Connor

by L. L. Muir

  But she was no sheep. And soon, Norleigh would learn it.

  ~

  An hour later, Mercy eased out of bed and tiptoed to her bedroom window that happily looked out upon the rear gardens of Broxdale Park. Considering how deeply her assigned companion slept, Mercy could have jumped upon the mattress and whistled and the woman wouldn’t have roused.

  Lady Montrose was already asleep when Mercy arrived, and for the whole of the hour, she lay flat on her back and snored at the Renaissance trim around the ceiling. Her breath made the flame of a single bed candle stutter, which made the shadows on the ceiling quake. And in the chaos, it was a wonder the little gold shells that rimmed the room hadn’t been shaken from their places.

  Perhaps, by morning, she would find them shattered on the floor.

  It took a moment for Mercy’s eyes to adjust to the scenery below, but she eventually realized that the fountains Norleigh spoke of must have been silenced for the evening. But she did find a hexagonal pool to the left, and a familiar figure pacing beside it. She detected no other movement in the garden and supposed it was too chilly for anyone to dally for long.

  Unless they meant to dally.

  Which, apparently, Viscount Norleigh did.

  In fact, the man paced and stomped and punished the plants for another hour, and Mercy relished every minute of it. But his frustration was a mere pebble in his shoe compared with what she had planned for him.

  The sky had turned from black to a dark blue before he finally left the fountain and headed toward the house. His angry gaze began scanning the upper windows as he neared, and Mercy jumped back out of sight just as his head turned in her direction. She was certain he hadn’t seen her. Well, nearly certain.

  She crawled into bed beside Lady Montrose, rolled onto her side, and smashed a silk pillow against her ear. It had been a long while since she’d fallen asleep with a smile of contentment on her face, but she was terribly pleased with her first day with the enemy.

  Unbidden, the image of the Scottish gentleman pushed Norleigh off the stage of her mind and demanded her attention.

  Go away, she told him. The Former Mercy might have found you charming, but the New Mercy has no time for you.

  And as she forced herself to clear her thoughts and sleep, she had to ignore yet another phantom—that of her younger self weeping from inside the grave she’d been buried in.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Connor woke with the birds and made his way back to the manor. His supposed cousin fairly attacked him when he appeared in the hall. She made half a dozen excuses, only half of which he was able to argue, and half an hour after he broke his fast, he was seated in a carriage, dressed as an English gentleman, and travelling to Atherton Hall for the day’s planned activities.

  He objected to everything but the destination since Miss Kellaway would be there. His change of clothing, he’d accepted only after he’d caught sight of himself in a mirror. It seemed he’d carried half the field inside with him and the finery he’d arrived in was now more fit for cleaning the stables.

  His hair had to be washed, for pity sakes. And the valet assigned to him wouldn’t allow him out of the dressing room again unless Connor allowed the man to brush his hair first!

  When he checked the mirror again, however, he was pleased with his appearance until he wondered what Miss Kellaway would think of him. His stomach nearly sent back his breakfast, it wobbled so.

  In his old life, all he’d worried over was whether or not he looked convincing for whatever scheme he had planned for the day.

  Well, if distracting Mercy is the plan, I should be able to do a decent job of it, aye?

  He’d had to turn away from the mirror, however, before he slit his own throat, he looked that convincing as an Englishman—except for the whiskers he refused to shave off and the shoulder-length hair he refused to allow the valet to tie into a tail behind his head.

  Besides, if he looked too much like the rest of the men, how would he turn the lass’ head?

  As he watched the English countryside roll past the window, a particularly full copse of trees reminded him of the dream he’d had while sleeping in the field. In it, he’d lured Mercy Kellaway behind a similar screen of trees and kissed those berry-colored lips. But before he’d had much time to savor the taste of her, Lord Ashmoore had come along. After taking a firm grip on Connor’s shoulders, he’d ripped him in twain, bare-handed. And while Connor hadn’t been particularly surprised, he’d been upset by the fact that the two sides of him had been tossed so far apart from each other.

  If it had been Culloden, he might have been placed in two separate graves!

  No wonder he’d looked such a fright when Lady Grant caught sight of him.

  He shuddered and turned away from the window, willing to forego the scenery for a bit of peace. The question was whether or not that peace was worth foregoing a taste of those lips.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  A taste of her lips was no longer what compelled him to seek her out. Nor was it worry for her safety and possibly dangerous plans for Lord Norleigh. But compelled he was. And he wracked his brain trying to imagine what would truly satisfy him now.

  The affection of six women had been his goal. Now he sought only one. But it wasn’t solely her affection that he craved.

  He summoned her image in his mind, pictured her smiling at him—a genuine smile, a happy smile. Happy to see him. Willing to give up on her plans for Norleigh, willing to leave the party with him alone, willing to settle for…

  For what? He had nothing to offer her. Not marriage, not a full life. In fact, not any life at all. A few more than thirty hours was all he had now. A wee bit more than a day.

  It was just as before. There was a limited number of things he was good for, and the only thing he was good for now was a distraction. If she planned to get Norleigh alone, to exact revenge, he could at least do what he’d promised and divert her for as long as he could. But once he was gone, who would save her from a noose?

  On the other hand…

  Perhaps some of his former, nefarious skills might come in handy after all. Perhaps, if the lass was bent on murder, he could at least help her get away with it.

  He could just imagine Soncerae listening in on his thoughts and plotting to drag him back to Culloden if he did anything as dishonorable as that. But she’d known what kind of man he was when she’d sent him there. He’d warned her, and she’d sent him in any case. Surely, she wouldn’t be surprised if he showed his true colors…

  ~

  Mercy slept through breakfast, and she might have slept through the picnic if it weren’t for a pushy maid who accidentally made a dozen loud noises while she went about her room. While Mercy had never been a cheerful riser, she outdid herself that morning when she chased the woman out the door while brandishing a fire iron.

  The maid’s screams brought a smile to her face, however. And she continued to smile while she prepared herself for the day, pleased with how comfortable she was becoming in her wicked skin. Just as she’d confessed to the Scotsman the night before, it was getting harder and harder to remember her former self.

  She groaned and set down her teacup. In the light of day, she felt completely foolish for being so forthcoming with the Scot.

  Lord Gray. She had to think of him as Lord Gray to remind herself to keep her distance. If Norleigh’s jealously had been pricked, the Scot had been of some use. But if Norleigh had noticed nothing, she couldn’t risk encouraging Gray again. She already felt far too familiar with him. And if he felt the same about her, he might already be poised to make trouble.

  No. Better to show him her cold side today.

  She gathered her things and hurried out the door. Though her smile was gone, she hummed enthusiastically as her conscience was particularly loud in the morning…

  ~

  A single carriage waited in the drive, and beside it, Lord Norleigh. And though she was shaking inwardly, nervous about what the day might br
ing, she could not let on. So she held tight to the conversation she’d had with the handsome Scotsman and assured herself she needed only to be brave for a moment.

  And then another moment. And another.

  Like a necklace, a long string of moments stretched out before her, but she would only worry about one small bead at a time.

  She had to admit he cut a fine figure in his expensive clothes that had to be fresh from the tailor’s. The ruffles of his cravat were trimmed in possibly the most delicate lace she’d ever seen, and she was grateful she had something to smile at in the vicinity of his face. Otherwise, her loathing might show.

  “How delightful, Miss Kellaway. It looks as if we’ll be travelling together.” When she neared, he took her hand to help her inside, but his thumb pressed almost painfully into the back of her hand.

  She wasn’t about to let him get away with such brutality, however, and pulled her hand from his with a hiss.

  “I beg your pardon,” he mumbled, followed her into the carriage, and sat across from her. “I missed you at the fountain, my dear. I hope you didn’t wait long.”

  So. He didn’t see me in the window after all.

  “Unfortunately, my bedmate slept like a cat,” she explained. “Each time I moved, her eyes opened. It was impossible to leave the bed, let alone the room.”

  “Ah, well, then I’m glad I didn’t wait long.”

  She only smiled. It would be a long ride indeed, no matter the distance, if he expected her to answer to his every comment.

  He glared at the footman. “Let us be off, man.”

  “I’m here!” Lady Russell thanked her footman and climbed into the box. “I wouldn’t be a very good hostess if I didn’t wait for the last guests, now would I?”

  Norleigh had the look of a man with an aching head, but he smiled at the lady. “You are the very model of the perfect hostess, madam.”

  For most of the ride, while the woman prattled on with gossip about her other guests and who she may or may not have noticed sneaking around the house the previous night, Norleigh closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him, even when it seemed as though Lady Russell was hinting that he was one of the guests she’d caught.

  Mercy suspected the woman might know a helpful detail or two about Norleigh, but she bit her tongue and asked nothing. The man may or may not have been sleeping. Those eyes might have been sealed tight, or he might have been watching her every twitch. She couldn’t be certain. And couldn’t take that risk.

  Besides, she knew everything she needed to know.

  He was a man, a jealous man who begrudged anyone who had something he hadn’t. A man who had been determined to meet privately, and who could probably be tempted to do so again. If that meeting came to pass, however, his satisfaction would be fleeting…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The afternoon picnic on the grounds of Atherton Hall was a lazy one. The guests that did attend looked as if they hadn’t had much sleep the night before, and Connor suspected most of them would have preferred to still be abed.

  He tried not to seem too eager as he wandered past the archery range where a dozen young gentlemen were making wagers. He didn’t want to be the only guest to be bright eyed and bushy tailed while he waited for Mercy Kellaway to appear. He’d seen hide nor hair of her or Norleigh, which meant they both must have spent the night at Broxdale Park. He was almost grateful he hadn’t known or he might not have been able to sleep at all.

  Lord Dalham mentioned something about Lady Russell relegating the men and women to separate wings, which included married couples. But until Connor laid eyes on the two, he would worry.

  He’d done a wee bit of people-watching in the past three centuries and was confident he could read carnal knowledge like a neon sign. And if Norleigh had seduced the lass, Connor would kill him whether or not it was in Mercy Kellaway’s plans to do so.

  There would be your noble deed, Soni!

  He laughed aloud and drew some quizzical looks along with a few winces from some gentlemen who’d likely drank too much at Lady Grant’s party.

  Norleigh strolled around the corner of the house with Mercy on one arm wearing a pale yellow gown and looking like a spring flower. On his other arm hung the woman he believed was Lady Russell. A great deal of fawning ensued for the third host of the drawn-out party, but Connor was more interested in how the other two were acting.

  There was no new blush on Mercy’s cheek. Nor were any coy glances exchanged between her and Norleigh. In fact, Miss Kellaway stepped away from the man as soon as he was distracted by another gentleman and made her way to the white tents where the food was served.

  Though he had already eaten, Connor decided to sacrifice his comfort and eat again if it meant he could be closer to her. If he looked like an eager boy chasing a butterfly, what did he care?

  Ah, yet another noble sacrifice that would not fulfill Soncerae’s requirements. But then again, he had no interest in seeking revenge against Bonnie Prince Charlie, so a truly honorable deed was unnecessary.

  He lifted a plate and hurried to Mercy’s side, then copied the choices she made. Though she noticed, she said nothing. But she did laugh a little.

  “Good mornin’,” he said.

  “It is afternoon.”

  “Well, I wish it were still mornin’, so I could still be sleepin’.”

  “Mmm.” She looked him over. “I hardly recognized you without your kilt.” She also noticed his whiskers and his hair, but made no mention of them, so he took heart. At least she hadn’t wrinkled her nose or shown other signs of disapproval.

  “I’m happy to go back for it, lass, if ye’re wishing for a better look at my knees.” He bobbed his eyebrows and she laughed again. A sweet sound. A rusty sound, in fact, as if she was unaccustomed to laughing much. And before he could think better of it, he asked her if he had the right of it.

  “I daresay I haven’t laughed much at all since Denny died. I seem to recall laughing often in the past, but I can’t be sure.”

  Connor could have kicked himself for speaking so recklessly. “A great pity,” he said, referring to all of it—her lack of laughter, her poor memory, and the loss of her brother.

  Once they cleared the tent, they happened upon an empty chair and he insisted she take it. Then he sat on the grass beside. “I suffer from a poor memory as well, as I said last evening. The past seems so verra long ago.”

  She stiffened and looked away as if the folk playing croquet were suddenly of utmost importance, and he realized she must have regretted the confidences they’d shared. Or was it more than just confidences she regretted? Did she, too, feel as if they were kindred spirits, but perhaps wished it was otherwise?

  He stood and brushed the grass from his trousers. “Shall I fetch ye a drink, Miss Kellaway?”

  She shook her head, but said nothing, keeping her attention focused on the players. She may as well have told him to go away. Lucky for him, he had no real feelings invested. It was a promise he’d been keeping, was all. To try to keep her distracted. But his power to do so was apparently at an end.

  Come now, Connor Gray. One more brave little moment, and it will all be left behind…

  “I’ll just leave ye in peace then.” He inclined his head, though she did not see it. And after he handed his plate to a servant, he struck out for the far end of the garden where a lush orchard beckoned him with a promise of peace. For peace was what he craved at the moment—a reprieve from the thoughts and emotions that plagued him.

  Haunting was ever so much easier than living.

  ~

  Mercy’s stomach roiled like a pan of boiling milk and felt just as hot. She was familiar enough with the pangs to recognize it was guilt that plagued her.

  She’d forgotten to give Lord Gray the cold shoulder, as she’d planned, because they seemed to fall into step so easily. So when she’d remembered, and turned away from him, it had probably seemed like a sudden slap to the face.

  She f
orced herself not to look, for fear of seeing the disappointment in his eyes, but she’d heard it clearly enough in his voice. And it broke her heart.

  It had to be done. He would only be hurt worse later, if I let his interest grow.

  Besides, she had to think of Denny. She had to think of all those other young men out there who would end up as Norleigh’s victims if she couldn’t stop the monster. And she needed only look to the gaggle of new candidates gathered near the archery targets to put faces to them.

  She imagined them drunk and desolate, fashioning nooses, looking for a sturdy branch.

  For them, she must hold fast to her resolve.

  She looked for Norleigh and found him among a parade of gentlemen headed inside. Surely, their impromptu meeting would take some time…

  Her resolve flew away like a fuzzy feather in a sudden gust of wind. The young lords and nooses were forgotten as she obeyed the invisible tether that pulled her after the dark figure disappearing into the orchard.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Connor found solace in the orchard where neither man nor ghost moved between the crooked trunks and leafy branches. It would make a fine place to pass the time while he waited for Soni to summon him back. If he slept a day away, what would it matter?

  “Lord Gray!” Was it a voice, or had he imagined it? “Lord Gray?”

  His gut clenched at the distinct sound of Mercy Kellaway’s voice. He was suddenly an embarrassed youth, hurt, vulnerable, and hating his loss of control where she was concerned. If he kept silent, would she leave him in peace?

  The pale yellow of her gown flashed between leafy branches. “Lord Gray!”

  He turned his back wishing to blend into the trees if he held quite still. But he could hear her panting, coming nearer.

  “Forgive me, my lord. I beg you.”

  He turned to face her, ready to assure her he’d taken no offense, but she obviously read something different in his eyes. At the look of abject pity on her face, he turned away again. Lord help him, what had become of his acting skills?