by Cheryl Holt
“Captain Harlow,” she huffed, “you can’t just strut up and…and…kiss me.”
“I can’t?”
“No.”
“You’re very pretty today, Miss Merrick, but I hate you in grey. How am I to get you out of those old gowns of yours?”
“I have several others, but they’re all in awful colors.”
“Why would you pick an unflattering color?”
“They’re Angela’s cast offs. They suit her, but not me.”
“After the wedding, I’ll send you to town, and you can buy yourself a whole new wardrobe. I will choose the shades though so they’re fetching. I want you attired in violets and blues to enhance the sapphire of your eyes.”
The offer of clothes—and the compliment—were so surprising that she couldn’t formulate an appropriate reply.
Apparently he was rich—as Edwina had insisted. Apparently he was generous too. What would it be like to have a wealthy husband who would shower her with gifts? She couldn’t imagine.
She’d intended to muster a response, but he spun her and marched her down the hall and out the door at the end.
She could have protested, but maybe it would be beneficial for them to spend some time together. She was determined to learn more about him. If they took a casual stroll, and she was shrewd in her questions, he might reveal all sorts of interesting information.
He led her into the garden, and after a few twists and turns on the path, she spotted a bench and went over to it.
She patted the empty space next to her. “Won’t you join me?”
He was over by a tree, and he leaned against it. “I’d rather stand. That way, I can look at you while we’re conversing.”
“Why would you want to look at me?”
“I told you you’re very pretty this morning. Would you take your hair down? Or is that too scandalous a request?”
“No, I won’t take my hair down.” It was pulled into a tidy chignon, and she would never so daringly flaunt herself.
“Isn’t it hard to pin it up with all those combs? Is your neck aching?”
“Yes.”
“After we’re wed, if you’d like to simply wear it in a ponytail, it’s fine with me.”
“Not pin it up? Are you mad?”
“I love your hair. It would make me happy to see it flowing down your back, and I know you’d be more comfortable.”
She gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head, and he grinned.
“What?”
“You are the strangest man.”
“Why? Because I don’t mind if your hair is down? Are you supposing that marriage to me will be tedious and dull?”
“Well…yes.”
“I’m not an ogre every minute of the day.”
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
They shared a visual exchange that was cheery and cordial, and it frightened her enormously. She didn’t want to like him!
“Could I ask you some questions?” she said.
“About what?”
“About you. About your past and your family.”
“You’re curious about me.”
“Of course I’m curious, you oaf. What woman in my position wouldn’t be?”
Her cheeks flushed bright red, and he laughed. “Ask away, Miss Merrick. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Who were your parents?”
“Their names were Anne and Julian Blair.”
“Your surname is actually Blair, not Harlow?”
“Yes, but I’ve never gone by anything but Harlow though.”
“Did the Harlows officially adopt you?”
“No.”
“Your parents died in the fire when you were little, but have you any information about them?”
“Why? Are you hoping my father was a great lord and you’re about to bind yourself to a pack of aristocrats?”
“No,” she scoffed. “I wouldn’t want that—even if it was a possibility. But I think it’s fair for me to inquire about your background. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know any details about it.”
“Your father could have been a great lord?”
“I doubt it. From what Mrs. Harlow told me, my parents were servants.”
Clarissa was very British in her views about birthright and ancestry. She thought blood could elevate a person above others, and she was certain—no matter what his history turned out to be—his parents hadn’t been servants. He was so vibrant and imperious. If she ultimately discovered his sire had been a prince or a duke, she wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
“Where did your musical talent come from? Might it have been inherited from a relative?”
“Most likely.”
“And your ability to lead and command? Inherited too?”
“Mostly likely,” he said again.
“You don’t remember?”
“No. I was only three when I was orphaned. Mrs. Harlow searched for my kin, but they were never located.”
“Edwina claims you have financial resources.”
“If I didn’t, I couldn’t have purchased my commission in the army.”
“You own property besides Greystone?”
“Yes, in Yorkshire. My brother, Rafe, is wealthy. He gave it to me.”
“He gave you property? That was generous of him.”
“Yes, very generous.”
“Why would he have?”
The Captain shrugged. “I did him a favor once.”
“It must have been quite a favor.”
“It was.”
He gazed at her, his expression unreadable, providing no hint of how he’d helped his brother, and she thought how exasperating it would be to wed him. He’d always have secrets, but then didn’t every husband?
“Even if you lost Greystone for some reason—” she started.
He cut her off. “I’m not a fool like Harold Merrick. I won’t ever lose Greystone.”
“You’re not a pauper.”
“Miss Merrick, were you worried—as my wife—you’d have to wear rags and sing for your supper?”
“Don’t tease me. I’m trying to figure out if you’re worth having.”
“If I am worth having?” He barked out an astonished laugh. “Since you’re a female who has nothing at all, not even a decent gown, I find you to be particularly hilarious. I believe the question should be reversed. Are you worth having?”
“No,” she firmly replied, “not to a man of your status and renown. You can have any bride, so why pick me?”
“Why not?”
“You could have anyone.”
“I know, Miss Merrick, but I’m content to have you. Stop fussing over it.”
Why couldn’t she make him understand her reservations?
She studied him, a small voice telling her to let it go, to not raise the next topic, but she proceeded anyway. “When you were seated at the harpsichord, you drifted off.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. It seemed to be…well…I’ll just come out and say it, all right?”
“By all means. Say what you will.”
“Are you…touched in the head?”
She posed it lightly, as if her query was a joke, but he responded with all due seriousness. “Yes, probably.”
“Oh.”
“On occasion, a man speaks to me in my mind.”
“In your mind?”
“Yes. When I was little, I assumed he was my guardian angel. Now…I don’t know what to think. He’s my same age, and we’re exactly alike. We could be…twins.”
The word twins riveted him, and for an instant, he drifted off again. Then his vision cleared, and he grinned his devil’s grin.
“In the music room,” she haltingly asked, “he was talking to you?”
“Yes.”
“What was he saying?”
“He said, I’ve found Sissy. She’s so pretty. She looks just like Mother.”
“I have no idea. So…there you have it, Miss Merrick. My deepest, darkest secret is revealed. I’m touched in the head. Are you terrified? Will you sob in your kerchief and rush to Roland to tell him you can’t possibly be my wife?”
“You have to admit it’s an odd proclivity.”
“It definitely is, but it’s my only odd one.” He straightened and gestured down his torso. “Have I passed muster? Are you liking me any better?”
“No.”
He chuckled as if he deemed her to be silly and ridiculous.
“Now it’s my turn,” he said.
“Your turn to what?”
“To ask you a few questions. May I?”
“Certainly.”
“Who were your parents?”
“They were actors, Captain. My mother was from a perfectly respectable family—the Merricks—and when she was a girl, she ran off with a traveling troupe. She wed very young, and practically before the gold band was on her finger, my father vanished and we never saw him again.”
“Your childhood was difficult.”
“Very difficult.”
“How old were you when your mother died?”
“Ten. A preacher convinced Harold Merrick to bring me to Greystone, which saved me from being placed in an orphanage.”
“You’re grateful to your relatives.”
“Absolutely. Who wouldn’t be?”
To her great aggravation, he was unmoved and unconcerned over her dubious origins.
“Surely you understand now, Captain Harlow, why you can’t marry me.”
“Who said I can’t?”
“My parents were actors!”
“At least you know who and what they were. Mine were servants. Isn’t that a bit low on the social rung, even by your paltry standards? Shouldn’t you be wondering if I’m too far beneath you?”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “Why am I bothering with you? You’re insane.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it? From what you told me about your mother running off to be an actress, you have lunacy in your blood too.”
“Would you stop making jokes?”
“Who’s joking? I think you’re deranged, but I promise to overlook your numerous faults. Even your lunacy.”
“Ooh,” she grumbled, “there’s no talking to you.”
“No, there isn’t.”
She stood and started for the house, but she had to skirt by him to escape. Of course he wouldn’t let her go with any grace.
He grabbed her, and she glared up at him. She struggled to appear fierce and forbidding, but he was Captain Harlow, and she was Clarissa Merrick, and there was no getting him to grasp anything she wanted him to grasp.
He drew her to him so the front of her body was touching his. He peered down at her, like a villain, like a devil, like the handsomest man in the kingdom. There was a gleam of merriment in his gaze that was too seductive to be believed.
“Why are you so afraid?” he asked.
“I’m not afraid,” she lied.
“Yes, you are, but don’t fret so much. This is my choice, and I choose you. Don’t try to figure it out. Accept what I’ve offered and be glad.”
“But…but…”
“It could have been Angela. Aren’t you relieved that it’s not?”
“Yes.”
“Or I could have declined to behave honorably. I could have ordered you to pack your bags and depart. Would that have been better?”
“No, but none of this makes any sense.”
“Does it have to make sense?”
“To me? Yes. I’ve never wanted to—”
“Clarissa! Please be happy. I am.”
The sound of her name on his lips was exhilarating. She stared into his blue, blue eyes, feeling lost, feeling as if she was drowning. He dipped down and kissed her, an arm around her waist, her breasts pressed to his chest in an arousing way.
He overwhelmed her so easily, cajoled her into forgetting herself and her purpose. She could have tarried all day, basking in his attention, but luckily—or unluckily, depending on one’s point of view—a male spoke from behind her.
“If it isn’t the newlyweds.”
They glanced over to see Rafe Harlow grinning like a fool. Clearly he’d witnessed every second of the torrid spectacle, and Clarissa had never been more embarrassed.
“You have the worst habit,” Captain Harlow said to his brother, “of interrupting when I wish you wouldn’t.”
“It’s a good thing I did,” Rafe Harlow retorted. “We can’t have you children rushing the wedding night.”
The Captain still had an arm around her waist, and she hissed, “Let me go.”
“No.”
“Let me go!”
She wiggled away and ran, probably looking just as deranged as the Captain had accused her of being. She could hear them laughing, could hear the low murmur of their voices as they talked about her, but she couldn’t decipher their actual comments.
She was more conflicted than ever. But why would she be? As the Captain had bluntly mentioned, she was a woman who had nothing, not even a serviceable gown, and Captain Harlow was a rich, settled hero who was determined to marry her. She’d be mad to refuse.
Except that…he didn’t love her. He would never love her, and that fact was the saddest conclusion she could ever imagine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Edwina took a deep breath and slipped inside Rafe’s suite. It was very late, almost midnight. They were supposed to have snuck off to the garden at eleven, but though she’d gone to their bench, and had waited and waited, he hadn’t arrived.
She deemed it extremely discourteous conduct. He was a gentleman, a soldier in the king’s army, and a hero’s brother. She thought he should act like a hero himself and help a damsel in distress.
She was sad and lonely, and his visit to Greystone was the most exciting thing to have happened in years—if she didn’t count Harold’s prosecution, conviction, and death. And she didn’t count that. They had naught to do with her, except to underscore the notion that she needed to escape Greystone.
Why couldn’t Rafe Harlow be the one to rescue her?
The sitting room was empty, but he was moving about in the bedchamber beyond. Quietly she closed the door and spun the key in the lock. She’d assumed herself to be furtive, but he heard her anyway. Suddenly he loomed into the doorway, and he must have been washing. His hair was wet, his shirt was off, a towel draped around his neck.
“Matthew, is that—” He saw her, and his voice trailed off. He shook a scolding finger at her. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I know.”
“You turn right around and head out. I mean it.”
His tone was fierce, but his eyes weren’t. His eyes were merry, smiling at her, indicating he wasn’t really angry.
“You didn’t meet me in the garden,” she complained.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why? I was excited all day, just from thinking about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You could have told me you weren’t coming.”
He shrugged. “You’d have been upset, and I hate to quarrel.”
She walked over to him, approaching until they were toe to toe. He’d ordered her to go, but hadn’t stormed over and shoved her out. And he was still smiling.
“I want you to be grand and marvelous,” she said. “Please be that person for me. I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t.”
“I was trying to behave.”
“Have I asked you to behave?”
“No, but I should.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a guest at Greystone, and my brother would kill me if I was horrid to you.”
“Your brother doesn’t have to know. Who’ll tell him? You? I certainly won’t.”
“No, I wouldn’t ever tell him.�
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“You mentioned being horrid to me. What kind of horridness were you contemplating?”
“See? That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here. If you were the type of girl who was available to a man like me, you’d grasp what I was contemplating. I wouldn’t have to explain.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“I’ll bet you are.” He pointed to his dressing room. “I was washing, and I need to finish. Come with me?”
“Yes.”
He spun and left, and she followed him, which meant they passed by his bed, and she had a clear chance to study it. Her stomach tickled as she wondered what they might do on it if she could ever coax him to lie down.
How she wished she was more experienced at passionate amour! When she’d been away at school, a fellow student had claimed to be loose with her favors, had bragged about romantic encounters with a boy from her home village. Eddie had never known if the stories were true, but if they were, trysting seemed to involve nudity and intimate touching.
Well, she wasn’t about to rule out a bit of nudity. With his shirt off, Rafe was already halfway there. Might she eventually be cajoled into removing some clothes? She thought she might.
As they stepped into the dressing room, there was a lamp burning, the space brightly lit. He was rubbing the towel over his hair, and as he reached for his shirt to pull it on, she gasped with dismay.
His back was a mishmash of scars as if he’d been severely flogged—and more than once.
“What is it?” He peered over his shoulder and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Your…back.”
“Oh, that. It’s nothing.”
“You have scars everywhere. Were you disciplined as a soldier?”
“No, Matthew is my commanding officer. He wouldn’t allow anybody to hurt me.”
“Then…who?”
“My father was a drunkard and a bully. He was quick with the strap when I angered him.” He laughed dismissively. “It’s nothing, Eddie. Really.”
He tried to tug on his shirt, but she hurried over and stopped him. She stood behind him and laid a palm between his shoulder blades. They tarried like that for a minute, then she leaned in and snuggled herself to his back, her cheek resting on the worst scar.
He pried her away and whirled around.
“I shouldn’t have let you see,” he said. “I’ve had them forever, and I forget they’re there.”