Seduced by a Prince

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  Confused, Chloe stared at the offering, uncertain what he expected her to do with it. Dry her tears once he was gone? She glared at him, piqued by the insinuation that, like some schoolgirl, she would weep her eyes red once he left her. But though she might feel like it, she wasn’t going to.

  He held the kerchief out for her to take, opening his hand so she could better see it in his palm. It was then she realized that it was wrapped neatly about a small, rounded object.

  Curious, she reached for it, but he snatched it away, “A little something for the lady of the house,” he told her, “to make amends for the loss of her necklace. Tell her that it belonged to the occupant of the carriage I robbed some nights ago. He was rather insistent she receive it.”

  Chloe grit her teeth and turned her hand, waiting for him to hand her the kerchief. She wasn’t going to allow him to tease her with it again. With narrowed eyes, she studied what she could of his face. His eyes were entirely too familiar to her…his mouth… that smirk…

  He dropped the kerchief into her hand and her gaze fell to the tiny bundle. Whatever it was, it was small and heavy for its size—she tested its weight—like a ring, or a stone. It was probably only a rock—his idea of a joke.

  She glowered at him.

  “Now,” he said, bowing gallantly, completely unaffected by her indignation. “I bid you good night, miss.”

  Before Chloe could anticipate his intent, he placed a gentle peck upon her lips. She shrieked furiously over the violation, but he didn’t linger long enough to allow her to slap him for the shocking liberty. How dare he!

  With a parting smirk, he gave a signal to his men to retreat. They were swift to obey. In less than an instant the night fog enveloped them all and she hadn’t a clue in which direction they’d gone. They left her standing in the middle of the road with the white kerchief settled in her hand and the unmistakable taste of him upon her lips.

  And suddenly, without a doubt, she knew the night had been carefully orchestrated. Lindale hadn’t intended to woo her at all. No, he’d used her for some other design. Now, she fully intended to find out just what that was.

  Chapter 11

  Dismissing his men, Merrick hurried to the cottage before Chloe arrived. He’d purposely chosen her old cottage so he could surround her with familiar things. Now he hid the necklace in a vase, intending to dispose of it later. The mask he hid outside in the bushes. He’d gleaned enough information from Rusty to know that Ian had a jeweler in Edinburgh who bought stolen gems. It should be a simple enough task to find the man, though he felt a pang of guilt after what Chloe had revealed to him.

  Curious about the necklace, he retrieved the vase from the mantel upon which he’d placed it, and lifted the necklace from within, inspecting it.

  Had his father truly given the necklace to his mother? Had she kept it all this time? If she loathed him so much, wouldn’t she have rid herself of the memory entirely—sold it for whatever money she could get from it, particularly considering the condition of the manor? It was in deplorable condition.

  Evidently, the necklace meant something to Fiona, or she wouldn’t have presented it to Chloe to wear tonight. Her affection for Chloe was more than apparent.

  Did his mother love his father still?

  Merrick studied the necklace critically. It seemed familiar to him somehow. Distinct as it was, there could not be another like it, he was certain. And then it occurred to him where he’d seen it and the significance of its presence here was unmistakable. There was only one woman Merrick had ever seen his father publicly acknowledge his affection for—his own mother. In one of the paintings that graced the portrait gallery in Meridian, this necklace adorned his grandmother’s neck. God’s bones! His father had truly loved Fiona. If the sheer number of his letters wasn’t proof enough, this necklace surely was.

  Could the two love each other still?

  After all these years?

  If so, how could his father have abandoned them?

  Unless he hadn’t the first clue what their circumstances were. His father’s pride was such that if he felt they were well taken care of he wouldn’t extend himself. Which led Merrick to believe that whomever handled the books for Glen Abbey was someone his father trusted… completely.

  Edward.

  However, if that were the case, he couldn’t comprehend why Glen Abbey Manor would have no funds available.

  Even if their rents and investments were scarce, his father was not a cruel man. Whether he loved Fiona or not, he would have taken responsibility for his child. But it was clear to Merrick that his father loved her desperately still. Had he strangled Glen Abbey’s finances to force her to come crawling back to him? It was not his father’s style, but it was certainly a possibility. Men—and women—did strange things in the name of love. And it had become rather obvious that there was much he didn’t know about his father.

  At the moment he scarce knew himself, if the truth be known. But he wondered, instead of simply giving Fiona the letter he’d stolen from his father, what if he could bring the two of them face-to-face?

  One thing was certain, Merrick wasn’t his father. He knew what he wanted, and he intended to go after it. He didn’t intend to sit by and bemoan his loss for the rest of his days.

  He started to replace the necklace within the vase and then decided that wasn’t the best place to hide the jewels. In fact, it was the most obvious place someone might look. He took the necklace into the bedroom, where he doubted Chloe would step a foot, and found a suitable spot beneath the mattress. He tucked the covers back into place—just in time, as he heard the carriage wheel into the drive.

  He scarcely had time to meet her at the door.

  The very instant the carriage came to a halt, Chloe burst from it like a raging blue flame, her blue-chiffon dress flowing about her as she marched toward him. Her cheeks were a deep, angry rose and her delicate throat was unadorned, but for the flush that deepened her lovely skin.

  She showed him the kerchief in her hand. It remained neatly bound. Obviously she hadn’t bothered opening it. “You’ll not believe what I have been through,” she exclaimed, and suddenly, surprisingly, burst into tears.

  Merrick didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t had much experience with weeping women. Patting her gently on the shoulder, he led her into the cottage.

  It was all Chloe could do not to rage at him for his deception. And he’d brought her to her own cottage—the one he’d stolen from her—what a horrid slap in the face! But she realized she must keep her head to expose him.

  The cottage was extraordinarily small compared to the manor. Since the repossession, it was rumored that Lord Lindale sometimes used it for his dalliances—a matter that somewhat disgusted her.

  So he meant to seduce her, did he?

  That fact made her all the more furious and she cast him a narrow-eyed glance.

  The cottage was simple but quaint. Inside, it was elegantly decorated and well-kept, though it remained largely unoccupied. Nothing remained of her old life here. The interior had been gutted and remodeled to suit Lord Lindale’s taste. Once a week servants came to thoroughly scrub it and place fresh flowers in the vases—just in case guests were to be entertained.

  Tonight, dozens of candles were lit about the main room—an extravagance in itself, for it was obvious by the sweet scent that they were made of beeswax. The manor used tallow, which left a thin layer of soot on everything. The servants dusted furiously to keep the furnishings free of it. Unlike the manor, the draperies here were new and bright, and the furnishings fashionable. Seeing the disparities only validated what she’d always believed about Lord Lindale—that he was a wastrel and a rogue.

  And yet, how could that be entirely true if, in fact, he was Hawk?

  Chloe looked about, chafing at the answer. Because he spent the money, not on the poor, but on himself. That much was apparent. So he gave a token bag of coins occasionally—that certainly didn’t qualify him for sainthood.


  Rotten scoundrel.

  The hearth was ablaze, bathing the room in warm, flickering light. Together with the candles, it made a stunning effect. A small table in one corner sat elegantly adorned with crystal and porcelain. Lilies of various colors filled the vases surrounding it.

  If Chloe didn’t know better, she might have thought he’d meant to impress her. But he was only using her. She knew that as well as she knew the taste of his mouth—that thought made her face burn. She shouldn’t know it at all.

  He led her into the living area, toward the hearth.

  What if she were wrong? What if he wasn’t Hawk?

  Chloe chewed her lower lip. If she was, indeed, correct, then the jewels should be hidden somewhere in this cottage. It was her task to find them.

  Acutely aware of his hand on her arm, she cast him a surreptitious glance, noting the concern in his face, and quickly averted her gaze lest he see her thoughts. She sat upon the chair nearest the hearth and then set the kerchief in her lap.

  “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

  Chloe wiped the last traces of tears from her eyes. “I believe you now, my lord.”

  He knelt before her, his hand gripping the arm of her chair as he peered into her face. Chloe stared at his strong, lean hand, unable to look into his eyes, trying to determine if it was the same hand that had only a short time ago held a pistol to her cheek. “Tell me what happened, Chloe,” he demanded once more.

  Hearing her name spoken so intimately took her momentarily aback. “I—I was robbed,” she said, peering up at Lindale, her heart beating a little faster.

  “Hawk?”

  Chloe nodded, watching his face for some expression that would betray him. She started to weep again in earnest. Was she so desperate for someone in her life, so lonely, that she would leap at any attention cast her way? And if she was wrong about Lindale, then she had, indeed, lost Lady Fiona’s jewels and she would never, ever forgive herself. She should have leapt upon that man’s ankles and refused to let him go.

  Good night, but he was particularly dashing this evening, dressed in a black coat and trousers. His high cheekbones and chiseled face were striking by the light of the fire. And his lips… the very sight of them made her heart race a little faster. Ignoring the sound of her heart beating in her ears, Chloe glanced down at his boots.

  They were the same sort of boots Hawk wore.

  “I’m afraid you were right,” she relented, narrowing her gaze at him. “Hawk is not a very nice man.”

  He arched a brow at her. “I tried to tell you so, Chloe. Thievery is not a noble pursuit.” He placed his hand over hers, patting it gently. “I am sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he apologized, sounding entirely too sincere. “We should have ridden together, but I wanted you to feel like a princess tonight.”

  Chloe furrowed her brows. “I shouldn’t have come at all. I don’t belong here.”

  He said nothing for a moment, and then, “But I am pleased that you did.” And he gently squeezed her hand.

  Chloe narrowed her gaze at him. “If you mean to try to seduce me, it won’t work.” But she wasn’t certain it was the truth, because he was seducing her already with only his look and sweet words.

  She shivered as she stared into his eyes… they were so blue…like big blue moons.

  His tone was soft when he spoke again. “I asked you here, Chloe… because I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you.”

  What? He’d barely acknowledged her when she’d come to live at Glen Abbey Manor. How could she believe anything he said now? Everything she knew about him seemed to be a lie.

  “I don’t believe you,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “You were scarcely cordial when I arrived.”

  He lifted her hand up, kissing it gallantly, and said, “Will you believe me when I tell you I am not the same man you knew then?”

  Chloe arched a brow at him. That was an understatement. She could well believe he wasn’t the same man anyone knew.

  They exchanged a long glance and then he released her hand and gestured to the bundle in her lap. “What is that?” he asked, then teased her with a wink. “Did you bring me a gift?”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Chloe lied. “I haven’t opened it yet. Hawk gave it to me to give to your mother. He said it belonged to the occupant of the carriage he robbed a few nights ago and that Fiona was to have it.”

  “Really?” His attention was obviously piqued. His brows lifted and he eyed the bundle with renewed interest. “It seems as though Hawk has been quite the busy thief of late.”

  “Indeed,” Chloe agreed.

  “I wonder what it is.”

  “Shall we open it?”

  “Yes, of course. I would not blindly hand a gift from a thief to my mother.”

  Chloe nodded in agreement. She braced herself for his reaction. And without further ado, she picked up the bundle and handed it to Lord Lindale. “Then I shall allow you the honor, my lord.”

  He smiled slightly as he took the kerchief from her. Struggling with the knot, he wove it loose at last. When it lay open before them, he cast her a stupefied glance.

  “I-It’s a ring,” he said, stumbling over his words.

  Chloe understood why.

  It wasn’t the same ring originally placed within the kerchief. This one was hers and the ruby with the strange crest was tucked safely where he would never venture…between her breasts. A sense of satisfaction came over her as he stared at the ring lying upon the kerchief. His jaw dropped only slightly. He seemed to wish to say something and then closed his mouth again, having said nothing at all. He touched his brow, pausing perhaps to think, and then looked at her with narrowed eyes.

  Merrick pursed his lips as he studied her.

  She knew.

  The little shrew knew who he was.

  Or… though it didn’t seem her style, perhaps greed had gotten the better of her. In itself, the ruby with the Welbourne family crest engraved on its belly was worth an ungodly fortune—never mind the gold karats that encased it.

  He felt her gaze narrow upon him and wondered what to say. There didn’t seem much he could say without revealing himself. He scratched his head and then raked his fingers over his jaw as he stood.

  He must search the carriage. She would have left the ring in the carriage, he was certain.

  But perhaps this was, somehow, a test?

  He lifted the ring from her lap and examined it. He asked as casually as he was able, “You say Hawk said it belonged to the occupant of the carriage?” It had been dark outside, but he was certain this ring was hers… the very one she’d tried to give him instead of his mother’s necklace. A quick glance at her finger revealed her own ring was gone. “I must wonder…why should this particular ring concern my mother?” he contemplated aloud.

  Chloe peered up at him, looking entirely too innocent for his liking. The tone of her voice was far too sweet. “I couldn’t say, my lord.” She shrugged. “It seems an ordinary ring.”

  Merrick pocketed the ring. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough. Shall we go now?”

  Her expression turned instantly to one of alarm. “Go where, my lord?”

  “Back to the manor,” he suggested. “To give the ring to my mother.”

  “Oh, but no!” she exclaimed, bolting to her feet. “We can’t go yet!”

  “Why not? It’s obvious that Hawk has ruined the evening for us already.”

  “Oh, but it’s not ruined!”

  Merrick arched a brow, challenging her. “Is it not?”

  She sat back down and said in a small voice, scrunching her brow, “Not entirely.” She tilted her lovely face at him and said in a rush, “My lord, I simply can’t face her yet—not without the necklace. It was your father’s gift to her.”

  Merrick frowned. He hoped she was squirming in that chair by the fire, because she would surely burn in hell for her lies.

  “Very well. But I should, at least, send a message with the coachman.�
�� He told her firmly, “Stay here. I shall return in a thrice.”

  Rotten little liar.

  Merrick spun on his heels and left her to wonder about his intentions, fully intending to search the coach, top to bottom.

  If she had that ring, he intended to find it.

  The very instant Chloe was alone, she leaped up from the chair, knowing full well she had precious little time to search the cottage before he returned. There was no time to waste. The vase was the first place she looked. Next she checked the desk. Nothing. Her heart tripping painfully, she stood in the middle of the living area and asked herself… if she were a thief, where would she hide a precious necklace?

  She doubted he would hide it in the kitchen—that was alien territory for a man. Her best bet, she feared, was the bedroom, though she dreaded walking into it. Like a spider’s web, the very thought of entering there made her tremble slightly. But she was desperate to find the necklace.

  Off to the bedroom, she went.

  The master’s room was impeccably neat, with nary a hair on a brush left to catch the eye. Chloe knew she would need to search thoroughly but quickly, lest he catch her. She set to work, looking high and low.

  Chapter 12

  The bloody ring was nowhere to be found.

  Merrick checked even the closed bud of the rose he’d given her, thinking she might have slipped the ruby within. It wasn’t there; it wasn’t anywhere. Hell and damnation! Either she tossed the bugger out the carriage window or it remained on her person. But though he’d seen glimpses of her fiery temper, he knew she wouldn’t have cast so valuable a piece, so that left one place to search…

  He raked a hand over his face.

  Christ almighty, this wasn’t just any ring. Passed down from father to son for over three hundred years, it bore the Welbourne family crest. Merrick would be giving it to his own son someday. Ryo would have known instinctively that Merrick would never part with it—not at any cost—and he would have taken its delivery as a call for help. If Fiona knew anything of its value—and he was certain she did—she would have known not to part with it until Ryo arrived to claim it.