To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection Page 15

  Her first thought was to leave this place. But no—where would she go?

  Besides, it wasn’t her way to run away from anything. Her father always told her that it was best to face the world with one’s head held high and to carry on proudly through life’s most bitter trials.

  So what if Ian didn’t wish to marry her.

  She already knew that much.

  That she had allowed her heart to soften was her own fault. Still, she couldn’t regret what she’d done last night, because she’d done it, not out of blind love, but because Hawk had deserved her protection. Though it was difficult for her to reconcile what she thought she’d known about Lord Lindale and what she knew about Hawk, he was still the man she had so greatly admired. And now, he was even more a hero in her estimation, because it was evident that he risked himself completely for the sake of others.

  She’d heard his grief over the treatment of their people, and it was palpable.

  She made her way toward the garden, needing a breath of fresh air to clear her mind. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused them. She made her way along the pathway and sat upon a bench near Lady Fiona’s rose garden.

  Nothing had changed in her life, she assured herself. She was still the same person, with the same dreams. She had never really wanted a husband anyway.

  Why should that suddenly change?

  His kisses alone were not the source of her affection for him—nor was it the way he made her body feel. She had so long ago fallen in love with the heart of the man known by all as the infamous Hawk. Now that he had a face and a name, and she knew him for what he was, she could not turn her heart away from him.

  He was, indeed, kind and compassionate. He was generous, noble and brave.

  Chloe hadn’t the first notion how long she sat there before she felt his presence, but suddenly he was there…

  He sat quietly beside her on the bench.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said stiffly, crossing her hands over her lap, hardening her heart against him.

  He set his hand atop hers and the simple touch disarmed her at once. Tears pricked at her eyes. “No need for formalities between us, Chloe.”

  Chloe lifted her chin and tilted him a glance, willing away the flood of emotion that threatened to overcome her composure. “What, then, should I call you, my lord?”

  He seemed genuinely perplexed by the question.

  He merely sat there, staring at their combined hands piled carelessly atop her lap.

  For a moment Merrick was unable to answer.

  What should she call him, indeed.

  He wasn’t Ian and he couldn’t reveal himself as Merrick. Nor did it please him for her to continue to call him my lord. He laughed quietly. “You seemed to have had plenty else to call me before now,” he said lightly, teasing her. “Selfish, arrogant, spoiled,” he suggested a few. “Shall I continue?”

  She peered up at him and gave him a reluctant smile. “I no longer believe those things, my lord.”

  “Ah,” he countered, “because suddenly I am beloved, kind, compassionate, generous, charitable, noble and brave,” he said, repeating the things she’d once recited about Hawk.

  She laughed softly and the sweet sound of it completely enchanted him. “You’ve a good recollection, my lord. Have you committed everything I’ve said to memory?”

  “Yes,” Merrick answered honestly, and he smiled at her. “I live for your every word, don’t you realize?”

  It was true.

  He spent every waking moment that he wasn’t with her recalling their conversations and musing over Chloe Simon’s perspective of the world. She was witty and intelligent. She was beautiful and kind. Through her eyes, he had learned to see his brother for who he was and even to respect him. It was a gift he could never repay.

  Chloe made him want to be a better man.

  She lifted a delicate brow. “I rather doubt that,” she said.

  “But it is true,” Merrick assured.

  “My lord, you scarcely even spoke to me before a week ago.”

  Merrick squeezed her hand. “Then I was a fool,” he told her, and he meant it. Whatever else Ian might be, he was certainly a fool if he had not seen the treasure sitting right beneath his very nose.

  “Come,” he said. “Let us walk apart.” He tugged gently at her hand, dragging her to her feet.

  “That’s really not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is,” he argued. “I wish to show you something,” he told her, his tone brooking no argument. He crooked her arm through his own and led her along the garden path toward the aviary.

  “It seems you haven’t been here much lately,” Chloe commented as they entered the bird sanctuary.

  In fact, Merrick had only seen it from a distance. Inside, it was well kept, he noted, but held very few birds—two gyrfalcons, a peregrine and an old saker. Like Merrick’s, its color was almost white, a rarity for its breed. He went directly toward it and reached out to fondle the feathers. The falcon peered at his hand curiously.

  “Sakers are the favored birds of Oriental and Arab falconers. Their hunting is far less hurried and impulsive than other falcons, but when it finds what it wants, it goes after it with deadly precision.”

  Like the bird perched before him, it had taken Merrick a long, long time to find his heart, and now that he had, he wasn’t going to let her go so easily.

  “Really?” she said, her tone genuinely curious. She reached out tentatively to touch the bird and then changed her mind. “Have you always kept falcons?”

  “Always,” he replied, and it was the truth. He suspected Ian had, as well. “For a time, I would even sneak the bird into my room and perch it upon my bedpost.” He laughed softly at the memory. “The maids didn’t like it very much,” he admitted. “And it was overall not a very sanitary practice.”

  Chloe stifled a small laugh. He longed to make her laugh again, and to see that laughter reach her eyes. While she was feisty and full of life, one thing he hadn’t recalled since meeting her was a true smile.

  “I’m certain Edna had quite a lot to say about that,” Chloe commented.

  “Edna?” he asked.

  “You don’t remember her?”

  Merrick shook his head.

  “Has much of your memory returned?”

  Merrick answered honestly, “I see more than I wish I saw. Tell me, Chloe… my mother and your father… they knew each other a long time?”

  Chloe peered up at him, smiling. “Yes. In fact, my mother used to complain that my father spent more time wiping your nose than he did mine.” She laughed softly. “Lady Fiona was… shall we say… a rather doting mother.”

  Disarmed by her disclosure, Merrick raked a hand over his face. She couldn’t have known that his mother had never doted upon him a moment in her life—neither Fiona, nor the woman his father married.

  “I believe she summoned my father every time you skinned your knee.” A sparkle came into her eyes as she revealed, “I’m afraid my father thought you a mischievous little imp.”

  Merrick had to smile at that. Apparently it was something he and Ian had in common. Ryo had often rebuked him for the same.

  “I must confess that I rather agreed,” Chloe told him. “I only saw you in church, but you never behaved, and I didn’t particularly like you,” she confessed.

  Merrick chuckled. “Not much has changed, I suppose.”

  They shared a meaningful look.

  “I… no longer feel that way.”

  Merrick tested the bird’s patience, reaching out to gently touch the falcon’s head. It responded calmly, with but a quick fluttering of its wings. A small white feather floated to the ground. Merrick bent to retrieve it. He handed it to Chloe.

  “Soft,” she purred.

  Like her skin, Merrick thought.

  Warm velvet.

  His body convulsed at the memory of her silky flesh beneath his fingertips, and he yearned to touch her again. God only knew, he wanted to touch her
like that for the rest of his days.

  He hoped Chloe would bear him sons and daughters. He wanted a houseful… a little brood like Rusty’s that would swing on his coattails and wipe their dirty hands on his pant legs.

  He bloody well didn’t need Fiona to tell him to do the right thing by Chloe. He wanted to make things right by her.

  He took her by the hand and turned to face her, hoping she would see the sincerity in his eyes. “Chloe,” he began.

  She averted her gaze, refusing to look at him, and snatched her hand away. “No, my lord! You needn’t do that,” she said, sounding utterly panicked. She turned then, and ran out of the aviary, leaving him to stare, dumbfounded, after her.

  “Chloe!” he called after her, but she ignored him, hurrying toward the house, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste.

  Merrick wanted to follow, but perhaps it was best to let her go for now. He couldn’t say the things he wished to and until he could… perhaps it was best to say nothing at all.

  Though she was far too preoccupied to participate in conversation, Lady Fiona’s pleasant chatter helped keep Ian off her mind while Chloe massaged her limbs.

  Chloe hadn’t meant to flee like some silly miss; she simply couldn’t have borne anything Ian might have to say.

  If, in fact, he were to ask her to wed him, she would know it wasn’t by his desire and she would have denied him. It would have broken her heart. On the other hand, “goodbye” would have been equally as excruciating.

  Fiona’s color seemed far healthier than it had been merely a week ago, she thought, and on impulse, she gave the arch of the foot a gentle pat.

  Her foot twitched.

  Chloe blinked, at first, disbelieving her eyes. But, indeed, it had responded, she was certain of it.

  She met Lady Fiona’s gaze in surprise. The two stared at one another—Chloe’s eyes questioning and Lady Fiona’s perfectly blank. But something about her expression—or lack of it—gave Chloe pause. It seemed to Chloe that Lady Fiona knew what happened and yet she sat there, saying nothing about her miraculous recovery. In fact, it rather seemed to Chloe that she was attempting to ignore the phenomenon altogether. “Did you feel that?” Chloe asked, thinking she would surely acknowledge it.

  Lady Fiona smiled serenely and asked, “Feel what, my dear?”

  Chloe drew her brows together, confused by Fiona’s reaction. “I thought I saw something, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

  Lady Fiona sat upright in the bed, her legs stretched before her, looking completely unruffled by the incident.

  Chloe’s old suspicions reared. Contemplating the odd reaction, she pulled the coverlet up over Lady Fiona’s legs, pursing her lips as she considered the possibilities.

  “You’re doing such a great job, my dear,” Lady Fiona said gently, praising her but completely disregarding what had only just transpired.

  Chloe frowned. “Thank you.”

  Was Lady Fiona faking her injury?

  Why would she lie?

  Each day, this house seemed to unveil yet another secret. Everyone here seemed to have them: Lady Fiona, Ian, even Edward. For a week now the cranky steward had locked himself away in his office. He’d taken his meals there and slept there, as well. Whatever could he be up to?

  One thing was certain: whatever it was, it was evident that he had Lady Fiona’s blessing, because she was the one who’d requested his meals be delivered.

  As for Ian, he’d journeyed to Edinburgh—to sell the necklace no doubt—and had yet to return. Chloe was glad he was gone because it pained her too much to see him.

  Tucking the coverlet gently about Lady Fiona’s waist, she said a brief good-night. Unfortunately, she left without putting out the light and didn’t recall it until nearly an hour later. Chloe returned to Lady Fiona’s room, feeling miserable over the fact and hoping the light from the candle hadn’t disturbed Fiona’s slumber. She knocked softly on the door.

  There was no answer.

  Frowning, Chloe knocked again, a little harder this time.

  When there was still no response, she peered beneath the door. No light seeped beneath. Her candle was out. How strange. Lady Fiona was evidently a heavier sleeper than Chloe realized.

  That… or she wasn’t in her room at all.

  Dressed in a modest nightgown, Fiona stood, looking over Edward’s shoulder, watching as he removed entries from the ledger that sat on his desk. Edward was the only person in the house who knew the truth about her condition. Unfortunately, he knew about Ian’s misadventures, as well. Still, Fiona trusted him to keep silent. Whatever else he might be, Edward was also Julian’s agent. She knew he would never dare betray her confidences, lest he experience Julian’s wrath.

  “I don’t want Ian to ever know where it goes,” she instructed him. “If he sees how much money is funneled into that account, he will wonder why.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  It pained her to know that Ian took such risks when money was available to him—if only Julian chose to release it. “If Julian wishes to reveal himself once I am gone, he may do so, but I cannot bear the thought of ever facing my son were he to discover all the hideous lies.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “I am heartily ashamed,” Fiona assured him. And she was. She should have done something long ago, but what could she have done? She wanted desperately to be able to give Ian something after she was gone. If she kept her mouth shut, he would have a future with Glen Abbey Manor. If she didn’t, he would have nothing at all, and neither would she. Ian would surely disown her, and Julian would carry out his threat and seize the manor and everything attached to it.

  He’d lied to her all those years ago.

  She may not have ever left Merrick had she realized Julian would renege upon his word. She would have remained in Meridian with both of her sons and said nothing to risk being driven away.

  “Yes, madame.”

  As she studied the ledger, a particular entry caught her attention. She pointed at it, tapping her finger gently upon the open book. “What is that one, Edward?”

  Edward straightened. He cleared his throat. “That would be… let’s see… miscellaneous expenditures, madame.”

  Fiona screwed her face at his explanation. “Miscellaneous expenditures? I don’t understand.” She squinted to better see the line in question. It was an extraordinary sum. She narrowed her eyes to it. “I thought Julian expected a detailed inventory of all our expenses?”

  “Yes, madame, his royal highness does, indeed, expect a detailed report.” His face mottled under her scrutiny. “But these were funds that my lord requested, and he would not give me a reason for their appropriation.”

  “Julian?”

  “No, madame. Master Ian.”

  “Ian?” Fiona asked, with no small measure of surprise. “You gave these funds to Ian? But he complains incessantly that you will not open the bank for him at all.”

  Fiona scanned the rest of the ledger with a shaky finger and found another marked miscellaneous. “Good Lord! I cannot even imagine what he would use that sort of money for!” She cast Edward a glance. The steward merely looked up at her, his face red, but his expression cast in stone.

  “How long ago was this?” She glanced at the date—two months past. “Has Julian not taken us to task over it yet? I cannot believe he has not cut off our funds entirely. Let me see that ledger!” she commanded, seizing it before he could hand it over. “Where are the rest of the books, Edward? I should pore over these myself. I’ve not done so in far too long. Give me everything, please, both the ledgers you have doctored and those left untouched.”

  Edward suddenly looked horrified. “But, madame! There are too many to go over tonight.”

  She eyed him dubiously but relented. “I suppose you are right.” She glanced at the timepiece he had sitting upon the desk. “And the hour grows later. I should hie to bed.

  “Please do not touch the rest of these books, Edward,” she directed. “I wish to lo
ok through them before they are altered any further.”

  “Yes, madame,” he said, his tone stiffer than it had been. “I’ll have them ready and awaiting you on the morrow.”

  “See that they are,” Fiona said curtly. As she left him, she pursed her lips while she considered the ledgers.

  Something didn’t quite add up.

  Chapter 17

  What was the significance of that ruby ring?

  Chloe lay abed, unable to sleep, her head spinning with questions. The hour was growing so late that she feared morning would come before she could chance to close her eyes.

  Where was Ian?

  Wherever he was, she hoped he wasn’t in danger. She had a terrible feeling that the constable was watching his every move. But she wondered how the constable knew to suspect Ian. Chloe certainly never would have. He’d played the part of a dandyish lord so well that she doubted anyone suspected him.

  Did Lady Fiona know her son was a champion to the poor? His mother had claimed it was Hawk who’d caused her carriage accident. But that couldn’t be… unless… her story was fabricated.

  And then a thought occurred to her: Had she, like Chloe, used the accident in an attempt to draw him out?

  She recalled that Ian had forced his mother, against her will, to make a report to the constable. They’d summoned Chloe’s father first, of course, but the constable came soon thereafter.

  And the necklace… who filed that report with the constable? Certainly not Chloe. Although Ian said he would do so, he had not to the best of Chloe’s knowledge—nor had Lady Fiona encouraged it.

  Someone had to have also alerted the constable that she was to meet with Hawk that night. Chloe was sure of it. But who would have done so?

  Emily?

  So many questions nagged at Chloe’s brain. Sleep seemed an impossible task. Footsteps wandered past her door and she wondered, in her sleep-deprived state, if it could be Lady Fiona wandering the halls. But as soon as she thought it, she admonished herself for the ridiculous notion. She couldn’t believe Lady Fiona would lie about her illness.