The Impostors: Complete Collection

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  She came to Glen Abbey Manor hoping to find proof. As yet, she’d found little more than a meddlesome steward who never seemed to sleep. What Chloe couldn’t determine was whether the steward was merely watchful of his mistress or whether he was a minion of Lord Lindale’s. In either case, the two seemed eternally at daggers drawn.

  She knocked again, calling out to Lindale impatiently. When there was no answer, she opened his door to find the room empty. The disheveled state of his quarters startled her. The bedsheets were strewn across the floor, as though they’d been wrenched in a hurry from the bed. The entire room was in shambles, with clothes tossed everywhere and the wardrobe open wide… as though someone had been searching. It brought back memories of that terrible afternoon and set her teeth on edge.

  But why would Lord Lindale feel the need to rifle through his own belongings? If there was one thing she knew about the man, it was that he was meticulous. Like a miser guarding his hoard, he knew where everything was at every moment.

  Preoccupied with those thoughts, she turned to go, and her heart leaped a little to find him standing right behind her, watching. Her hand flew to her breast. She hadn’t even heard him enter. “What are you doing here?”

  He glowered at her and said very pointedly, “This is my room, is it not?”

  Why did the quip seem more an inquiry than his usual sarcasm? Chloe furrowed her brow. “Of course,” she answered. “I was… I mean to say, I didn’t see you when I came in.”

  “I was out.”

  Something about his gaze was even darker, far more menacing than ever before. In fact, his demeanor seemed entirely different today. He’d donned familiar garments, but somehow he seemed to be wearing them differently—perhaps more elegantly and less… vainly.

  “Where is my mother?” he asked, his tone hard.

  “In the garden,” Chloe replied. “Is something wrong?”

  * * *

  Merrick clenched his jaw.

  Every bloody thing was wrong.

  A fury of emotions warred within him. This might not be his life he was faced with, but neither was the one he’d left behind. As he’d watched her survey the disheveled room, it occurred to him that his entire life had been a lie.

  She was watching him warily, as though she sensed a difference in him. Well, he was different. It would behoove him to let her think the bump on his head caused him a lapse in memory. He still hadn’t the first notion what his little shrew’s name was, much less her relation to him. But one thing was certain: judging by the way she’d explored his body whilst he’d slept, she wasn’t his sister. That conclusion filled him with a strange sense of relief.

  She was, in truth, the most appealing woman he’d ever met. But he didn’t know whether it was the natural bloom in those high cheeks that intrigued him, or those eyes that seemed to veil deep, earthy secrets. She was nothing at all like the coy debutantes he’d encountered in London. In fact, she was nothing like anyone he’d ever met. She had color in her face like a commoner unafraid of the sun’s sweet kiss, but she was genteel and carried herself as regally as a princess.

  Who was she?

  The question plagued him.

  “I was perusing the gallery,” Merrick said carefully, watching her expressions. “Was your portrait never commissioned?”

  She cocked her head, clearly bemused by his question. “Why should mine have been commissioned?”

  Determined to discover their relation, he took a step toward her.

  She took a step backward. “Are you feeling quite all right?” she asked.

  He followed her again. “Quite,” he reassured.

  Her eyes narrowed, head tilted, she retreated yet another step and found her back against the dresser.

  Merrick moved to trap her between his arms, leaning into the dresser and looking directly into her beautiful brown eyes. There was no fear there, he realized, only confusion. Her back was straight, and her chin tipped slightly upward—in defiance?

  “My lord! What is it you think you are doing?” she asked, her tone full of reproach.

  Merrick hadn’t the patience for banter. He wished to know what he wished to know. Right now. He gave her no warning of his intentions. He bent to take her mouth in a foraging kiss that made his loins swell with desire.

  * * *

  The advance took Chloe completely by surprise.

  Lord Lindale’s mouth possessed hers, his tongue slipping through the barrier of her lips, tasting with furious abandon. For an instant she could scarcely think to react. Her knees buckled in response and he caught her in his arms, holding her steady for his kiss.

  It was fierce and forceful. He took his pleasure as he pleased. But Chloe was not his for the taking! He might have plundered everything else she’d owned, but he wasn’t going to take from her the one-and-only thing she had left of value: her reputation. Regaining her senses, she shoved him away.

  He went easily, withdrawing, the back of his hand sliding to his mouth, and she thought perhaps he might be disgusted by the kiss. Somehow, it added insult to injury.

  But now he appeared to be studying her. “When was the last time I tasted that beautiful mouth?”

  For an instant Chloe could only stare, dumbfounded by the question, her mouth hot and bruised from the unexpected advance. She lifted her fingers to ease the sting, her mind numb with the question. It was crude and entirely too personal, not to mention daft, as he’d never dared to kiss her once. And yet, the way he phrased it… the look in his eyes… made her belly quiver and her body respond in ways that confused her as well.

  “How… how dare you,” she managed, her lips trembling. The bump on his head must have addled his lewd little brain, she decided. “No man has ever dared treat me so basely!”

  He had the audacity to smile at that.

  “My lord, I was employed to nurse your mother!” she reminded him. “Not to be abused by her intemperate son.” His lips curved into a slow smile that infuriated her. “If you ever do that again—”

  “Are you threatening me, flower?”

  She felt her face flame. “Don’t you ever call me that again!” She knew her tone was out of line, but, for once, he must be held accountable!

  “Or you’ll do what?”

  “I will call you out!” she said, and meant it. “I truly will!” she added, when he gave her a dubious look. And having said it, she turned and marched from the room, hurrying away while she still had a coherent thought left in her head.

  Zounds! She had always known he was a cad, but his advance was hardly what she had expected. Perhaps he was far more dangerous than she’d perceived?

  It was certainly time to rethink her presence here.

  Chapter 5

  In no way would Merrick have normally dared such an advance, but he’d truly believed she must be his wife. That was no excuse, perhaps, but there was no denying it; her reaction to his kiss pleased him immensely. The realization that his brother had never kissed her filled him with no small measure of relief. In fact, it was evident that no man before him had ever touched those soft, sweet, sensuous lips. That knowledge filled him with primal satisfaction.

  He smiled to himself over the way she’d clung to him while he’d explored the delicious depths of her mouth. He could still feel every curve of her body pressing against his own, still taste the sweetness of her lips.

  She’d threatened to call him out. The very idea turned his smile into a grin. Damn, but she was a fiery vixen. There wasn’t a woman in all of Meridian—or London, for that matter—who intrigued him more. His grin widened as he thought of Ian in London. He’d like to see how his brother was faring in his shoes amidst the hordes of eager debutantes. Unless Ian revealed himself at once, he was bound to be immediately inundated by the wearisome social schedule Merrick had managed, by the skin of his teeth, to escape.

  But some things could not be avoided.

  He made his way into the garden, his gut churning over the thought of facing his birth mother.
He would need to reveal himself soon; better that it should be on his own terms.

  Would she suspect?

  Would she recognize him?

  Or, like everyone else he’d met, would she be blind to their differences?

  The garden was Fiona’s sanctuary.

  No one could possibly comprehend what this place meant to her. It reminded her of things that were impossible to forget.

  The roses she’d planted were the same ones as those that once crept outside her bedroom window in Meridian. Only here they barely bloomed, despite that she lovingly coaxed them. When, by chance, a blossom emerged, she cherished its rare crimson beauty.

  Along the garden pathways, in stark contrast to the deep green rose vines, grew primrose, gayfeather and bright-colored lilies.

  At times, such as this morning, whilst she’d looked over Ian as he’d slept, she felt acutely the pain of her loss. And yet… she could not quite regret the past entirely, for Ian had grown into such a remarkable man. And Merrick… she knew he would want for naught. Julian would give him all his heart’s desires. Still, so many questions plagued her.

  Julian, she knew, would never allow her to risk Merrick’s succession to Meridian’s throne. He’d threatened her quite implicitly throughout the years, warning her to keep her distance.

  But, in truth, he’d never quite released her from his prison, only widened the perimeter of her cell.

  Truly, Edward was nothing more than her turnkey. After all, Julian was a selfish, conniving, lying, controlling devil of a man who did not want her, but neither did he wish for anyone else to have her. He’d stolen her life, her child and her freedom. Not for one instant had she had the least control over Glen Abbey Manor. After her father’s death, Julian retained the property “for her own good and that of his son’s.”

  And yet the years had not been merciful enough to erase the memory of his affections or the pleasures of his touch. After all this time, those memories could still ravage her heart.

  By God, whoever said love and hate were opposites knew not of what they spoke. Fiona loved Julian and despised him at the same time. What she truly wished was that she could simply cease to care.

  Noting a particularly healthy section of rose vine, she reached out to better examine what looked to be the promise of a bud. The sight of it gave her heart a little leap of joy. She reached for it, but the bud eluded her, and she eyed the chair with no small measure of disgust. The contraption might be a godsend to those who required it, but for Fiona it was a sentence—another reminder of all her many deceptions—one more horrid lie atop all the rest.

  Casting a glance about to make certain no one was watching, she lifted herself ever so slightly from the chair to snatch at the bud.

  * * *

  “Hello, Mother.”

  The stem pricked her finger, drawing blood. Startled, Fiona gasped. “Ian!” she exclaimed.

  Whatever it was that Merrick had come to say, the words stuck in his throat.

  She looked so much like the portrait his father had secreted away in his drawer—a little frailer, perhaps, a few more lines on her face, but nevertheless the same.

  Her cheeks were tinted red. “What are you doing out of bed—you must rest!”

  He longed to ask her what she was doing in that bloody chair if, in fact, she could walk, but he feared his voice would betray him. “I am fine,” he said.

  She gave him a dubious look. “You always did think yourself invincible. How long have you been standing there?” she asked, averting her gaze as she examined the prick of blood on her finger.

  Long enough to see what she obviously hadn’t wished for him to see. “Only a moment.”

  “I see,” she said, and pointed to the bench. “Come. Sit a spell and talk with me.”

  Merrick did as she bade him, uncertain what to say or how to proceed. He sat silently on the bench beside her, regarding his mother for the first time in his life.

  It seemed she had her own speech prepared. “I was desperately afraid you would leave me,” she said, her voice soft, breaking. Tears clouded her clear blue eyes.

  Merrick couldn’t feel compassion. In truth, she’d left him long ago. He clenched his jaw, refusing even a sliver of emotion to enter his heart.

  “I feared I would never be able to apologize to you for our disagreement last night,” she continued. “I do hope you’ll understand, Ian, why I cannot give you access to those accounts.”

  Accounts?

  She had refused Ian access to the accounts? His gaze narrowed. “Explain… again,” he demanded.

  She shifted her gaze once more, staring at the tiny prick on the pad of her thumb, blinking away tears. “I cannot,” she said, and turned her pale blue gaze upon him. “And, what’s more, I must ask you to please leave Edward be. Do not question him further.”

  “Edward.” Merrick repeated the name, making a mental note. His first task, he determined, was to discover who was Edward and what information he wasn’t supposed to try to glean from the man.

  “Someday… after I am gone, you may pursue this matter to your heart’s content, but until that day, you must promise to respect my decision.” Her tone was firmer now, and she turned her self-composed gaze upon him.

  It was obvious the woman had a caring heart. He didn’t sense anything cold or calculating in her gaze, but, clearly, her secrets didn’t end with Merrick.

  So, why was she in that chair? And what was it she didn’t wish her son to discover? And why, in God’s good heaven, had she abandoned her child? He had so many questions; none came readily to his lips.

  Mulling the situation over, he realized that if he revealed himself now, it would deprive him of the opportunity to know her as his brother knew her. Moreover, if he came forward, he would be forced to reveal Ian’s criminal secret, as well. Still, he didn’t know how long he could keep up the charade. He might look like his brother, but he wasn’t Ian. And his own world was miles apart from this one. There was nothing about this place or this life that was familiar to hm.

  “Ahem,” came a voice behind him. Merrick turned, following Fiona’s gaze.

  His mother’s brow arched… a perfect imitation of his own mannerism, but no, not an imitation, because they had never before met. The affectation was somehow innate. “Yes, Edward?” she said tersely, addressing the man who stood behind Merrick.

  At least he didn’t need to go far to answer the first of his questions. Merrick studied Edward. Dressed in servant’s livery, there was an air about him that didn’t quite fit his station. Edward gave Merrick an accusatory glance and announced, “Miss Simon seems to be taking her leave.”

  His mother’s voice was full of concern. “What do you mean, taking her leave?”

  Merrick knew instinctively who they were speaking of. Simon must be her surname.

  Edward gave Merrick a pointed glance. “She claims she cannot remain another moment under the same roof as Lord Lindale. She is quite sorry, madame, but feels she must seek new employment.”

  “Oh, Ian!” Fiona exclaimed, turning her attention toward Merrick. “What have you done now?” She shook her head with unreserved despair.

  Merrick lifted a brow, wondering: What else had Ian done to Miss Simon?

  “Why must you bait her incessantly?” his mother rebuked. “If you do not like Chloe, simply ignore her!”

  So, his mystery woman had a name: Chloe. Chloe Simon. How the devil could Ian not like Chloe? It seemed to Merrick that he and his brother had much in common, but this inclination was not one of them. Not only did he like Chloe…he wanted Chloe.

  “Good lord! I must insist you speak to her at once,” his mother said. “I cannot manage here without her!” She sounded on the verge of hysteria.

  Merrick was quite unaccustomed to demands. He’d never heard them from his father, certainly, he didn’t anticipate them from the woman seated before him. There were so many questions left unanswered. He wanted—needed—to know more, but the truth was that he didn�
��t want Miss Simon to leave any more than his mother apparently did.

  Sighing without the least bit of feigned annoyance, he stood and faced Edward.

  There was an unmistakable note of smugness in the man’s expression. What had his mother said? That he must not pursue inquiries with Edward? What answers had his brother been seeking from Edward to no avail?

  He met Edward’s gaze squarely and held it, warning the man without words to stay clear of him.

  “Don’t worry, Mother.” The word sounded awkward upon his lips. “I’ll go speak to her,” he said, his eyes still fixed upon the steward as he walked away.

  “For the love of God, Ian,” his mother called after him. “Whatever you do, don’t make matters worse!”

  Chapter 6

  The instant the carriage was brought about, Chloe intended to be rid of this infernal place once and for all. In desperation, she’d accepted this position, hoping to recover the deed to their home, but that seemed an impossible task under Edward’s endless scrutiny. At any rate, they probably burned the evidence long ago. In light of this fact, she certainly didn’t have to suffer the advances of a man she thoroughly loathed, nor was she about to allow her growing affection for Lady Fiona to keep her shackled to this house. Surely, Lady Fiona would find someone else to attend her. And she… well, she would make do.

  Chloe’s father had been a noteworthy physician, trusted and adored. He’d delivered nearly every bairn born in Glen Abbey during the past thirty years. She was quite certain the townsfolk would continue to seek her services. Her only dilemma was that very few could afford to pay her, and she hadn’t any residence from which to conduct her business.