Fiona stared at the hands gently working her legs until they blurred through the mist in her eyes. Chloe, too, seemed lost in her own reverie. This morning, Fiona was grateful for the silence.
Fiona considered the young woman standing before her.
Chloe wasn’t a princess by any means, but if her son could chance to win her heart, it would remain true to him forevermore. That was all Fiona’s father had ever truly wanted for her—a good man to cherish her. That’s what she wanted for her son.
Having lived on both sides of the proverbial fence, Fiona understood the value of love versus money. In the end, money didn’t keep one warm at night, nor did a title put food upon one’s table.
Yes, it was true. Once upon a time Fiona had dreamed of wedding a prince and living in splendor. Now she realized that too often values were misplaced. From the day Ian had come into the world, she’d wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.
And he’d been such a happy babe.
As a boy, he’d lost some of his joie de vivre.
As a man, he was hardly ever content.
Her son was, unfortunately, somewhat of a crusader. He seemed to feel it his lot in life to better the lives of others. That in itself wasn’t so troubling; it was more the way he chose to go about it. His secret life was a mother’s nightmare.
She knew precisely what he was up to—and he knew she knew it, as well, but there was little she could do about it. She’d already tried and failed.
What had begun as a simple fib to draw him out and to ease her suspicions had become a horrible sentence. Not only were her worst fears confirmed, her lies had further imprisoned her. And worse, sitting in that devilish contraption all day long was making her an invalid in truth. Some days, she could scarce feel any sensation left in her legs.
Thank God for Chloe.
“I have been thinking,” Chloe announced as she continued to massage her limbs.
“Yes, dear?”
“There is a treatment I read about in last year’s published lectures—quite experimental, but perhaps worth a thought.”
“What is it?”
“Vital air.”
Fiona furrowed her brow. “Vital air?”
“Yes, there was this man, apparently, who was quite weak. As a matter of treatment, his physician put him on a course of vital air. During the time he respired it, he felt a comfortable heat, which distributed itself through all his limbs. In mere weeks, his strength increased and he was able to take long walks. Now, this man was in the last stages of consumption, but I must wonder. You see, vital air is nothing more than pure oxygen gas. When exposed to it, plants develop at an increased rate. It would make sense that it somehow promotes the growth of healthy tissue within the body, much in the same way increased blood flow will do. But I cannot say it is a certain cure. I’m merely at an end as to how to treat you, my lady.” Her expression was full of apology. “I just have not been able to find and remedy the cause of your…”
“Lameness,” Fiona finished for her. “You may call it what it is, Chloe. Never mince words with me. Tell me, is this treatment terribly expensive? Does it hurt?”
“I would have to look into the cost, my lady. But it shouldn’t hurt at all. In fact, they say it produces a sensation of agreeable warmth about the region of the chest along with a comfortable sensation throughout the body.”
Fiona sighed. “Let us consider it, then,” she said. “You’re a godsend, Chloe.”
Chloe averted her gaze. “In truth, you might do better to hire yourself a proper physician,” she suggested.
“Rubble! I already have a proper physician!” Fiona replied without pause. “And she happens to be quite accomplished. Never suggest such a thing again!”
Fiona understood Chloe must feel inadequate after the loss of Rusty Broun’s child. But Fiona had never met a woman, nor a man, who tried as hard as Chloe. She sighed heavily, wearied as she watched Chloe work in vain.
Poor Chloe, didn’t she realize; there hadn’t really been an accident at all. Fiona had taken the carriage out alone with a devilish design in mind. Knowing Ian would follow, she’d run her own carriage off the road and then had waited for her son to come after her. Like a bloody fool, she’d claimed that Hawk had driven her off the road and then tried to rob her—to which Ian was supposed to have confessed that such an incident was quite impossible, because, of course, he was Hawk.
But he hadn’t done any sort of thing.
Instead the wily boy had insisted they report the robbery to the constable and he’d called in the physician to examine Fiona at once. Chloe’s father.
Unfortunately, Fiona hadn’t learned her lesson and her deceit had only begun. Once her lies had begun, pride had been her downfall. Like a dolt, she’d talked Chloe’s father into covering for her. Fiona might be able to fool Chloe for a time, but her father had been far too seasoned.
Then everything had gone from bad to worse.
To everyone’s shock, Chloe’s father’s heart had failed him and Fiona had felt responsible for his death—her plotting had certainly caused him undue stress. And knowing that without the deed to their land, Chloe wouldn’t be able to remain in their home, Fiona had offered Chloe a position as her nurse. And so here she was, eight months later, still sitting in an invalid chair and her son was still risking his life to change the circumstances of others—all because of her lies.
There must be something she could do—if nothing else, at least for Chloe and Ian.
In the library, Merrick retrieved the eviction notice from his coat pocket and sat back in a chair, contemplating his mother’s involvement.
How much did she know of Edward’s actions? His gut told him that Ian was as much in the dark as was Merrick.
But what of his mother?
Setting his feet up on a stool, he stared at the document, unable to shake a growing feeling of unease. The constable had called again this morning, questioning Merrick about the missing vehicle. Merrick had assured the man that he hadn’t the least notion of what he was speaking, but it hadn’t seemed to assuage him. It was no wonder Ian had fled with Merrick’s coach; in the short time Merrick had worn his shoes, Ian’s life was beginning to feel like a chessboard with the king in check.
He needed to speak with Rusty Broun, but he didn’t know where to reach him.
Chloe would know.
He smiled slightly at the thought of her.
Saucy wench.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait to see her.
Folding the document once more, he replaced it within his coat pocket and went to find the delightful occupant of his thoughts.
Chapter Eight
“Why should you require my assistance?” Chloe asked, incensed that he would involve her in his odious task. “You know very well where every person in this town lives, my lord.”
“Because I don’t remember,” Lord Lindale replied.
“Oh, but you’ll remember soon enough, I’m certain,” Chloe said, and continued toward the garden to collect Lady Fiona.
How dare he ask her to accompany him to deliver Rusty Broun’s eviction notice! She assumed that was why he was bound there. What other business would Lord Lindale have with the poor man?
“I’m afraid it cannot wait for my memory to return. I need to speak with the man today.”
Chloe spun to face him abruptly, her temper piqued. “Are you so greedy that you cannot allow the man time to grieve before ousting him from his home? What sort of monster are you, my lord?”
He seemed, for a moment, without answer to her question, and then he said, “That is not why I wish to see him.”
“Why then?”
He couldn’t seem to answer.
Chloe lifted both brows. “Forgive me if I do not believe you, my lord, but I can certainly read and I know what I saw last night.”
“Dammit, woman, has anyone ever told you that you’re an impudent wench?”
Chloe inhaled sharply, offended by his rude question. “O
f course not!”
“Well, you are.”
“And you are greedy, selfish, arrogant, spoiled—”
Chloe gasped in surprise as he took her into his arms suddenly, drawing her against him so tightly that she could scarce breathe—not that she could have anyway with his mouth so near her own.
The look in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever experienced; hungry in a way that no mere food or drink could satiate.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as he lowered his head to where his mouth was mere inches from her own. God help her, his lips were wickedly tempting. She couldn’t help but recall the taste of him and suddenly crave it; the memory would never be eradicated from her mind.
Her voice sounded small even to her own ears. “You aren’t…going to…kiss me, my lord?”
Merrick could barely restrain himself. His tongue craved the taste of her mouth like a drunkard craved whiskey. He wanted to savor her entire body…kiss her in places she’d never imagined.
He couldn’t lie. “I was certainly thinking about it.”
Her breath came out in a rush. “You promised, my lord.”
“That I did,” he acknowledged, his voice growing hoarse. His lips were suddenly dry. “Though I find myself regretting…” Damn, she was beautiful. Those deep, dark eyes…entranced him.
She gazed at him almost expectantly and he couldn’t decide whether she was afraid of his answer or eager for his kiss. “Regretting?”
“That you aren’t my wife,” he said low. “If you were, I’d kiss the impudence from those lovely lips.”
Chloe felt suddenly dizzied by his words. She should, by all means, be incensed, but his declaration left her feeling strangely bereft. Surely she didn’t wish it, as well? Lord Lindale was in every way Hawk’s diametrical opposite. How could she want this man in her life?
“It is broad daylight, my lord,” she reminded him, putting her hands against his chest to push him away. His skin was firm beneath her touch. “You may not give a care about your actions, but I beg you to consider my reputation. Release me!”
He grinned a devastating grin—one that nearly disarmed her. “If you will promise to accompany me, I will do anything you wish.”
Chloe arched her brow. “Anything?”
He nodded, still grinning. In fact, his smile widened. Chloe was certain it hadn’t escaped him that she was, inadvertently, exploring his chest. She swallowed convulsively, stilling her fingers. She prayed that once he let go of her she wouldn’t crumple into an embarrassing heap at his feet.
“Then you must tear up Rusty’s eviction notice.”
“Done!” he said at once, startling her with the emphatic response. He released her suddenly and pulled the document from his coat pocket, then proceeded to rip it into two, then fourths. He kept tearing it until there was nothing left but tiny pieces and then he scattered them upon the lawn.
“Now, let’s go for a ride!” he said ardently, and Chloe wondered just what it was she had agreed to. He seemed far too agreeable to have just destroyed his very reason for visiting Rusty Broun.
So, if he wasn’t going to see Rusty to evict him, what, then, was his business with the man?
Chloe was still contemplating that very question as they rode together in the coach.
Lindale was far too gleeful as he sat, looking out from the window. In fact, she suddenly realized how dangerous it was to be in his presence, because he reminded her this moment, not of the greedy, selfish tyrant that he was, but a charming little boy on his first outing. He seemed to see things now as though he’d never set eyes upon them before.
It was entirely too disturbing.
“And what is that?” he asked, pointing at the cottage they passed along the way.
Chloe grit her teeth. “That,” she told him, “was the home where I spent my entire life.”
He turned to regard her, his look far too innocent, considering his question. “How quaint,” he said, peering at her curiously. “It’s rather close to the manor, isn’t it?”
Chloe held her tongue. It was all she could do not to fly at him and scratch out his eyes as she recalled the afternoon of her father’s funeral. “Yes, it is, my lord.”
“Why do you not stay there and simply make the trek each morn to the manor?”
Chloe gave him her most cutting glance. “I would if I could, but it is no longer my own.”
“Why not? Did you sell it?”
Chloe tilted him a disbelieving glance. “Do you truly not remember anything?”
He seemed to weigh his answer before giving it. “Some things, not others.”
Chloe peered out from the carriage and watched as the cottage faded behind them, along with her life dreams and happy memories. “I lost possession of the cottage after my father’s death,” she told him.
“Why?”
“Because I could not produce the deed.” She turned and cast him a pointed glance. “The cottage is now yours, my lord. Because I could not prove that it had been a gift, it reverted to you when I failed to produce proof.”
Lindale’s smile faded completely.
He nodded, seeming to realize the insulting nature of his question to her. “I see,” he said. Chloe averted her gaze, peering out the window as the carriage lumbered off the main road and onto another narrower, bumpier road that led to Rusty’s small farm.
They rode in silence, except for the rattling of their teeth as they traveled over the rugged road.
“Was it me who came to evict you?” he asked after a moment’s contemplation.
Chloe couldn’t look at him. “Of course not. As always, you sent Edward to do your burden work.”
“Really,” he said, but it didn’t seem to be a question at all and Chloe didn’t feel the need to respond.
If he felt badly, good. He should. Memory loss, or not, he had done what he had done and he was who he was.
She shouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by his new, charming disposition. He was still the same person, she reminded herself, and he’d surely return to his old self as soon as his memory returned.
There was a weighted silence between them, while he seemed to consider her disclosure.
“And why could you not produce the deed?” he asked after what felt like an eternity.
Chloe turned to look him straight in the eyes, wanting to see his reaction. “Because it was stolen, my lord.”
No remorse registered upon his face.
Chloe cursed his memory loss that he couldn’t give her any response except surprise. She wanted him to feel horrid over what he’d done. She knew it had been him who had stolen the deed; no one else had anything to profit from its disappearance.
“While I was at my father’s funeral,” she added without blinking. She willed him to see the hurt he had caused.
This time his brows rose slightly, registering not the guilt she wanted but something more like consternation.
“They blamed it on Hawk, but I know with certainty that it wasn’t him.”
Merrick’s mood plummeted.
“Why?” he pressed her.
Chloe arched a brow. “Because he wouldn’t take from those in need to give to the likes of you.”
Merrick felt her accusation like a kick to his belly.
No wonder she loathed him so.
If she thought him responsible for the missing deed, it was any wonder that she spoke to him at all—much less remained under the same roof with him.
Unless…
It made sense suddenly—her foray into the steward’s office, her unwavering animosity toward him and her very presence at Glen Abbey Manor.
She was hoping to recover the deed to her cottage.
It was a fruitless effort, Merrick could have told her. If, in fact, Edward were responsible for the theft, he would have burned the evidence long ago. That’s what Merrick would have done.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, while Merrick considered the course he should take.
Someh
ow he must prove to Chloe that Ian was not responsible for all her miseries, but before he could do that, he must first determine that to be the case. His gut told him that his brother might be a thief, but he hadn’t a heart as cold as the one it would take to sweep a girl’s home from under her feet.
He also needed to know what involvement his mother had in all of this.
And he needed to find a way to reverse the decline of this town’s welfare.
His family matters, he sensed, were at the heart of all that was foul here.
“We’re here,” Chloe said tersely as the carriage stopped before a small stone house.
Having heard their approach, Rusty’s wife met them at the door. She gave Chloe a hearty welcome, and then pointed Merrick in the proper direction when he asked about Rusty, but not before giving him a wary glance. Wiping her hands upon her apron, she watched from the porch as he made his way through the oat field.
He heard their whispers the instant he turned his back.
He found Rusty diligently at work with his three little daughters trailing at his feet. The youngest appeared to be about three. In her hands, she carried a crude doll. The middle child seemed to be about five. Her fingers were curled about the handle of a small bucket. The oldest was probably about six. In her hands, she held clumps of weeds, which she tossed into her sister’s bucket.
“We’re helping, Papa, aren’t we?” she said, obviously seeking his praise.
“Yes, lass,” Rusty assured his daughter. “You’re a fine wee helper, ye are.”
The youngest of the three noticed Merrick first and started. She tugged desperately at her father’s pant leg. “Papa,” she whispered loudly, pointing at Merrick.
Rusty spun to face him, surprise evident in his expression. “Lord Lindale!”
“Who’s that, Papa?” his middle daughter asked.
Instead of ushering his children away or shushing them, Rusty swooped down to lift up his youngest into his arms. She squirmed and squealed to be let down. “So ye think you’re too old to be held, do ye?” Rusty asked her, pretending offense. He plastered a big, puckering kiss upon her sweet little cheek, then answered her question. “That, my wee little sprite…is Lord Lindale.” He gave Merrick a nod. “He’s the man kind enough to let us rent this fine piece of land.”
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 68