It was Edward who’d nearly stumbled upon them; she could tell by the prudish gait of his footsteps. He lit a lamp at the desk and sat down, Chloe assumed. She heard the chair scrape backward and then the sound of a drawer opening. Next, she heard the scrape of a pen. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed their presence. She prayed the curtain would still completely, lest they be discovered—but why Lord Lindale should fear discovery, Chloe hadn’t the first inkling.
Something wasn’t right….
* * *
Still contemplating the document in his pocket, Merrick listened while Edward fiddled about in the room.
It didn’t make sense; if Ian and Rusty were bedfellows, why would his brother oust the man from his home? He remembered the chap’s admiration and devotion and felt gobsmacked by the notion.
His gut told him that Ian hadn’t the first clue… or, if he did, he hadn’t any control over the situation… which only validated his suspicions that their father retained control of this estate.
But he couldn’t think now…
He drew Chloe gently against him, knowing full well that she wouldn’t dare reveal them. Her back pressing against him, the gentle curves of her body teased him. The scent of her intoxicated him, muddling his thoughts. It was all he could do not to sweep aside the curls of her hair to brush his lips against the soft curve of her nape. Jesus wept, he didn’t want to scare her into bolting, or he’d have done precisely that.
It was torment—to be so near her and yet so far. His loins reacted at once, hardening.
What could she have been searching for?
At the desk, he heard the sound of a pen scratching over paper and then the jingling of keys. A cabinet opened, then closed. And then, again, the jingling of keys as the cabinet was locked once more. The lamp went out and the door closed.
They were alone again.
“Shhhh,” he said. “He might not yet be gone.”
“Why did you not reveal me?” Chloe asked, sounding breathless.
Merrick was having trouble getting air into his lungs, as well. “I had my reasons.”
She pressed him. “I don’t understand. Why should it concern you if Edward were to discover you here? This is your home.”
Merrick suspected otherwise. Who did the steward report to? How much autonomy did he have? He wanted a look at those ledgers.
“Tell me, my lord,” she persisted. “Why would you hide?”
“Because…” Merrick inhaled the scent of her sweet skin and tried not to lose track of his thoughts. He gave her as much truth as he dared. “I believe Edward is embezzling. I am looking for proof. And you, Miss Simon…” He brushed a finger along the soft underside of her chin, almost caressing. “What are you really doing here?”
“I told you…” Her impertinence returned and she shrugged free of him. “You can release me now, my lord. We are quite alone!”
Merrick did as she asked and smiled tightly as she boxed her way out of the draperies. He followed her out.
Facing him now as he emerged, her shoulders squared, her chin tipped defiantly. He could barely see her face in the shadows, but it was impossible to miss the challenge in her glittering eyes. “If you do not believe me, I can still tender my resignation.”
It was a bluff, Merrick knew, but one he wasn’t about to call. The last thing he wished was to see her go. He needed her. “That won’t be necessary,” he assured.
“Very well, then. If that will be all, my lord, I believe I shall retire, at last.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her fortitude. Never in his life had anyone dared speak to him so cheekily. “Don’t trip over any intruders on the way,” he taunted.
But she’d already turned to go before the last words were out of his mouth. “Do not fret, my lord. Next time, I shall be certain to hand over the keys to the silver, as well!”
Fiona contemplated Edward’s disappearance the prior evening. “The color in your legs is good today,” Chloe said, interrupting her reverie.
She gave Fiona a questioning glance—or at least, it seemed to be a question. At times Fiona was certain Chloe must realize she was lying. She averted her gaze and Chloe returned to the task of massaging her legs.
Guilt gnawed at her.
Every day the lies grew in weight. This morning the burden was entirely unbearable. One lie conceived another and yet another. Of late, she could scarcely even look at her own son, for all the deception.
What sort of mother did that make her?
She was utterly torn.
Indeed, she had the power to change their circumstances, but if she told Ian the truth, she risked losing her son. And there was no guarantee Julian would give him the same treatment he’d given Merrick. After all these years, she didn’t know Julian anymore, and his father was bound to dismiss him entirely.
Nor, in truth, did she wish to risk Merrick’s inheritance. She knew Julian had gone to great lengths to ensure his bloodline was never questioned. But, for the first time Fiona paused to consider the woman Julian had wed in her place. In all these years, she hadn’t dared, because anger had been her ally. God forgive her, but she hadn’t wished to like or feel sorry for Julian’s wife. And yet, what must it feel like to have someone else’s child foisted upon you? To know he would inherit over your own blood? Did it make her bitter? Sad?
Fiona knew Julian’s wife never conceived. Had he married her in name only, keeping her at length? Or was it she who rebuffed Julian?
Truly, she didn’t wish to say he deserved it. No matter how much Julian had hurt her, no one deserved to suffer their entire lives. She only prayed Merrick had not suffered the wrath of a scorned wife.
Sighing deeply, Fiona stared at the hands so gently working her legs till they blurred through the mist in her tears.
Chloe, too, seemed lost in her own reverie. This morning, Fiona was heartily grateful for the silence.
But, once again, she considered the young woman standing before her. Chloe wasn’t a member of the haute ton by any means, but if her son could chance to win her heart, it would remain true to him forevermore. That was all Fiona’s father had ever truly wished for her—a good man to cherish her. That’s what she wanted for her son.
Having lived on both sides of the proverbial fence, she understood the value of love versus money. In the end, money didn’t keep one warm at night, nor did a title put food upon one’s table.
Yes, it was true. Once upon a time, she had dreamt of wedding a prince and living in splendor. Now she realized that too often values were misplaced for the love of money. From the day Ian came into the world, she’d wanted nothing more than for him to be happy.
And he’d been such a contented babe.
As a boy, he’d lost some of his joie de vivre.
As a man, he was hardly ever content.
Her son was, unfortunately, somewhat of a crusader. He seemed to feel it his lot in life to better the lives of others. That in itself wasn’t particularly troubling; it was more the way he chose to go about it. His secret life was a mother’s nightmare.
She knew precisely what he was up to—and he knew she knew it, as well, but there was little she could do about it. She’d already tried and failed.
What had begun as a simple fib to draw him out and to ease her suspicions had become a horrible sentence. Not only were her worst fears confirmed, her lies further imprisoned her. And worse, sitting in that devilish contraption all day long was making her an invalid in truth. Some days, she could barely feel any sensation in her legs.
Thank the Lord for Chloe!
“I have been thinking,” Chloe announced as she continued to massage her limbs.
“Yes, dear?”
“There is a treatment I read about in last year’s published lectures—quite experimental, but perhaps it might be worth a thought.”
“What is it?”
“Vital air.”
Fiona furrowed her brow. “Vital air?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Fiona,” she said, and Chloe smiled timidly.
Undeterred, she continued, “There was this man, you see. He was apparently quite weak. As a matter of treatment, his physician put him on a course of vital air. During the time he respired it, he felt a comfortable heat, which distributed itself throughout all his limbs. In mere weeks, his strength increased, and he was able to take short walks. However, this man was in the last stages of consumption, though I must wonder. You see, vital air is nothing more than pure oxygen gas. When exposed to it, plants develop at an increased rate of growth. It would make sense that it somehow promotes growth of healthy tissue within the body, as well—much the same way increased blood flow will do. That’s what I’m doing now with this massage. Alas, I cannot say it is a certain cure. I’m at an end as to how to treat you, my lady.”
“Fiona,” she said again.
Chloe’s expression was full of apology. “Try as I have, I’ve not been able to find and remedy the cause of your…”
“Lameness,” Fiona finished for her. “You may call it what it is, Chloe. Never mince words with me. Tell me, is this treatment terribly exorbitant? Does it hurt?”
“I would have to look into the cost. But it shouldn’t hurt at all. In fact, they say it produces a sensation of agreeable warmth about the region of the chest along with a comfortable sensation throughout the body.”
Fiona sighed. “Very well. Let us consider it, then,” she said. “You’re a godsend, Chloe.”
Chloe averted her gaze. “In truth, you might do better to hire yourself a proper physician,” she suggested.
“Rubbish! I already have a proper physician!” Fiona replied without pause. “And she happens to be quite accomplished. Never suggest such a thing again!”
Fiona understood Chloe must feel inadequate after the loss of Rusty Broun’s child. But Fiona had never met a woman, nor a man, who tried as hard as Chloe. She sighed heavily, wearied as she watched Chloe work in vain.
Poor Chloe, didn’t she realize; there hadn’t been an accident at all? Fiona had taken the carriage out alone with a devilish design. Knowing Ian would follow, she’d run her own carriage off the road and then lain in wait for her son to come along. Like a silly fool, she’d claimed that Hawk had driven her off the road and then tried to rob her—to which Ian was supposed to have confessed that such an incident was quite impossible, because, of course, he was Hawk.
But he hadn’t done any sort of thing.
Instead the wily boy insisted they report the robbery to the constable, and he’d called in the physician to examine Fiona at once. Chloe’s father, of course.
Unfortunately, Fiona hadn’t learned her lesson and her deceptions had only begun. Once her lies began, pride was her downfall. Like a dolt, she’d talked Chloe’s father into covering for her. Alas, Fiona might be able to fool Chloe for a time, but her father had been far too seasoned.
But then… everything went from bad to worse.
To everyone’s utter shock, Chloe’s father’s heart failed him, and Fiona felt responsible for his death—her plotting had most certainly caused him undue stress. And knowing that, without the deed to their land, Chloe wouldn’t be able to remain in their home, Fiona had offered Chloe a position as her nurse. So here she was, eight months later, still sitting in an invalid chair while her son was still risking his life and limb to change the circumstances of others—all because of Fiona’s lies.
But there must be something she could do—if nothing else, at least for Chloe and Ian. While Chloe worked on her legs, Fiona worked on the problem.
Alone in the library, Merrick retrieved the eviction notice from his coat pocket and sat in a chair, contemplating his mother’s involvement.
How much did Fiona know of Edward’s actions?
His gut told him that Ian was as much in the dark as was Merrick. But what of his mother?
Setting his feet atop a stool, he stared at the incriminating document, unable to shake a growing feeling of unease.
The constable called yet again this morn, questioning Merrick about the missing vehicle. Merrick had assured the man that he hadn’t the least notion of what he was speaking, but it hadn’t seemed to assuage the man. No wonder Ian fled with his coach; in the short time Merrick had been literally wearing his shoes, Ian’s life had begun to feel like a chessboard with the king in check.
What he needed right now was to speak with Rusty Broun, only he didn’t know where to reach him.
But Chloe would know.
He smiled at the thought of her.
Saucy wench.
And suddenly he couldn’t wait to see her.
Folding the document, he replaced it within his coat pocket and went to find the delightful but obstinate tenant of his thoughts.
Chapter 8
“Why should you require my assistance?” Chloe asked, incensed that Lord Lindale would involve her in his odious task. “You know very well where everyone in this town lives, my lord. If they don’t pay rents, your agents go knocking.”
“Because I don’t remember,” Lord Lindale replied.
“Oh, but you’ll remember soon enough, I’m certain,” Chloe said, and continued toward the garden to collect Lady Fiona.
How dare he ask her to accompany him to deliver Rusty’s eviction notice! Or, at least, she assumed that was why he was bound there. What other business would Lord Lindale have with that poor man?
“I’m afraid it cannot wait for my memory to return. I need to speak with him today.”
Chloe spun to face him abruptly, her temper rekindling. “Are you so greedy you cannot allow that man time to grieve before ousting him from his home? What sort of monster are you, my lord?”
He seemed, for an instant, without answer to her question, and then he said, “That is not why I wish to see him.”
“Why then?”
He couldn’t seem to answer.
Chloe lifted both brows. “Forgive me if I do not believe you, Lord Lindale, but I can certainly read, and I know what I saw last night.”
“Dammit, woman, has anyone ever told you you’re an impudent wench?”
Chloe inhaled sharply, offended by his rude question. “Well, of course not!”
“Well, you are.”
“And you are greedy, selfish, repugnant, spoiled—”
Chloe gasped in surprise when he took her into his arms suddenly, drawing her against him so tightly that she could barely breathe—not that she could have anyway with his mouth so near to her own.
The look in his eyes was unlike anything she’d ever experienced; hungry in a way no food or drink could satiate.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as he lowered his head, so his mouth was mere inches from her own. God help her, his lips were wickedly tempting. She couldn’t help but remember the taste of him and suddenly crave him; the memory would never be eradicated from her mind, not so long as she lived.
Her voice sounded small even to her own ears. “You aren’t…going to… kiss me… are you?”
* * *
Merrick could barely restrain himself. His tongue craved the taste of her mouth like a drunkard craved whiskey. He longed to savor her entire body… kiss her in places she’d never imagined wanting to be kissed.
He wouldn’t lie. “I was thinking about it.”
Her breath came in a rush. “You promised!”
“That I did,” he acknowledged, his voice hoarse. His lips were suddenly parched. “But I find myself… regretting…”
Damn, but she was beautiful, with those deep, dark eyes…
She gazed at him almost expectantly and he couldn’t decide whether she was afraid of his answer or eager for receive his kiss. “Regretting?”
“That you aren’t my wife,” he said low. “If you were, I’d kiss the impudence straight from those lovely lips.”
* * *
Chloe felt suddenly dizzied by his words. She should, by all accounts, be incensed, but his declaration left her feeling… strangely bereft. Surely she didn
’t long for his kiss?
Lord Lindale was in every way Hawk’s diametrical opposite. How could she want this man in her life?
“It is broad daylight, my lord,” she reminded him, putting her hands against his chest to shove him away. His skin was firm beneath her touch. “You may not give a care about your actions, but I beg you only consider my reputation. Release me at once!”
He grinned a devastating grin—one that nearly disarmed her. “If you will promise to accompany me, I shall do anything you wish.”
Chloe arched a brow. “Anything?”
He nodded, still grinning. In fact, his smile widened. Chloe was certain it hadn’t escaped him that she was, inadvertently, exploring his chest, her fingers dancing over his coat. She swallowed convulsively, stilling her wayward fingers, and she prayed that once he let go of her she wouldn’t crumple into an embarrassing heap at his feet.
“If I join you, you must destroy Rusty’s eviction notice.”
“Done!” he said at once, even joyfully, startling her with the emphatic response. He released her suddenly and pulled the document from his coat pocket, then proceeded to rip it into shreds. And he kept tearing it until there was nothing left but tiny pieces, then he scattered them on the lawn.
“Let’s go for a ride!” he said ardently, and Chloe wondered what it was she had agreed to. He seemed far too agreeable to have destroyed his very reason for visiting Rusty Broun.
So, then, if he didn’t intend to see Rusty in order to evict him, what, then, was his business with the man?
Chloe was still contemplating that very question as they rode together in the coach—Lindale far too gleeful as he sat, peering out the window.
In fact, Chloe suddenly realized how dangerous it was to be in his presence, because he reminded her this instant, not of that greedy, selfish tyrant he was, but a charming young boy on his first outing. He examined things now as though he’d never set eyes upon them before. It was entirely too disturbing.
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 7