An Extraordinary Lord

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by Anna Harrington


  This was an opportunity she fully planned on seizing. Because she was just as fine as they were, just as deserving of Merritt’s attentions.

  Her soul ached to be part of his world with a longing she’d never felt before. It should have been hers…the glamour and sparkle and magic of nights like this, along with the calm and security that such a privileged life bestowed long after the party ended and the candles were extinguished. After all, she’d been part of this world once, before it was stolen from her.

  Tonight, she might finally have her chance to reclaim the life she’d been meant to have. Perhaps.

  Hope blossomed in her chest as she hurried from the retiring room. When she entered the ballroom, she stopped to catch her breath and cast a searching glance around the crowded room for Merritt. Her pulse spiked when her eyes landed on him as he stood so casually yet confidently at the side of the room, talking and laughing with his friends.

  With a slow smile, she whispered to herself, “Mrs. Fitzherbert.”

  But then the crowd parted. The moment lasted only a heartbeat but long enough for her to gain a good look at the people standing with him. A duke and an earl, a duchess and a countess, a High Court judge, distinguished society gentlemen and beautiful ladies…surrounding a man who was both a baron and King’s Counsel. All of them distinguished and regal, all of them possessing power and status.

  None of them like her.

  An invisible fist crushed her chest, and all hope squeezed out through its fingers. Perhaps…not.

  Oh, what a fool she was to think she could ever be one of them! Madame Noir was right. She didn’t belong here. The door to this world had shut to her over a decade ago and would never reopen. No matter how finely she dressed, no matter how many lessons she subjected herself to, she was still an outcast. And now always would be.

  Merritt looked up and caught her staring. When he smiled at her across the room, the realization of all she could never have sliced into her like a blade.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It took every ounce of strength she had to simply stand there and return his stare without breaking into tears.

  His smile slowly faded into a frown. He knew something was wrong, she could read his concern on his brow, yet he didn’t have any notion of the truth. And she fully intended to keep it that way. To see his look of disbelief that she would even consider a future in his world, to hear him laugh at her—worse, to see his pity for her… Dear God, it would end her!

  She sucked in a deep, ragged breath and willed herself to be strong. The night was at an end, as was their mission now that she knew who was in the carriage with Smathers. Only a few minutes longer to endure. Then it would all be over, and she’d go back to doing what she’d always done before—whatever it took to survive.

  He excused himself from his friends and made his way through the crowd to her. His concerned frown deepened with every step.

  “Veronica, are you all right?”

  When he reached for her elbow, she moved away. She couldn’t have borne his touch!

  He dropped his hand to his side. “What’s wrong?”

  “I know who was in the carriage,” she answered instead, gladly steering his attention away from her and onto their mission. “Malmesbury’s mistress.”

  “A mistress?” Incredulity colored his voice.

  “She has access to a carriage bearing the earl’s crest.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” she bit out angrily, clinging to the sliver of pride she still possessed. “I’m very good at gathering information. Do not doubt that.”

  He stiffened at the unexpected change in her. But what did she care if she’d offended him? He was lost to her.

  “I’m not doubting you. I know exactly what you’re capable of.” The narrowed look he sent her was a reminder of all he knew about her—rather, all he thought he knew. He didn’t know half the truth! “But why would a mistress want to start riots, and where would she find the money to pay the men?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a hoarse whisper, trembling as shivers sailed over her skin. Being this close to him was unbearable, and she needed to leave. Now. “And I don’t care. I’ve done what you’ve asked of me. My role in this is over.”

  She hurried away as quickly as she could through the crush of bodies, out of the ballroom and into the circuit of reception rooms that had seemed so magical to her before. Now she recognized them as nothing but hollow fantasy, and they closed in around her until she struggled to breathe.

  Desperate for air and heedless of where she was going, she accidentally smacked into a man’s shoulder. She staggered back, mumbled an apology—

  “Veronica.” Merritt grasped her elbow from behind to steady her. His mouth lowered to her ear, and she shook from the concern that filled his deep voice. “What is wrong?”

  She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him. “I’m—I’m—” she stuttered. Her mind whirled to latch on to any excuse to flee. “I’m not feeling well.”

  “Did something go wrong with Lady Malmesbury?”

  More than he’d ever know! Yet she shook her head and lied. “No. I just—I don’t feel well suddenly.” From the way she trembled uncontrollably and the pallor that surely gripped her face, he had no reason to doubt that. “The noise and heat, all the people… I need to leave.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll escort you home.”

  She bit back a laugh. Home? She had no home! Not a real one. Fate had taken that from her, too. “I can make my own way.”

  Yet the frustrating man didn’t leave her side, keeping his firm hold on her arm and his other hand at the small of her back as he guided her through the party toward the front entrance. “Then I’ll make certain you make your own way safely.”

  They reached the entrance hall, and he requested her wrap from the footman, who hurried away to fetch it. An eternity passed until the man returned with the beautiful length of fur and velvet, an eternity in which Merritt stared at her with troubled concern and unwittingly grew the ball of pain that twisted like gnarled metal inside her belly.

  When he took the wrap from the footman and placed it over her shoulders himself, she nearly burst out of her skin.

  “I don’t need an escort,” she shot sideways to him as he persisted in following her outside into the night and down the wide front steps. Oh, why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

  He kept pace with her as she practically ran alongside the line of waiting carriages, out of the courtyard, and into the avenue. “Dressed as you are tonight, yes, you certainly do.”

  “It’s just a dress. I’m the same person beneath it as I’ve always been. The same woman who wears leather and steel to patrol the streets.” The truth of that stung. You can take the girl out of Saffron Hill…

  “Only if you’ve got a sword hidden up your skirt,” he drawled.

  “Wouldn’t you like to find out?” she grumbled.

  “Wondering about that did make waltzing with you very intriguing.”

  With a frustrated cry, she halted on the footpath just past the wrought iron fence and stared at the seemingly endless line of carriages that snaked out of the courtyard and spilled into all the surrounding streets. Her exasperation boiled over. How was she supposed to find a hackney amid all these? And for heaven’s mercy, why wouldn’t Merritt leave her alone?

  She wheeled on him as her anguish bubbled to the surface. “You have to let me go—please.” Her voice choked in a plea for understanding. “I don’t belong here.”

  In the darkness, she couldn’t read the emotions that flicked across his face. Thank God. This would be the last time she would ever see him, and she didn’t want her last memory of him to be colored by his pity for her.

  “Veronica,” he whispered and reached to touch her cheek. “What is—”

  “Major Rivers!
” A booming voice rang out.

  Merritt spun around to place himself in front of her, and his hand dove to his sleeve and the knife he kept there. But that protective gesture only clawed anguish deeper into her heart.

  A large man swaggered down the footpath toward them. As he emerged from the shadows, Veronica saw his blood-red uniform and the glint of medals on his chest.

  “You are Major Rivers, correct?” the soldier pressed. “Haven’t seen you in two years.”

  Merritt relaxed slightly, yet his concern for her remained and was evident in the glance he sent her over his shoulder before greeting the man. “Yes, General, it is.” He held out his hand and corrected, “Or it was. I sold my commission after Waterloo.”

  The man slapped Merritt on the shoulder as he shook his hand. “A great loss to the British army.”

  “A great loss to the French, I’m afraid,” Merritt drawled.

  The teasing self-deprecation earned him a laugh from the general, but Veronica knew Merritt well enough to recognize that his joking was forced. Something about the way he’d tensed, how his expression hardened… Merritt did not like this man.

  He stepped back to take Veronica’s arm and bring her to his side. “General, may I introduce you to Miss Veronica Chase? Miss Chase—” He paused. Only a heartbeat’s hesitation, but she noticed. “Major-General Horatio Liggett.”

  Liggett clicked his heels in exaggerated formality, then gave her a shallow bow and a wide smile. The man was certainly in a good mood, and he hadn’t yet reached the party. “Miss Chase, a pleasure.”

  “General.” As she dropped into a curtsy, she took a sideways glance at Merritt. Based on his expression, not a pleasure at all. And no longer any of her concern. Her heart still begged to flee and put this night behind her. “If you two will excuse me, I’ll just go—”

  “Stay,” Merritt whispered into her ear. He tightened his hold on her arm and refused to let her leave.

  Liggett smiled politely at Veronica, and she forced one in return so he wouldn’t see her distress. But she couldn’t stop the shiver that swept visibly over her. He was just another guest of the regent’s, just another of the many important and powerful men who would crowd into Carlton House tonight, yet an inexplicable chill swirled down her spine at meeting him.

  Merritt dragged the general’s attention away from her by asking, “So you’re attending tonight’s party?”

  “Not of my own choice. Damnable royal affairs,” Liggett grumbled as he nodded toward the palace. “But every field marshal, the War Secretary, and even Wellington himself are all here tonight. If I want my orders, it seems I have to mix business with pleasure.”

  “What orders would those be?” Merritt forced out a good-natured ease that belied his tension. “Last time I checked, we’d won the wars.”

  “And now we must win the peace.” The general glanced across the courtyard at Carlton House, all ablaze with light and pulsating with music and laughter. His smile never changed, but Veronica sensed the same tension in him that radiated from Merritt. “And regain the faith and trust of all Englishmen by showing strength and resolve, not frivolity, wastefulness, and weakness.”

  “How do we do that exactly?” Merritt asked.

  “We begin by putting down the riots.”

  He squeezed her elbow in a silent signal. This was why he’d wanted her to stay.

  “Those are my orders,” Liggett explained. “I’ve been brought in to stop them before more damage is done.”

  “So why aren’t you out tonight? Good weather for a riot, I would think…not that I know about those things.”

  Veronica fought to keep from rolling her eyes—and kept looking for any opportunity for escape. Military matters were none of her concern. Not anymore.

  “There won’t be a riot tonight,” Liggett assured him.

  “You’re awfully certain.”

  “I’m awfully good when it comes to matters of civil unrest. Soldiers will be positioned to stop the next mob when it takes to the streets.” He smiled smugly, as if the potential for lost lives was of no concern. “And I’ll be there to lead them.”

  “With restraint, I hope.”

  “With necessary force. I have the authorization to use all resources at my disposal.” He glanced at Carlton House with disdain. “While the regent has been wringing his hands over the Riot Act and been afraid to engage the rioters, Whitehall has been as decisive as I have. Mark my words, these riots will be stopped, and Londoners will once again feel safe in their homes and on their streets.”

  “How safe will the rioters feel to have their own countrymen firing upon them?” Merritt challenged quietly. “There will surely be innocents among the crowd who are there only to have their voices heard.”

  The general’s face turned hard. “There are other ways of being heard. Any innocents among the crowd know the crimes they’re committing by taking part, just as they know the consequences.”

  “I hope you’re right, General.” But Merritt’s voice lacked all conviction.

  “I will be proven right.” Liggett dismissed the conversation with a nod and a stilted bow to Veronica. “Miss Chase, it was indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

  “And you, sir.” Her eyes fell onto an unusual piece pinned to the general’s chest, one crafted of metalwork and enamel that was half-hidden among his other medals. It was a pin in the shape of a key that she couldn’t remember seeing on any other British officer she’d ever come across, and God knew she’d come across plenty during the wars. “That’s a very interesting medal you have there—that key.”

  “This?” He glanced down at his chest and flicked it dismissively. “Just a symbolic piece.”

  “And what does it symbolize?”

  “The keys to the kingdom.” His smile faded, and he pulled at his gloves to bring them into place on his wrists. “My apologies, Rivers. I just learned about Miss Gordon. Damnable shame, that.” He shook his head. “Damnable shame.”

  Merritt froze. Not one muscle moved, not even to breathe. He’d turned to stone.

  “She was a fine woman with a bright future,” Liggett continued. “How terrible that you weren’t able to protect her.”

  Merritt lunged. His left hand went around the general’s throat as he shoved the man backward against the wrought iron fence. He pinned Liggett there while his other hand drew back into a fist. He slammed it into Liggett’s face, again and again—

  “Merritt, no!”

  Veronica grabbed his arm as he pulled back for another furious punch despite the blood that already oozed from the general’s mouth. Merritt wrenched his arm to shake her off, but she refused to let go. Instead, she shoved herself between the two men, physically stopping him with her body.

  He paused to gulp down great lungfuls of air and stared at her blankly in his fury, as if he didn’t recognize her.

  She pushed him back several steps to give Liggett room to slip away from the iron bars. Her hands grasped Merritt’s arms to hold him back. His tightly clenched fists and the rippling hardness of the muscles beneath his jacket terrified her. He was more than capable of killing the general with his bare hands if she hadn’t stopped him.

  “You’ll regret that,” Liggett promised. He scooped up his hat from the ground where it had fallen and wiped the blood from his mouth onto a handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket.

  The rage cleared from Merritt’s eyes, if not the darkness that still gripped his face and kept every muscle in his body taut and ready to spring. His fists remained clenched as he spat out, “Doubtful.”

  Liggett jabbed a finger at Veronica. “Keep him under control, or I’ll call for someone who can.”

  “Yes, General,” she agreed quickly. Her hands tightened on Merritt’s shoulders to keep him from doing something even more stupid, like attacking Liggett a second time as he walked away.

 
When the general was safely surrounded by the crowd at the front door, Veronica’s gaze darted to Merritt. He stood as still as a statue and watched Liggett’s back until he disappeared up the steps and into the house. His breath came forced and agitated, every inch of him metal-stiff. Blood had splattered across his waistcoat and breeches, and it gruesomely matched the ruby pin in his cravat.

  “Merritt.” Confusion spilled through her. “What on God’s earth…”

  When he didn’t look at her, still lost in whatever dark thoughts were swirling inside his head, she reached up to cup his cheek against her palm.

  He flinched at her touch and looked down at her. A murderous rage simmered in him that she’d never seen before.

  She knew it had nothing to do with the riots. “Who is Miss Gordon?”

  He stared at her for a long, terrible moment in which her troubled heart pounded off the passing seconds. Then he answered quietly, guilt thick in his voice, “My fiancée.”

  An electric shock jolted through her, followed immediately by a strike of jealousy so hot that she winced. He was…engaged?

  “I—I don’t understand,” she breathed out, in her shock unable to speak any louder. Her hand trembled with confusion as she reached up to touch the earrings he’d given her. “Then why isn’t she here tonight? Why didn’t Claudia mention her?”

  He looked away as the answer tore from him. “Because she’s dead.”

  Sixteen

  With a fierce groan, Merritt swung the sword with all his might and sliced it into the sawdust dummy in the Armory’s training room. He pulled back the blade and swung again. Pain shot up his exhausted arm and landed in his chest from straining the tight muscles all along the right side of his body. He welcomed the pain. Craved it.

  Deserved it.

  The now dull blade lodged deep in the dummy, slicing through the leather casing and sawdust fill to stick into the wooden post in the very center. Panting hard from the past hour’s exertion, he wrenched the blade to twist it loose, then stepped back to do it again. And again. And again…and would keep attacking until he’d purged all the burning anger and churning emotions inside him.

 

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