Mistress by Midnight

by Nicola Cornick

  “It is Lady Merryn Fenner,” he said.

  He saw the amusement leap into Purchase’s eyes. “Those Fenner girls,” he said. “Born to drive a man to perdition.”

  Garrick paused in the act of refilling his glass. “You, too?” he said. “I did not know.”

  “Lady Joanna,” Purchase said, nodding. “Or Lady Grant as she is now.” He shook his head. “A hopeless case but I have always been attracted to lost causes.”

  “There is another sister,” Garrick pointed out. “Lady Darent.”

  Purchase laughed. “I know. I’ve heard about her. Who hasn’t? Four husbands already.” He tilted his glass to his lips. “Perhaps I should meet her. Or perhaps not if I want to keep my sanity.” His amusement fled. “I’ve met Lady Merryn a couple of times. She is…” He paused. “Unusual.”

  “She’s stubborn as all hell,” Garrick said. “Never gives up.”

  Purchase grimaced. “Family trait.” He raised his brows. “So what is the problem?”

  “Even I am not such a bastard that I would seduce the virgin sister of the man I murdered,” Garrick said.

  Purchase almost choked. “Stephen Fenner,” he said. “I remember hearing about that.” He pulled a face. “I’ll allow that’s a difficult situation.” He paused. “If you want her that much you could always marry her.”

  Garrick looked at him and then looked back at the brandy bottle. “Are you drunk already?” he said. “Lady Merryn would rather become a nun than marry me, or so she tells me.”

  Purchase laughed. “As I said, a difficult situation.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “But not an impossible situation.”

  Garrick looked up. “It is a completely impossible situation for many reasons.”

  Purchase shook his head. His eyes were bright. “No, that’s a challenge in my book, not an impossibility.” He paused. “You must have had your reasons for killing her brother.”

  “I did,” Garrick said. There had been many reasons to rid the earth of Stephen Fenner but he had not killed the man deliberately, in cold blood. Everything had unrolled like a horrible nightmare, too fast to think. The memories of that day swirled back around him, dark, choking. Fenner had betrayed him many times over. He had been such a scoundrel. Yet once they had been close friends. Garrick sighed, draining his brandy glass. He understood all too well the appeal of Stephen Fenner’s friendship. Fenner had helped him to forget his duty as heir to a Dukedom. The drink, the gaming, the women, all those things had been rich and glittering temptations to him, a youth steeped from birth in the obligations of his inheritance. He could hear Fenner’s voice even now.

  “Duty? That’s a damned tedious business, Garrick, old fellow! Time enough for that when your papa is dead and gone…”

  And then they had gone out on the town and he had woken hours later in some female boudoir tied to the bed, his head aching, his balls aching more, and absolutely no idea how he had got there. That sort of experience, for Stephen Fenner, would have been a quiet night.

  “Lady Merryn wants to know the truth about her brother’s death,” he said and felt a clutch of grief and guilt at how disillusioned she would be if she ever knew.

  “Then tell her, Farne,” Purchase said. “She might be shocked but I’ll wager she’ll be strong enough to take it.”

  Garrick ran a hand over his hair. He knew he was drunk. It seemed to give his mind a curious clarity. He wanted to tell Merryn the truth even though he knew it would hurt her profoundly.

  “She was only thirteen when her brother died,” he said slowly. “She hero-worshipped him.”

  Purchase wrinkled up his face expressively. “Even so. She’s not thirteen now. She’s a grown woman. And sometimes…” He looked away. “Sometimes we all have to accept disillusionment.”

  “Yes,” Garrick said. “If it was simply that…” He stopped. Could he trust Merryn when the lives of others were at stake? She was driven by a passionate desire for justice. She burned with the need to tell the truth. That very passion could see him hang and ruin lives a second time. The risk was enormous. Surely he would be a fool even to consider it. Yet the instinct to trust her was so strong.

  “Twelve years ago I gave a promise never to tell,” he said. His father was dead now. Lord Fenner was dead, too. Of the original men who had made that bond only Lord Scott, Kitty’s old, embittered father, remained to hold him to his word and Churchward, of course. The lawyer knew everyone’s secrets.

  “Break the promise,” Purchase said now. “If Lady Merryn is important enough to you, Farne, you will trust her with the truth.”

  “Would you trust a woman who wanted to see you hang?” Garrick asked.

  Purchase laughed and refilled his glass. Some liquid splashed, rich and deep, in the candlelight. “It gives a certain spice to the relationship,” Purchase drawled.

  “I cannot wed again,” Garrick said. “I have—” He stopped.

  I have nothing to offer, least of all to a woman as gallant and bright and brave as Merryn Fenner.

  He had nothing but failure behind him in the marriage stakes, nothing but tarnished honor and the endless duties of being a Duke. Merryn, with her dauntless spirit, deserved better than a man whose soul felt as old and worn as his. She deserved a man who could love her, for a start, not one who had lost the ability to love when he had lost his honor.

  “You’re a damned fool, Farne, if you let her go,” Purchase said, but without heat. “At least I tried to win Joanna—and failed,” he added ruefully. His eye fell on a redheaded girl who had drawn the curtain aside and stepped into the room. He put his glass down slowly.

  “If you will excuse me,” he said.

  Garrick followed his gaze. “Of course.”

  As Purchase went out in response to the redhead’s come-hither smile, the curtain parted again to reveal another figure, tall, austere, long nose twitching with disapproval. Garrick stared. Pointer had come to find him. No doubt the butler, like Owen Purchase, thought he was about to relapse into his old, wicked, rakish ways and forget all about duty and service and obligation.

  If only he could.

  Garrick stood up. The room spun. The butler placed a hand on his arm.

  “What the deuce are you doing here, Pointer?”

  Garrick demanded.

  “Your grace…” The butler was keeping his voice discreetly low. Everyone was looking at them but then, Garrick thought that was hardly surprising. Pointer, in his coat, cane and beaver hat, looked about as out of place as a…well, as a butler in a brothel.

  “Your grace, you have a meeting with the land agent from the Farnecourt estate in precisely—” Pointer checked his watch “—three hours. I did not think you would wish to be late. It concerns the pensions for the widows and orphans and the payments to be made to other staff on your father’s death—”

  “Of course,” Garrick said. “Of course it does. Widows and orphans… Duty calls.”

  A blonde harlot passed them, giving Pointer a luscious smile. The butler blushed.

  “Tempted there for a moment, were you, Pointer?” Garrick said.

  “No, your grace,” the butler said. “I prefer a lady to be more rounded and less angular.” He tucked his cane under his arm and politely held the curtain aside for Garrick to exit. “Mrs. Pond, the housekeeper, and I have an understanding,” he added primly. “We are to wed next year when she retires. I would not like her to hear I had visited a brothel, your grace.”

  “All in the line of duty,” Garrick said, “but she won’t hear it from me, I give you my word.”

  Garrick gave Mrs. Tong a staggering sum of money for the brandy and went out into the night, Pointer trotting along at his side like a bodyguard, or possibly a jailer. He felt tired, his body taut with unsatisfied desire. It had probably been folly to turn down the offer of a few hours’ forgetting in the skillful hands of one of Mrs. Tong’s girls. She would have been able to give him fleeting pleasure and physical release. Bu
t it was Merryn he wanted, not a courtesan. And he did not want an hour or so of anonymous oblivion. Yes, he wanted Merryn in his bed, her body naked and exposed to his gaze and to his touch, her mouth eager and sweet beneath his. But he also wanted her innocence and her passion to illuminate his life. He had lived in the darkness for a very long time.

  He wanted what he could not have.

  Merryn Fenner. He knew instinctively that one way or another she would surely be his undoing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MERRYN CAME OUT of the Royal Institution and shivered in the cold November breeze. The air had lost the last warmth of autumn and was cold today, the sky gray and sharp with an edge of sleet. She had enjoyed Professor Brande’s lecture on the chemical elements very much. It was the type of event that she loved: esoteric, intellectual, peaceful, a far cry from the ballrooms and entertainments of the ton. There were few attendees, just a small group of medical students and a sprinkling of gentlemen with an interest in scientific matters. Humphrey Davy, Brande’s predecessor at the Royal Institution, had been immensely successful and his lectures oversubscribed, but Brande was far dryer and less fashionable. Which was just the way that Merryn liked it. Her academic interests were, as she had told Garrick Farne, a refuge and an escape.

  She did not want to return to Tavistock Street, where Joanna and Tess would either be out calling on their friends or entertaining guests and talking about something idle: the little season parties, the latest fashion in boots, the approach of Christmas. The thought of so much chitchat bored her. Her sisters had tried to take her shopping yesterday—for some reason they thought she needed some new clothes even though her current ones were not worn-out—but the idea of Belgrave House and the Bond Street emporia did not excite her. Instead she had spent the entire previous afternoon sifting through the Fenners estate papers, an exercise that was nostalgic but also practical. She knew it was folly to imagine that Garrick Farne would have overlooked anything remotely incriminating in the papers but she felt she had to look. Naturally enough she had drawn a blank other than to spot a reference to a meeting shortly after Stephen’s death between her father and someone called Lord S and the Duke of F. It had surprised her that Lord Fenner had met with Lord Scott and the late Duke of Farne. She could see no purpose for such a painful meeting at all.

  She took a hackney carriage to Grillons Hotel, an irreproachably respectable place where she had occasionally stayed when Joanna was out of town and wanted somewhere quick and easy from which she could come and go in her work for Tom. She ordered a luncheon of roast beef and watched the guests pass by. There was a clergyman with his wife and three pale, quiet daughters all dressed identically in sober gowns and dark bonnets. There was an elderly lady dripping with jewels who walked with a stick and raised a diamond-encrusted lorgnette to stare at Merryn for a full ten seconds. There were two country gentlemen who talked with their mouths full and drank copious tankards of ale, and there was a small, fair girl, governess or companion, Merryn thought, who looked anxious, as though she was nervous to be out on her own.

  Merryn ate her meal and ignored the curious glances of some of the other diners. She was accustomed to solitude. She preferred it. When her meal was over she went out into the pale afternoon, heading for the booksellers in the Burlington Arcade.

  She was walking back along Bond Street when she saw ahead of her the tall figure of Garrick Farne cutting purposefully through the crowds. He disappeared into a saddlery shop across the street and Merryn paused, watching his reflection in the bow window. She was not quite sure why she was spying on him. Garrick himself was unlikely to lead her to anything that would be useful. He was on his guard against her, determined that she should discover nothing. Yet still she lingered.

  “You must find me utterly fascinating, Lady Merryn,” Garrick’s dry voice said in her ear, “to follow me here and study me so intently.”

  Merryn jumped. The reflection had disappeared, scarcely surprising since Garrick was standing directly beside her, the elegant green superfine of his sleeve brushing hers. He removed his hat and bowed. The wind ruffled the dark red of his hair. An inexplicable shiver shot through Merryn, heating her from the inside out. She looked up into his eyes and met a most sardonic expression. Blushing, she shifted her gaze to his mouth. No, that was worse. She could not look at his lips without remembering his kisses, the warmth and the taste of him, the way in which she had melted inside, soft and sweet and yet burning with such a curious intensity like a scientific experiment she had once witnessed where copper had burned with a blue flame.

  “Oh!” she said, her voice high and false. “I did not see you there, your grace.”

  There was a silence just long enough to emphasize her falsehood and then Garrick smiled. “In that case you must have a particular interest in this shop, to be so intently peering in at the window?”

  “Oh, yes,” Merryn said. “Yes, indeed.”

  She had not actually noticed what sort of shop it was, having been concentrating on watching Garrick’s reflection but now as she turned back to the bow windows she saw it was a milliners. The window was full of jaunty bonnets, ribbons and other accessories. Merryn’s brow cleared. She might have no interest in fashion but she could pretend to one. Except…except that she was observant, and what she was now observing was that the shop was full of men. Which was odd. Unfathomable, almost… Were they buying gifts for their womenfolk, perhaps?

  She saw one of the men follow a shopgirl through a curtain at the back of the room.

  “The ladies are not selling hats,” Garrick said, even more dryly, reading her mind. “They sell themselves, Lady Merryn. The millinery is merely a front.”

  “Oh!” Merryn blushed bright red.

  “First you take to sleeping in other people’s houses,” Garrick said, “then you are almost locked up in the Fleet for debt and now I find you studying the ways of the courtesans. Your financial situation must be parlous indeed if you are considering taking to the streets.” His gaze dwelled on her face, bringing even hotter color into it. “You might do well. But I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “I have no intention of becoming a courtesan,” Merryn snapped. “I was merely—”

  “Using the window as a mirror to watch me. Yes, I realize that.” Garrick smiled at her. “You are following me for a change. How stimulating.”

  Merryn gritted her teeth. “I was not following you. I was walking home.” She held out her parcel of books. “I have been to the booksellers.”

  Garrick fell into step beside her. “Poetry?”

  “I did buy some Byron.”

  “Ah. To inspire you?”

  “I imagine you think it would take more than that.” Merryn was stung. She looked up at him. “You read my poetry journal that night in my bedroom. That was not the act of a gentleman.”

  “I apologize,” Garrick said. He slanted a look down at her. Merryn wished he were not so tall. Not only did she almost have to run to keep up with his elegant stride, she could not see his face, nor judge his expression. “It was unhandsome of me,” he agreed. “In mitigation, all I can say is that I was looking for your diary.”

  “Oh, well, then!” Merryn felt even more indignant. “I forgive you at once!”

  Garrick laughed. “You would not have minded if your poetry had been good and I had praised you for it.”

  “This is not about the quality of my writing,” Merryn said crossly. “It is about my privacy!”

  Garrick’s firm lips twitched. “Well, be careful of the Byron,” he drawled. “It can be very inflammatory to the senses.”

  “My senses are in no danger of inflammation,” Merryn said coldly.

  “All evidence suggests the contrary,” Garrick said. He stopped, put out a hand and lightly touched her arm. “Shall I demonstrate to you?”

  “Farne. Lady Merryn.” A group of people had come upon them unnoticed and now encircled them. Merryn, acutely conscious of Garrick’s touch burning through the sleeve of her pelisse
, shook him off and took a step back. She wished they had not been surprised just then, with Garrick looking down at her with that quizzical smile she was coming to know so well, his hand on her arm implying an intimacy she did not wish anyone else to see… She felt hot with mortification.

  Nor were these acquaintances that she particularly wished to acknowledge. Merryn recognized Lord Ayres, an arbiter of fashion who practically worshipped Joanna but had never condescended to speak to her before, accompanied by his wife and Lady Radstock, another fashionable gossip. There was a younger man whom Merryn did not recognize but Garrick clearly did.

  “Croft,” he said coldly, giving the man an infinitesimal bow. “How do you do.”

  “Not as well as you, old fellow!” Croft raised his quizzing glass and ogled Merryn from top to toe in a manner that she found insolent and presumptuous. He let the glass fall from one languid hand. “Cunning move, what, to hand back the money and make yourself look good,” he said. He smiled at Merryn, vulpine, eyes gleaming. “Let bygones be bygones, eh, Lady Merryn, for the sake of thirty thousand pounds?”

  Merryn saw Garrick’s eyes narrow. “Croft—” his voice was silky “—I do suggest that you think carefully about your next words.”

  “Or…what?” Croft laughed. “You’ll call me out? There’s been enough of that sort of thing, don’t you think, old chap?” He slapped Garrick on the shoulder. “No, you are to be congratulated.” His gaze swept Merryn again. “Especially if you keep a part of that sum in the family. Nice work, Farne!” He sauntered off down the street, offering his arm to one of the ladies, swept along in a wave of bright fashionable colors and loud fashionable laughter.