by Susan Ward
Her heartbeat was tolling furiously. Caught in a storm of disorganized emotions, afraid of what she might say in this complicated room of her father’s coiled anger, she grabbed the first words in her spinning thoughts and said, “You are an insufferable man. Did you really think I was a pipe cleaner’s daughter?”
She felt a measure of Varian’s tautness go out of him in an indiscernible shudder along his arms. The barest traces of humor teased at the edges of his eyes. “No, merchant class. It seemed logical given your anti-monarchial rants and your affection for America. It never occurred to me that you were Lucien’s daughter.”
That made her laugh. She made a face at him. He arched a brow. That only made her laugh harder. “Ah, such a wicked man you are, Varian. You could not seduce the daughter of a pipe cleaner.”
His eyes, when they met hers, were sparkling from his own memories. “A pipe cleaner’s daughter I could seduce. You I could not. Why do you think I asked you to marry me?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” she said, trying to maintain what was left of her composure. “I have made you so imperfect. You bellowed, Varian. It was marvelous. I don’t know why you waited so long to yell at me.”
Varian’s eyes suddenly softened. “I would rather do other things than yell at you.”
Standing between Varian’s legs, his arms a warm band around her, the last of her laughter left her in slow spurts, and then she felt the touch of his fingertips along the slope of her cheek and found his eyes watching her. “Can I assume we are done with this? That you don’t wish an annulment? That you’ve forgiven me?” he asked.
“Forgiven you for what? There is so much to forgive you for.”
Varian held her as he was, no subtle move could be noted by her senses, but she realized those words had stung him. It had only been a jest, but Merry regretted it at once. She lowered her gaze, and instantly closed her eyes in all too familiar manner.
He wanted her to see his eyes when he spoke, so he lifted her face beneath him. “We can start with, though the list is long, what I said the night before we were married. There is no excuse for the things I spoke. I knew I was wrong, even as I spoke the words, but the shock over what this meant to you impelled me not to think at all rationally. My conduct was appalling. I hurt you in a manner inexcusable. I compounded my stupidity that night by following it up with that repulsive, hellish drama. I didn’t believe that you would marry me if I tried to apologize on the heels of all I said. I needed to marry you that night, Merry, or I would have lost you forever. I meant none of it, not a single word, and if you think I married you for any reason beyond the fact I have always loved you and could not live my life without you, you are wrong, Little One.”
Battling back fresh tears, she confessed, “It was not the words I couldn’t forgive. It was the doubt that all those months we shared when you had made me so happy meant nothing to you, were not real, and that I meant nothing to you.”
“I love you, Merry,” he whispered into her hair. “Since the first moment I set eyes on you you’ve been my every breath.”
She put her hands on his face, easing forward to place her lips on his. It was a chaste kiss, but the emotions inside of her shook him. Varian lifted a hand, brushing the tears from her cheeks with gentle fingertips. Nothing had ever shamed him more or more fully expressed the extent of the gift he had been given with her heart than her soul-filled eyes sparkling for him. He pulled her up against him because he needed to hold her as much for himself as her at this moment.
Unfinished confrontation waited all around him, and as much as Varian regretted the thought of releasing Merry after finally having her willingly in his arms, he had to deal with the rest of them. He almost managed to step back from her, and then he thought to himself what the hell, it could hardly be worse.
He pulled Merry down close on his lap before she could protest. His dark gaze floated around the room, settling nowhere and seeing everything as he tried to choose where to start. He didn’t give a damn what any of them thought of him, his conduct or this unfortunate argument he had let loose in their peaceful Merrick drawing room. It didn’t matter, except for Lucien, who had poured a drink and was sitting near Rhea, fury hiding behind stiff-neck Merrick composure and still dangerous.
Andrew was still in London digging into Varian’s past. How successful had they been? He didn’t know, not for sure, and that worried him. His hand, which had been resting on Merry’s slim hip, moved forward over their child, his long fingers caressing there lightly. Lucien’s gaze shifted beneath a not quite contained scowl and Varian decided big battles first.
The drink in Varian’s free hand had come from Philip, who seemed to miss the undercurrents in the rooms. Only Lucien and he seemed aware of the currents. It was hard to tell what Rhea thought. Serenity and elegance always. Kate was a nervous wreck, and Merry at times had no instinct at all.
Varian took a sip of his drink, and then set the glass to swirl. Merry reacted instantly, gave him an anxious glance and settled more against him. Good girl, Little One. So, she had learned all the moods and meanings of that habit.
He was relieved when his low, mocking voice did not take Merry by surprise. “We were discussing bedrooms, Lucien,” Varian said evenly, lifting his gaze from his glass to Merry’s father. “Since a little of your immortality is linked with mine, would it not be better for Merry to put to rest our hostilities so she is not pulled between us any longer?”
Lucien met Varian’s black gaze directly. Lucien was a formidable opponent, and one of the few men Varian could not read. It was clear both men were aware that time had progressed their conflict to more than a simple matter of disagreement over the unexpected marriage, regardless of what Merry and Rhea thought; however neither man was sure what the other knew.
Lucien paused thoughtfully. Varian’s words had been a warning, no matter how subtly put and an open reminder of what each men had at stake in this. He wondered if Varian were aware of how much he and Andrew had discovered the past month or how close they were to unstoppable certainty and proof that he was Morgan and responsible for the chaos unfolding in London. He was only certain that Varian knew what their suspicions of him were and had chosen now, with Merry firmly at side, to do his own exploration.
Lucien’s eyes shifted to his daughter. Unstoppable certainty. Was that the point of this confrontation? To stop it before all their hands would be forced. And could he stop it? Would Varian stop it? Could he stop Varian if he chose to leave with Merry? Was he risking Rhea’s misery by losing their daughter a second time in a way that would be permanent?
Any hope Merry would have welcomed freedom from this man, died with the picture she made now curled on his lap. His daughter was in love with Varian and it showed clearly on every line of her face. Forcing down his reaction, he would deal with that misery later.
Lucien said with smooth composure and misdirection, “I am sure you can forgive and understand a father’s worry. However, I would appreciate your indulgence not to have my wife parted from her daughter so soon after her return, especially in light of our...”A careful pause, artfully done as well. “...mutual blessing.”
Varian’s answering smile was enigmatic as he gently lifted a hand to push wayward curls from Merry’s face. So Lucien wanted time. Time for what? Time to decide? Time to finish gathering evidence? He didn’t have proof yet or clearly Lucien would not have tolerated Varian’s presence this long.
Varian could leave with Merry today. He had homes all over the world, far from England and safely beyond their reach. But if he moved first and moved too swiftly, he would tip the game and the cost would be Merry’s. The act of leaving with her would irrevocably turn this into permanent exile and war with Lucien.
He wished he could read the older man better. Wished he knew with more clarity which way to go. Was Lucien Merrick capable of an act of treason by remaining silent with the truth out of love for Merry and Rhea?
In the end Varian settled on patience
because he could not afford not to. Taking Merry’s small hand and carrying it to his lips, he placed a light kiss in her palm and asked in a manner merely affectionate, “What do you want to do, Little One? We’ll do whatever is your whim. Do you want to stay in Cornwall with your mother until the child comes? You really should not travel, and your father and I are making an effort at peace. Then later we could take up residence in London or America, whatever you decide you want for us.”
It was a gesture, brilliantly done, and Lucien didn’t miss a subtle nuance of it.
Merry knew Varian too well not to wonder what was behind those lightly uttered words of indulgence, and with all the reluctance of a child testing the bath water with a toe, she said softly, “I wanted to come home and put my parents from worry, but I never expected to stay after marrying you. Beyond that, I have never thought of what we’d do. We will go where you wish, Varian. My home is where you take me. I am not sure your effort at peace could survive us staying at Bramble Hill until the child comes.”
Varian’s eyes suddenly softened with a smile. Merry could feel the soft displacement of hair as his lips touched and kissed at random among her curls. Clever and more wise. He could not have had a more perfect response if he had told her what to say. The soft puzzle of her brow told him she didn’t understand how dangerous things were. Hopefully, she would never have to know, though the chances of that seemed slim.
The situation told him it was not possible, but maybe if he moved carefully, kept a closer eye on Lucien and Andrew, he could buy her a little more time with her mother before they would have to leave forever. That seemed the only possible conclusion now.
A smile flickered at the corners of Varian’s mouth. “I promise to make my best effort to behave, Little One, if you want to stay with your mother.”
Merry couldn’t help herself. It had been so long since she had felt she could tease him, and into his dark and imposing face, she said laughingly, “That is hardly a comfort, you insufferable man, since I saw your best effort twenty minutes ago.”
She had succeeded in making him laugh, warm and silky in the manner she used to know so well. She felt the last of the strange tension wane in him. She heard his voice low and wicked, caressing her ear, “You are going to know my best effort when we are free of this room.”
As Merry turned her smiling eyes on her parents, she prayed they hadn’t heard the words which caused the sudden reddening to her cheeks.
“Well, my dears, while it is my hope you will stay until the birth, there is no need to decide that tonight,” said Rhea happily, and if she were aware of the seriousness of the conversation that had just passed, it didn’t show on her pretty face glowing as brightly as a newly minted penny. “Lucien, do you not think we should celebrate our happy news. It is not every day we learn we are going to become grandparents.”
Lucien’s smile, even by generous standards, could only be termed mildly gracious as he shifted his eyes to his wife. Reaching out, he caught Rhea’s hand in his own. “Whatever will make you happy, my dear.”
Smiling with creamy satisfaction, Rhea said in a voice carrying hidden warning that Lucien after twenty-five years was alert enough to hear, “I am happy exactly as things are now, Lucien. I would hate if anything were to change that.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
As it was, when Varian and Merry were finally free to leave the drawing room, they had no room to go to. At Rhea’s order, Moffat was busy supervising the staff in moving Merry’s belongings. Privacy, it seemed, would remain a thing of agonizing difficulty for another day.
Walking out of doors, while it might have freed them of Merry’s relatives, did not free them of interference. They were on a working farm, and as romantic as it might have been with her hand pleasantly held in her husband’s gentle grasp, walking across the courtyard of rosy sandstone gravel between outbuildings embrace by climbing yellow roses, with the crimson hue of the setting sun across the channel before their quiet, peaceful gazes, it was a farm alive with people ever welcoming at the sight of their tiny mistress. They were surrounded by workers stripping off their hats, aprons bobbing in curtsy, smiles ebullient to Merry and still cautious to Varian. Merry, who loved these people dearly, found herself wishing them away. Would she ever know the bliss and freedom of being completely alone with this man again?
In a distant meadow, Merry sank on the moist bed of green hovering against a low stone wall, staring at the richly blue sky as the breezes licked the grass and her loose curls. Alone with him at last.
Amid the melody of evening sounds—harness brasses jingling from the nearby driveway, the whistle of a worker, the song of a bird—her senses pricked to every element around her with unnatural intensity as she became aware again of the restlessness of her body and of the closeness of that large, warm figure seated beside her. The urgency inside her had little to do with physical hunger, but rather a desperate need of complete and total reawakening of her heart. To feel him again in every part of her spirit and share again her love for him without caution or restraint.
Picking a rose and brushing it against her chin, she wondered if he felt the need as well. It occurred to her he still seemed larger than life, even here in this simple country setting.
Feeling the warm intensity of her senses, the wakefulness of being alive when Varian was near, she realized the excitement in living with him she had felt before had had nothing to do with where they had been and everything to do with the man. She had wondered if it would diminish away from his ship as he had transformed into an ordinary being, far removed from myth and mystery. A man like any other living through ordinary events amid the familiar and constant existence of her childhood. But she felt it still even in this tranquil twilight, as though nothing she would do with this man would ever leave her bereft of sensation, as though ordinary no longer existed in the world, not even here where she had watched a thousand sunsets.
They were a good distance from the house, but not far enough for anything but talking. She lay her cheek against the soft texture of fabric covering his thigh and she turned her wide doe eyes up at him. She was answered by a stirring in their great dark depths. If a thousand men were to smile at her, not one could affect her as deeply as Varian could with the discreet expression of desire in his eyes.
Fanning her long hair like the feathers of a peacock around her, Varian asked, “You are uncommonly quiet, Merry.”
Smiling, “I am restless and content at once, if that makes any sense at all to you. I find it a rather strange and pleasant blend of emotion.”
This time the smile touched his lips. It did make sense to Varian. He felt it too. The anticipation of what was delayed mixed with the total calm of being together and knowing it was there.
Thoughtfully, rubbing her soft cheek against his thigh, she asked, “What was really going on between you and my father earlier.”
His fingers were on her back, sending waves of shivers through her. “You’re father doesn’t like me. He never has. My marrying you has only intensified his dislike.”
She snuggled against him, wanting to be content to lie at peace beneath his hands, but claimed by worry. “My father loathes you,” she pointed out and then playfully made a face as she drew his head down for a kiss. “I, however, do not and I am the one who must share a bed with you.” Then, not letting herself be sidetracked, “I may not be able to read your thoughts with the ease you read mine, but I know enough to know when you are going to enact a drama. I just don’t know the purpose of why you did it with my father.”
He looked amused. An arched brow. “Drama? Did I enact a drama?”
She nodded, her breasts moving in unknowing massage on his hip. “You know very well you did. You swirled your glass. When the glass swirls it means you are either studying something you are not appearing to watch or you are about to enact a drama, one of your Morgan guises. I have studied you long and I know you well.”
Those dark eyes shined with the barest glimmer of mirth-light.
“If you know me well, can you tell me why Kate is so terrified of me,” he asked lowly, his fingers playing lightly on the sensitive flesh of her ear.
The sparkle faded from her eyes and her face was claimed by a suddenly seriousness. “Kate was with me at Grave’s End, waiting with the horses. I should have told you that months ago. It did not occur to me before now that she may have seen you. Do you think she saw you?”
There was a long pause in which he debated how much he should tell her. She looked so happy now. It would explain what had sent the Merricks so easily in accurate speculation of him. Calmly, he said, “If Kate had seen me I would not have lasted so long here with you, Merry. She would have told Andrew and he is capable in his abilities. My past as Morgan would have leveled us long ago. Don’t worry. I am sure she did not. We can stay if you want to be with your mother when the child comes.”
She settled against him again. A minute passed. Her voice came to him, a soft melody. “I will leave with you when you want me to. I still fancy the idea of going to Virginia with you. At least if we were to leave, we would have privacy when we want it.”
Laughing softly, his hand strayed to brush a forefinger over the thin fabric covering a nipple. She noted the subtle change in his eyes and understood it.
She pushed up then, sitting on her knees, her dark curls framing her young face, alive with desire. “I want to lay with you, untimely or not.”