by Tamara Gill
“Thank you, Merrick.” The sound of a servant in the foyer caught Isolde’s attention, and she remembered her other reason for calling this evening. “I know you’re in mourning and not about Town at the moment, but I came here also to see if you’re all right. Is there anything you need or that I can help you with? It’s the least I can offer, after what you did for me.”
Merrick pulled away and sat back, and the moment their contact was lost, she missed him.
“I’m hoping to close up the London home and go back to Mountshaw for the foreseeable future. The children will be better out of the city, and there is nothing to keep me here. As I’m in mourning, I cannot attend any entertainments, and I’m tired. Tired of everything, I suppose.”
She pushed away the pang of sadness that assailed her, knowing Merrick wouldn’t be at the balls and parties she would attend once the trouble with Wardoor was settled. How she would miss him. A knock at the door made her tense, and Merrick stood, walking over to answer it. He spoke quietly to a woman before coming to sit back down.
Isolde fiddled with her cloak. “I apologize for not letting you know of my visit. I had the opportunity to slip away unnoticed and well…” She shrugged. “I took it.”
“I’m glad you did.” He gestured to the foyer. “That was my daughter’s nursemaid. Lily is being a little terror tonight and isn’t settling. She wanted to know if I wanted to check in on her while she’s awake.”
Isolde sat forward, having not seen the baby yet. “May I meet her?” She blurted the question before she’d had a chance to really think about her request. Would Merrick want her to? And the fact that she was desperate to meet the little girl made her wonder why she was so interested.
“I would love you to. Follow me. I’ll take you to her now.”
Isolde walked along with Merrick up two flights of stairs before they headed toward a room on the second floor. A door stood ajar, and the flickering candlelight bathed the passage wall in a soft yellow glow.
A maid sat on a chair, slowly rocking the crib in which the child lay. Through an adjoining door, she could see William asleep, a toy soldier clasped tight in his fisted hand. A small fire burned in the grate, and the room was filled with pretty white furniture. The windows faced west and ran almost the length of the room, making the space feel large, but homey. Isolde walked up to the crib and gazed down at a little girl who fussed with her blankets, kicking her little legs as if she were annoyed with her whereabouts. “She is beautiful, Your Grace.” Isolde ran her finger across her chubby pink cheek. “May I hold her?”
Merrick cleared his throat. “Of course. Her name is Lily.” He picked up the baby and handed her over. Lily was the most adorable little cherub Isolde had ever met. She took in all her features, noting her perfect little eyelashes and sweet nose. “Oh Merrick. She’s just too sweet.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back quickly. She chuckled to hide her embarrassment. “You know I’m absurdly jealous of you. How lucky you are.”
He rubbed a hand over his daughter’s head, pushing back the little bit of hair she sported. “I know I am.” Merrick sighed, sitting down on a nearby chair. “You’re a natural with children. I always thought you would be.”
She smiled, laughing when little Lily clasped her finger and wouldn’t let go. “Well, I am the second oldest in the family, so I’ve been around a few babies in my time.” Isolde sat, holding Lily on her lap. “I cannot believe the miracle of life. How wondrous to make something so amazing.”
“She’s a good baby, considering her rough start. I did not think she would be.”
“You mean Leonora’s addiction to opium and such. Has it affected Lily at all, do you think?” The baby yawned and Isolde kissed her little cheeks, nuzzling her a little.
“I do not think so, but she can be a little unsettled some days. We’ve consulted the doctor, and he’s assured us that she’ll grow normally with a proper diet and care.”
Isolde hoped so. “She’s lucky to have you as a father.” Isolde inwardly cringed at her words, forgetting for a moment that Merrick was, in fact, not the father of this precious little girl.
He smiled, nodding. “She has my name and my love. Nothing will ever harm hers or William’s future. Nothing.”
“I’m glad for it.” The wet nurse returned, and Isolde handed the baby back before watching Merrick wish the little girl pleasant dreams. They walked back downstairs in silence before entering the library once again.
With the click of the door closing, the air in the room thickened and charged. Alone, Isolde fought the urge to go to him, wrap her arms about his neck, and kiss him to distraction. Desperately, she wanted to taste him again, to feel the hunger that fired her blood each and every time they touched. To be alive in his arms and take what she wanted, instead of waiting for things to happen, to behave and always act as a lady ought. “I should return home. I want to ensure I’m back before Mama returns from her entertainments.”
He smiled, walking toward her. “Will you come again?” His words were laced with need, and his eyes darkened with desire.
Isolde bit her lip as she thought over his question. Would she visit him again, alone? At night? Should she be caught, her reputation would be ruined, for sure. Especially, since she was about to cry off a second marriage. The prospect was more appealing than ever, but then reason pulled her back toward proper decorum.
About to tell him no, she met his intense gaze, and the words fell away unsaid. What was right, what Society expected, could go hang. “I will,” she said, unable to force her feet to move, to leave. She was playing with fire, going against the rules, and it was madness and marvelous all at the same time.
…
With each step that Merrick took, Isolde shuffled back. For so long he’d allowed her to slip through his fingers, to be always at arm’s length, but no longer. Under her own volition she’d come to him, not during a chance meeting at a ball or a stroll in the park, but alone, at night, and in his home. It had to mean something.
Another step, another shuffle.
“What are you doing, Merrick?”
His name on her lips was an elixir that he longed to taste. She came up against the settee, and she clasped its back, stopping herself from going over the seat. Her emerald eyes blazed with wariness, but beneath their vigilance was a weakness that he, too, fought to deny. To give in to. “Do you have any notion how much I want to kiss you?” He touched her wrist, running his finger along her cloaked arm. “Show you how much I’ve missed every ounce of your being?”
A shiver rocked her body, and he breathed deeply, not wanting to alarm her as to how close he was to madness. In time, he would win her again, but tonight wasn’t the night. They had spoken for the first time in years as friends, allowed each other back into their lives, and it was just as precious as his children who lay sleeping abovestairs.
“I know your struggles, Merrick, for they are mine, too.”
Their eyes met, and he stepped against her, but there was no leaning away, no shuffling to the side. Isolde stood her ground and raised her chin, taunting him, if anything, to do as he willed.
He pushed the cloak from her shoulders, absently hearing the thump as it pooled at their feet. Her dark locks were in disarray from the cloak, and he pushed away a tendril of hair that fell over her eye. “I’ve longed for this for so long.”
She licked her lips, and need roared through him, hot and consuming. “Let me kiss you. Please,” he begged when she watched him, as calm and poised as ever. A front, for there was no doubt Isolde wanted him, just as much as he yearned for her.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, and he swooped down and kissed her. Hard. The long years apart, the denied thirst, crumbled any decorum, and the kiss was beyond tame. As if they had never been separated, Isolde kissed him with an intensity that left him reeling and grappling for purchase.
Time ticked by as the glide of her tongue sent his blood thrumming and met with sweet sighs and gasps. Merrick threaded
his fingers through her hair, feeling it fall over his hands and against her back. He broke the kiss, taking in her disarrayed beauty that was for him only. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.”
She pulled him back to kiss him again, and he groaned, his hand sliding down her back to settle on her derriere, yanking her against him. He kissed away her shocked gasp, undulating against her, pushing them both toward a conflagration of pleasure. He pushed her on, teasing and tempting her to be with him like this forever.
“Merrick,” she sighed. “Stop. We have to stop.” She pushed against his chest, and, reluctantly, he stepped back, his breathing ragged as if he’d run a mile.
“I should go.” Isolde picked up her cloak and strode toward the library doors, pausing at its threshold to look at him. “I missed you as well,” she said, leaving him without another word.
A smile lifted his lips as elation bloomed through his soul for the first time in five years. Where there was passion, there was hope, and he would do anything, be anyone she wished, if it meant she was his and he was hers once more.
And forever.
…
It took Isolde almost a week before she was able to sneak away to see Merrick again. Her family had traveled to the theater, a play which Isolde hadn’t wanted to see, so it wasn’t hard to evade the outing.
Her sister Alice had lingered longer in the foyer, looking at her as if she suspected something, but, pulling on her gloves, had left with all the others, and Isolde walked to the mews and had their groom summon her a hackney cab.
London this evening was shrouded in rain, a relentless torrent that Isolde had thought would stop her mother from attending the theater, but the lure was too much to be foregone because of a little dampness.
The cab was summoned quickly, and it wasn’t long before the familiar streets of Mayfair passed as she made her way to Merrick’s home. She told the driver to drop her off on the side street and walked the short distance to the alley from which she entered Merrick’s yard.
Pulling her cloak close, she pushed the small metal gate open and walked toward the terrace and library doors. She stood on the flagstones, unable to knock on the door, torn between what she wanted to do and what she ought to do.
What am I doing here? Although she knew very well what she was doing. Where was the shame she ought to feel at such an escapade? That there was none was telling indeed. She had always played by the rules, but that had always ended with heartache and despair. Maybe she ought to try another way and see if the outcome would be more favorable.
The library was darker than the previous time she’d been here, and for a moment she wondered if Merrick was out, or abed already, before movement near the fire caught her attention and she spied him seated before it.
Isolde knocked, and he looked at the door, his face one of expectation. He smiled when he observed her, and all misgivings vanished into the cold night air.
Although the moment she stepped into the room she was not the least chilled; if anything, heat bloomed across her skin and sizzled with a longing she’d denied herself for too long. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
He laughed, and her stomach tightened. “My lady. You come again.”
She followed him toward the fire and sat on the little footstool he pulled out for her, one that matched his own. Only a few candles burned in the room, giving the space a seductive, romantic air. “I have.” She frowned. “But I shouldn’t have. I’m not acting as a lady should.”
He watched her, his fingers idly running across his lips. The action pulled her gaze to that part of his body, and heat pooled at her core and with it the realization that she wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to feel the passion and fire he’d wrought in her last week.
She looked back to the fire and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to call sooner. It’s been a busy week. I hope William and Lily are doing well.”
He smiled at the mention of the children, and the pulsating tension between them eased a little. “They’re very well. William is looking forward to getting back to Mountshaw. Lily is putting on weight and is settling better this week.”
“I’m so glad,” she said, truly thankful the little girl hadn’t suffered for her mother’s addiction. And that William was going forward, continuing to be a happy, polite child, was a welcome reprieve. “We will miss you when you leave. I hope you’ll allow me to visit you.”
Merrick met her gaze. “I think we both know that will be impossible. You will, after all, marry one day. I hesitate to believe your new husband would wish to stay at a house where your ex-betrothed lives.”
“And if I don’t marry but visit you anyway, will you allow me to stay?” The question was more forward and telling than anything Isolde had said in years. A muscle worked on his jaw, and he looked pained. She took a fortifying breath, sick of being the perfect duke’s daughter. Always doing right by the expectations of others. She’d had her fill of it. “Merrick?” she asked when he didn’t answer.
“I don’t believe that would be wise.”
She chuckled. It wasn’t wise, and for once that’s exactly what she wanted. “Do you not want me to stay?” Disappointment stabbed sharply that he’d distance himself after their kiss. What was wrong with the man? She was all but throwing herself at his head.
He turned to her, taking her hands in his. His thumb ran over her skin, sending shivers down her spine. “May I ask you something, Isolde?”
A small frown line marred his brow, and she wanted to wipe away his concern, not let him worry about things as much as he did. “By all means. Anything.”
“Is it true that you’re willing to enter the marriage state without love or affection? That a marriage solely for the procurement of children is all you wish?”
Embarrassment washed through her that she’d wanted a marriage such as Merrick had explained. To hear the truth of her wishes out loud made them sound heartless and cold. Which, in fact, they were, but nothing out of the ordinary for others of their set. “I thought I did. Certainly, I would not be the first woman to do so.”
He cringed, and she gazed back at the fire, hating the guilt that entered his eyes. “Promise me that you’ll marry for love, Isolde. You deserve better than mediocre.”
“I…” Isolde bit her lip, unsure if she could keep such a promise. To love again meant to risk her heart. After the painful years of separation from Merrick, she wasn’t sure if she could put herself through such emotions again. “I couldn’t risk loving and losing another as much as I loved and lost you. People marry all the time for no other reason than to achieve position, beget funds, or heirs. I did not love Wardoor, and should his lifestyle have been less risqué, I would’ve married him.”
Merrick’s mouth turned up in distaste. “You would’ve allowed Wardoor to have a mistress? That once married, as long as you had children and a secure future, you would’ve given him free rein to do as he pleased?”
Anger spiked through her that Merrick would chastise her so, when her options, no matter how wealthy she was, were still confined. “What do you suggest I do, Moore? Marry for love and be heartbroken when he sleeps with someone else? When I marry, I would rather keep my heart locked away and free from that kind of pain.”
“You cannot make all men pay for my actions. Your father made me marry Leonora for the very reasons you were willing to accept Wardoor. Let me assure you, they do not make for a happy union.”
She gaped at his words. “You broke my heart. I do not have a whole one to give to someone else.” This conversation and night were not going where Isolde had wanted. She should leave.
“You must not hold yourself back from love, Isolde. A small part of you will not let go of the hurt I caused you and because of it, you will regret any marriage in which you enter. I do not want that for you.” He paused, softening his tone when he said, “You must learn to trust again. Without it you’ll have nothing.”
“There is no one whom I love, so the point is
moot. Without love, I don’t need to learn to rely on that emotion.” She stood, distancing herself from him.
“And if I asked you to marry me, would you learn to love and have faith in me again?”
This conversation was not happening, and Isolde’s mind whirred with thoughts as to how to escape. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Depends on your answer.”
Nerves assailed her at the thought of Merrick being her husband. The sensations he’d always been able to raise in her were unlike anything she’d ever known, but did he mean it? And more importantly, did she want him to mean it? “My family would never allow me to marry you. Not after everything that’s happened between us.”
“Blast your family and Society. What do you want? Think ahead to when you’re alone, married, years from now, and unhappy. With a husband who cares little for your feelings, or those of your children. Will you wish that you’d chosen differently?”
She paced before the fire, unable to think straight. What Merrick said was true. She would hate a marriage of convenience. But up until a few minutes ago, that was all she could see for herself. Merrick had not voiced his desire to marry her, and she’d not allowed herself to dream, to hope that one day they could have the future they both wanted. “You cannot speak to me in such a way.”
He rounded on her, towering over her like a bear before a large morsel of meat. The breath in her lungs expelled, and she fought hard to breathe evenly.
“I want you, Isolde. I’ve wanted you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you at that country dance, and I will want you up to the day that I take my last breath.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked quickly. “Oh, Merrick…” Her mind raced along with her heart. This was too wonderful and dreadful at the same time. How many hours had she lain awake at night, wishing he would visit her? Wishing she had stayed and fought Leonora for his hand. Wishing she had listened to his excuse that she’d come to believe as truth.
“If you do not marry me, I want you to go into whatever alliance you choose with your eyes open, because once you’re married, it is forever, Isolde. As I had to face, and accept, only too well.”