words were no more than a croak. His throat was full of dust. So were his eyes. He could not seem to open them.

“I’m not going to die.” With an enormous effort he forced himself to move. A hundred muscles screamed in protest. He ignored them. “See?” He half sat. “I’m alive. I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of your revenge by leaving now.”

“Oh …” There was a world of emotion in her voice. Garrick cleared his throat and blinked the dust from his eyes. He could see Merryn now, kneeling beside him, a pile of stone next to her. They must have been crushed beneath it and she had wriggled free and arduously dug through the rubble that trapped him. Her hands were bleeding and filthy.

Garrick shook off the remaining debris. He was aching all over, battered from the onslaught of falling masonry, fresh cuts oozing from his arms where the sharp edges of several bricks had caught him. He felt the warm, sluggish seep of the blood. He looked around. They had been more than lucky this time. One of the roof beams had fallen from two floors above, spearing the ground not three feet away from them. He shuddered to see it.

“You saved my life again.” Merryn sat back on her heels, resting her battered hands in her lap.

“You saved mine, too,” Garrick said. They stared at one another. “It could become a habit,” Garrick added.

She gave him a hesitant smile. “Well … Thank you. Again.”

“My pleasure.” He raised his brows. “Have you noticed anything?”

“Only that you look extremely disheveled … Oh!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I can see you properly!”

He could see her, too. In the narrow shaft of light that now penetrated from above she looked like a dusty angel. Her hair was almost white with dirt, a stiff, tousled halo about her face. Her skin looked unnaturally pale under its coating of grime but her eyes gleamed as bright as sapphires. She was filthy, her skirts in tatters, the skin of her hands and arms chapped and rubbed raw, but in a heartbeat she had regained all her courage and confidence. Garrick felt his heart jerk with admiration. Gently bred women were not raised to deal with disasters such as this. When danger struck they showed whether or not they had that core of steel and Merryn had shown character through and through. She had been brave beyond measure.

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.

“GARRICK …” 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.

Garrick’s hands moved over her, stripping away her clothes, exposing her to his gaze and his touch. She felt strange, voluptuous, a creature of feeling and sensation where before she had been driven only by thought and reason. The fierce demand of her senses was like nothing she had known before. It was insatiable, a desperate need. She arched to each caress, helpless beneath the long, slow strokes of his hands. His mouth at her breast was exquisite torment, impelling her deeper into a dark spiral that wound her body as tight as a drum.

She felt him shift above her, spreading her thighs. The cool air touched her there; she moaned. There was an ache deep inside her that maddened her now, demanding release, and she grabbed his hips and pulled him down to her. She felt the slide of his skin against hers and knew he was naked and exultation burst inside her like the sun. A moment, and then he thrust hard, taking her with such consuming wildness that Merryn cried out in shock and fierce delight. She felt her body yield, surrendering to his, and felt the heat uncurl and spread through her, setting her trembling uncontrollably. He drove into her again, and again, his mouth ravaging hers, the rhythm of his possession a primitive beat in her blood. Her skin felt slick and hot, the muscles of her stomach jumping. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and lifted her body to meet the thrust of his and felt herself tangle in a swirl of sensation as the world shattered. Then she was falling and falling into star-spangled darkness. She heard Garrick groan her name, felt her body clasp his as he emptied himself into her, and clung to him desperately as the only safe thing in a tumultuous new world.

She was not sure how long she lay there, her mind utterly blank for once, all thoughts and reason fled, aware of nothing but shock and pure, wicked exhilaration. She had never felt like this before, never dreamed of feeling like this. For once she let her mind lie quiescent and simply allowed herself to experience sensation. Her body felt lush and ripe and replete. She had had no notion it could give her so much pleasure. She felt stunned to discover it.

She was dimly aware of Garrick lifting her, wrapping something about her, and then she sank deeply into the softest, deepest mattress she had ever known. She was so drained by bliss that she drifted between waking and sleeping. Somewhere at the back of her mind reality stirred, but she pushed any thoughts away before they could touch her with their cold truth.

After a while she opened her eyes and looked about her. The room was lit by the strengthening glow of the dawn now. In its light she could see Garrick stretched out beside her and her throat dried to look at him. He was masculine perfection, like the statues she had studied in the London museums. But Garrick was real, hard muscle and smooth tawny skin, his auburn hair tumbling across his brow, magnificent in his nakedness.

He leaned over and pressed soft kisses against her brow, her eyelids, her cheeks, her throat. His breath stirred her hair. She could smell the scent of his skin mingled with salt sweat and dust, and her head spun.

“It should not have been like that …” His voice was soft. “I am sorry.”

Dimly she understood what he meant. It had been wild and uncontrolled, no gentle introduction for a virgin to the art of love. Yet she had not wanted that. She had wanted him. She had wanted to celebrate their escape, the triumph of life over death. But now … The thoughts hovering in the shadows at the edge of her mind drew a little closer. She felt cold. Regrets, memories … She could not face them yet.

“Garrick—”

She reached for him, wanting to ward off the shade and drive away thought, if only for a little longer. She saw him hesitate. Then he brushed his lips against hers. Her heart fluttered. The shadows fled.

This time the kiss was slower, gentler. His mouth explored hers, teasing her, his tongue dancing with hers. Merryn quivered as an echo of their previous passion shook her. The heat and pleasure shimmered through her, softer this time, more persuasive, coiling through her body with seductive warmth. She reached for Garrick again but he shook his head, pushing her back against the bed, sliding his hands down her body in a caress that made her skin shiver and ache with need.

“Not now, not yet …” His head dipped to her breast and once again her mind swirled away to that hot dark place where pleasure drove her on. She felt his fingers against the soft skin of her inner thigh, parting her, touching her intimately. The heat built inside her as he stroked; Merryn dug her fingers into the bed and shifted against the covers, desperate to ease the torment.

Garrick slid something beneath her hips, raising her up. The rough silkiness of velvet abraded her. Tumbled on the bed, abandoned and unrestrained, she felt the brush of his cheek against her thigh, then the tip of his tongue at her core, trailing shattering pleasure. She arched helplessly, moaning with shock and delight. This was beyond any ecstasy she had experienced before. She felt as though her body was melting as white-hot rapture consumed her.

This time he entered her slowly while her body was still clenching with intense bliss and she gasped to feel him take her. It seemed impossible. She was tight; her climax still rippled through her belly in endless waves. She writhed beneath him and he held her hips down against the velvet and slid inside her gently, inexorably. Merryn had thought that her body could not take any further sensation but Garrick raised himself above her, pushing the tangled hair away from her flushed face, kissing her with the same deep intimacy with which he took her body.

“Open your eyes,” he said softly, and her lashes fluttered open so that she met the dark molten heat in his. His body plundered hers with slow, relentless strokes, his eyes held hers. She could not break the connection between them, did not want to, captured and held by the fierce passion beneath his gentleness. With aching tenderness he drove her to the edge again and she hung there for endless moments, her body strung out with acute desire, her mind reeling with the onslaught of unimaginable pleasure. And then she fell again, shocked beyond measure, powerless, her mind and body dazzled.

Delicious exhaustion washed through her. She could not move other than to curl against him and succumb utterly to sleep, Garrick’s arms about her, his body curved protectively about hers.

Merryn did not know how long she slept for but when she awoke it was to hear a hammering at the door and the sound of voices in the corridor outside and then the room was full of people. There was Joanna and Alex and Tess and a whole host of others whom she did not recognize but who were all staring at her, some in shock, some in horror, all in appalled surprise. Merryn blinked as she opened her eyes fully and the last shreds of the dream fled. Now she could not escape the thoughts that crowded back into her mind.

The room she was lying in was, self-evidently, a bordello. Either that or the owner of the house had very exotic tastes. The bed was covered in lush pink silk and draped with diaphanous curtains trimmed with silver and gold. On the dresser lay a wicked-looking whip with a shiny, carved handle. Rich velvet cushions lay scattered across the room. Merryn’s gaze fell on one lying on the bedcover and she blushed. The blush spread down her throat and across her whole body, naked as it was beneath the pink silk cover. She turned her head very slowly. Garrick was lying beside her still, despite the crush of people now in the room, deeply asleep. One strong brown arm lay possessively across her stomach, drawing her close to his side.

No wonder he was still sleeping. He must have been exhausted—for various reasons. The memories slid into her head like a disconnected pattern: Garrick comforting her when she had woken in terror in the darkness of the night, Garrick protecting her with his body when the walls had fallen, Garrick’s hands moving over her with such sure skill and endless pleasure. Garrick. Her lover.

She had slept with her enemy, the man who had killed her brother.

A wave of shock and self-loathing hit her so hard that she turned cold to her bones. The sickness rose in her throat. She was lying naked in a bordello with a man who was her sworn enemy. She had allowed him the most impossible intimacies with her body. She had lost her virginity. She was ruined.