by Anne Mallory
He had found himself staring at her more than once, wondering what in the hell she was. Nothing human obviously.
One day to the next. Working across from him, plying him with food, flashing that eternally optimistic smile at him on lips that always beckoned. To the next day after that.
To the here and now, his body leaned toward hers automatically these days. “I believe that is it for the night, Mr. Merrick.” Her fingers drifted down the fabric of his sleeve.
It was a friendly gesture on her part. One made of shared circumstance by a person who extended her friendship to all. He didn’t need friends. And he definitely didn’t need her.
His hand twitched toward her waist anyway.
Her lips pulled over his cheek. Undeniably soft. And warm. The edge of them just trailing the hard dips and planes of his cheek, touching for the briefest moment the edge of his mouth. There were spots of color in her cheeks as she pulled back—only a breath away. “Good evening, Mr. Merrick,” she whispered, so unbearably close.
All it would take was an inch. To pull her toward him and claim those lips fully beneath his. To make her his.
He violently pulled away. “Good evening, Miss Pace,” he said coolly.
She tilted her head at him, questioning, but the soft smile remained as she gathered her ledgers and the pile of work she had been doing and exited the room with a cheerful wave.
Hell.
Hell.
Hell.
Chapter 13
She folded her hands, determined to state her case successfully. She was very pleased with the progress she had made thus far—both with her business and personal maneuvers—but this particular concern was going to require an extra measure of persuasion.
“We have been working on the Garrett situation. You have also been working with me extensively on the Pace accounts,” she said. “And I have kept my promise to remain inside the building, but regrettably I need to go to Dover to complete this task.”
He said nothing, his silence very, very loud as he pretended to ignore her.
“You are aware of this matter, Mr. Merrick. And I realize that I am not supposed to leave the premises under any circumstance, but it’s imperative that I do so now. Therefore, I would like to hire one or two of your men to accompany me. We can leave this evening under cover of darkness or tomorrow night.”
“No.”
“I need to in order to get the papers signed.”
“Dover is half a day’s travel by normal means, and you want to take one or two of my men?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“It will not be a problem if we leave at night. I will put up the money for three to stay the night a few hours outside London. I’m sure the driver will have a good suggestion since the coaching road is well traveled. I was thinking that nice man, Lefty, would—”
“No.”
She tilted her head, trying to figure out the main reason for his refusal so that she could maneuver around it. “Mr. Merrick, the matter concerning this signature is in your interest as well.”
“I will send someone with the papers to get them signed.” He indicated his desk. “Leave them here.”
“Though I do not have to—and will not—give advanced warning to him, the man who needs to sign the papers will need to see me in person, I’m afraid.”
“No he does not.” There was a black look in his eyes. “Give them to me. I will make sure they are signed.” A dark promise.
Since it wasn’t aimed at her, she brushed it off. It was how she treated most things with this man. Darkness was a part of him. And she would be lying if she didn’t admit to finding it a bit attractive. Because the focus on her, though intent and dangerous, never felt malicious. He was simply an intense man in all matters.
But on this topic . . . there was malice for someone. She tucked it away for further examination.
“I am going to Dover, Mr. Merrick. We are at the end of our time in this, and the signature will guarantee more. You can stop me, of course. I could do nothing to stop you. But I would like to have your compliance in this request. I have a sound plan. I won’t be gone but three days at most, and it will be a completely impromptu visit. And I assure you that though you might try and browbeat Edward, he won’t sign unless I speak to him first, and he can see that I am not being coerced.”
She almost tacked on that he was a loyal friend, but instinct stopped her from doing so.
“What’s more, you know that this will facilitate the transfer. This will push Garrett out. Make him forfeit his shares completely if he denies the transfer of leadership to you. And he must attend a quarterly meeting tomorrow here in London. There is no way he can be in Dover. The timing is perfect.”
Andreas Merrick watched her, dark gaze clamped on her as it always was. Plumbing her secrets, reading her soul through her eyes. She kept his gaze for long moments, calmly allowing him to read her intent.
“Fine. I will arrange a carriage and escort. Be ready at nine as darkness falls.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll see if you thank me upon your return.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that other than by nodding, so she made a quick stop in the kitchen to pack a food basket, then retreated upstairs to let her mother know of the trip and settle her own thoughts before she left.
“Who is accompanying you?” Her mother had been fretting almost nonstop since her announcement.
“I don’t know. Someone capable, I am sure, Mother. Hand me the purple dress, please?” She tucked her overnight items into the small valise.
“I don’t like this, Phoebe. Not at all.”
“I know you don’t, Mother. I am sure I would be in a similar state of panic if it were you going instead of me.” She put a hand upon her mother’s arm to settle her. “But I need Edward’s signature. And I want to speak to him in private, in person. It is important. I know you know how much. I also know that you are worried, and your feelings are not without merit.”
“We never should have sent away Sally and—”
“Mother.”
“You can’t travel without a chaperone. I, I—”
“You have to stay here with Father,” she said calmly. “All will be well. I will likely be in a coach all by myself, any men riding up top. And I assure you that Mr. Merrick would cut off his men’s ballocks were they to touch me inappropriately in any way.”
“Phoebe!”
“I only state the truth.” She moved around her mother and picked up the lilac dress herself, her mother seemingly unable to perform even the small tasks of helping her to leave her sight.
“Your truth is disturbing me, Phoebe.” She didn’t have to look at her mother. She could hear the reflection of that statement in her voice.
She clamped her lips shut on another rejoinder. It was actually something that was quite pleasing about her interactions with Mr. Merrick and some of the others here in the building. She could say what was on her mind—and sometimes the irreverent humor was even returned. Her mother, on the other hand, frequently had a fit. But then, she wanted better things for her daughter than for her to have a rotten mouth and ill-bred reputation.
And she wasn’t wrong in that desire. Their paths of humor simply diverged on occasion. And Phoebe refused to feel guilt as the simple freedom to do as she willed should always be enjoyed when presented.
“I won’t be gone long. I am going to straighten our remaining financial issues. That will go a long ways toward helping with Father’s judicial case, should one occur.” She was also hoping Edward could shed some light there as well. “In a few weeks, we will have everything straightened out, and we can retire to Bath.” She wound her fingers together as she tucked the dress in, hoping. “And we will get Father the new salt treatment.”
A long silence enveloped the space as she finished packing. She was much more used to dealing with silence though. Andreas Merrick was training her well. She liked to think that she was rubbing off on him too, evening
them both out.
“Very well,” her mother said. “I hate this though, Phoebe.”
“I know. I wish things were different.”
She wished things were better. She couldn’t be upset that circumstances had brought her into contact with Andreas Merrick, just that the circumstances themselves couldn’t resolve quickly and happily so that she could pursue him with abandon.
That thought brought a smile to her lips. Poor man.
She flattened her expression as she latched the case. “I will gain the opportunity to ask around the Dover docks as well. You know I have been wanting to, as many ships from London stop there.”
“I don’t want you to ask around, Phoebe!” Her mother’s eyes closed suddenly, fingers pressing against the lids. Pressing the tears back. “I want him back, Phoebe. But I can’t lose both my children.”
“Shhh . . .” She hugged her mother to her. “You won’t. I promise.”
“You can’t promise such things, Phoebe.”
“I won’t do anything to put myself in jeopardy.”
“We are already in jeopardy.”
“In more jeopardy, then. Come.” She pulled her to the chair next to her father, who was playing some odd hybrid of squares for which only he knew the rules. “Drink this.” She poured the warm tea and placed the cup into her mother’s hands. “Knit me something warm for autumn? Something for my feet beneath the cool covers? We will be in Bath before you know it, and it is cold there in the night air.”
“Phoebe . . .”
It took another fifteen minutes of reassurance before her mother let her depart. The knock on the door had occurred five minutes previous. She hoped whoever it was had continued to wait.
Peter and Tommy stood on the other side. They were maybe eighteen and twelve, respectively, if she had to guess. It was hard to tell with people here sometimes. Their eyes always looked far older than their other features.
“Miss.” Peter nodded, then politely motioned toward her case. She let him take it from her. She had a warm, hooded cloak on. Carriages could be freezing if they were not well sealed, and she had no idea what to expect.
“I should speak with Mr. Merrick before I leave, Peter,” she said apologetically to the boy, man . . . male.
Peter shook his head as he started down the steps, Tommy taking the flanking position behind her. “He said ta escort you directly ta the conveyance, Miss,” Peter said over his shoulder. “You c’n speak there.”
But she didn’t see the man at the entrance, so she continued to follow Peter. A dark, unmarked carriage was parked a few steps from the door. Not a Pace carriage—this one was far more drab and had no distinguishing marks. Likely a Flatley model. She squinted and could see the curve of the wheel set. Flatley, for sure. She wondered why Andreas Merrick had never contracted for a Pace craftsmen to build an unmarked carriage for him. She’d have to speak to him about partnerships and purchasing from friends, not competitors.
Two dark horses snorted and pawed the ground. Peter handed her case up, and the driver secured it.
She didn’t see Andreas Merrick anywhere. Perhaps it was better that way. That way she didn’t need to dissemble if he tried to threaten or make her promise to stick exclusively to the inns and Edward’s residence.
She squinted in the darkness and recognized the boy at the carriage’s door. Trusting to the safety they had kept her in so far, she nodded and stepped up and inside.
She felt the presence on the other seat before she saw him.
“You are late, Miss Pace.”
And Phoebe wondered, as her heart picked up speed, and realization dawned, what might happen on this trip.
Chapter 14
“Mr. Merrick.”
He liked when her voice went breathy and uneven like that. Surprise and something else tinting the sound.
“I didn’t realize who my companion was to be or else I would have endeavored better timing,” she said.
She settled into the seat, not showing herself to be out of sorts any more than those first few seconds. She touched a blanket on the side of the seat, darted a quick look to his side of the carriage, then drew it over her lap.
He followed where her eyes had landed on his side only to see the second carriage blanket that rested on his seat. She hadn’t covered herself before making sure that he too had one. His arms crossed, unsure why he felt odd at the notion. It was not an abnormal thought for someone to do something like that for someone else.
Just not for him.
“We will stop in Rochester for the night,” he said, roughly.
“That sounds fine.”
“We will not be exiting at the switches between. If you need to take a moment before we leave, you should return inside.”
She shook her head. “I can make a three- or four-hour trip without difficulty, and I’ve prepared food.”
“Fine.” He rapped the trap, and they began moving.
Her eyes kept contact with his across the flickering shadows cast by the gas lights they passed on the street. The bobbing lamps on the carriage swayed, making the brief light undulate across her face in a sensual wave.
“I didn’t expect you to accompany me,” she said finally, breaking the growing, stifling silence.
That had been obvious. He saw no need to comment on the fact.
“But I am glad,” she said. “Glad that you are with me.”
“Why?” Everything in him stilled.
She smiled faintly. “Why would I not be? I seek your company often enough.”
Something in him vigorously wanted to ask why again? But whereas she was obviously willing to share her feelings, he didn’t feel the desire to reciprocate in any measure, and simply asking the question would show some need he was determined to repress.
“You shouldn’t.”
“No,” she acknowledged. “I should seek it twice as often.”
His arms tightened further across his chest.
She smiled at him. “You have doomed yourself to endless hours in a closed vehicle with me, however. Are you not worried?”
“Why would I be worried?” Worry wasn’t his overwhelming emotion at the moment.
“I may uncover all your secrets.” Her tone was teasing, but he stiffened all the same. “You blabbing them all to me, if for no other reason than to stop me from speaking.”
“There are other ways to do that.”
Even in the revolving shadows he could see the blush darken her cheeks. His arms loosened a fraction, and he felt the edge of his mouth lift in absurd pleasure.
“I told you that you might regret this trip, Miss Pace,” he all but purred.
“Oh, I don’t think I will regret it at all, Mr. Merrick,” she said softly.
His arms became steel bands across his chest once more.
She smiled. “Though you have appalling taste in carriage makers. Flatley?” She looked around her, tsking, her tone obvious with its teasing. “Truly, Mr. Merrick? I shall endeavor to help you mend your ways. And to teach you to treat your partners better.”
There were a number of items in that statement to concern him. “I don’t require mending.”
“But perhaps you require infinitely more teasing?” She turned thoughtful. “Not stopping until Rochester—you think we will be recognized?”
“It will be a point of interest that there was a carriage whose occupants did not show themselves, but there are plenty of respectable citizens who desire to remain undisturbed at various stops, as well as travelers asleep inside.”
She tilted her head. “There are people who watch for gossip on the road. That does make sense.” There was something about her voice that was elementally soothing. In such a confined space it was hard to escape from it.
“The desire for information is always flowing,” he said stiffly. “There is nothing recognizable about this vehicle”—unlike a Pace carriage—“or our driver.”
She smiled.
He turned from her smile. “But eventually
talk will connect the events with anyone who observed the vehicle leaving the alley. However, an unmarked carriage leaves every hour from that alley, whether there is anyone inside or not.”
He wondered at himself, telling her such things. One in a string of a hundred little secrets he had let slip. Perhaps he would need to keep her at the end of this endeavor. Lock her in a tower and throw away the key.
“That gives us some time,” he continued. It was like a disease. A Phoebe-Pace-inspired disease, this need to speak so much—to explain himself. “Deception works best if it is part of a regular routine.”
She watched him, her mind obviously working quickly behind open, expressive eyes. Open and expressive, but hiding a far more cunning mind than most gave credit.
“It is on our return we will have to be most cautious, Miss Pace.” Don’t think of her as Phoebe, ever. “We will use another carriage on our return trip.”
“People watch the alley?”
“Outside the alley, not in it. Inside is a secured area when we choose it to be.”
The look in her eyes said she was thinking of the incident that first night in his office. He waited for her to question him about it again.
“I am pleased that the company I have is yours, Mr. Merrick,” she said instead.
“I have business in Dover,” he said quickly.
“That is most convenient.”
He didn’t respond. She was like some sort of horrid diviner’s rod, poking inside.
“I am happy that our paths are headed in the same direction, Mr. Merrick.”
There was something in that statement that caused him to sit stiffly for the rest of the trip.
Phoebe watched him across the space of the carriage. She was still uncertain what actually went through his sharp mind, under the emotionless façade that he normally displayed.
They arrived at a small inn in good time—just under three hours. Their driver was skilled and the roads had been freshly treated.
Andreas Merrick withdrew a pistol from a side pocket near the window and checked it over, then slipped it into his coat.
“Wait here. Keep your hood up at all times.” He stepped out of the carriage oddly but turned gracefully to the driver. “Five minutes or drive to the location we discussed.”
