She arched a lovely brow. “I could have told you that, my lord.”
Saucy vixen. “I’m embarrassed to say I had forgotten who you were. In fact, I thought you were my wife. Isn’t that amusing?” he asked her.
Her brow furrowed. “Quite,” she agreed, though she didn’t return his smile.
“I assure you it will never happen again,” he told her, knowing it was a lie. If the opportunity arose, he would surely seize it. However, at the moment, he wanted her compliance and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he would say anything to obtain it. He wanted—needed—her presence at Glen Abbey Manor while he continued his quest. “As compensation, I’ll give you an increase in wages,” he added. “That is…if you agree to remain.”
She gave him a skeptical glance. “You truly did not know who I was?”
He shook his head. “Truly.” That much wasn’t a lie. Neither was the pain that flared in his head. It ached him like the devil.
She seemed to be pondering his explanation and he closed his eyes suddenly, lifting a hand to his temple as he feigned a stumble.
She rushed forward. “Oh! You shouldn’t be out of bed. Come,” she demanded, pulling him firmly toward the bed. “Sit!” He did as she bade him and she studied him as he sat, nursing his injured head.
“Look at me. Can you see me clearly?” she asked. He did, and blinked at the look of concern nestled in those beautiful dark eyes. He couldn’t at once respond, so entranced was he by the warm depths of her gaze.
“My lord?”
Merrick shook himself out of his momentary stupor to find her regarding him critically. She reached out to examine his wound, nibbling gently at her already swollen lip. “I’ve heard of memory lapses arising after a severe injury to the head. Tell me, is there aught else you don’t recall?”
It wasn’t precisely a lie. “It’s coming back to me slowly, Chloe.”
Chloe believed him. He’d never before called her by her given name—always Miss Simon. But she was certain it was a temporary loss of memory. As the injury healed, the fog would surely lift from his brain.
“I don’t wish to alarm my mother,” he said.
Chloe didn’t either, but she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to walk away with impunity. “An increase in wages, you say?” Additional funds might allow her to open her own clinic someday. If she could save enough, she would then be able to continue to look after the sick and the poor. She lifted her chin, determined to ask for far more than she knew he was willing to give. Miser that he was, he would surely try to bargain her down. “Perhaps I might be persuaded if you would consider doubling my salary.”
There was no bartering. “Consider it done,” he said to her surprise.
Chloe’s brows lifted. “Are you certain, my lord?” Good Lord, the fall had, indeed, juggled his brain!
“It appears you are indispensable,” he said for answer.
Chloe’s breath caught at his look. His clear blue eyes seemed to say far more than his words. “N-not at all,” she stammered. “I’m certain Lady Fiona could hire someone far more experienced to nurse her.”
His blue eyes were fixed upon her, entrapping her gaze. “It’s not my mother who needs you most,” he said softly, and rose from the bed. Chloe’s heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t seem to look away. Something strange passed between them in that instant, some connection she couldn’t quite name.
“You…you should rest, my lord,” she said a little breathlessly.
“I’ll see that the funds are available to be dispensed at once.” His gaze released her at last and he turned to go. Stepping over her baggage at the door, he paused before taking his leave. “You would have made a lovely wife,” he said.
And then he was gone.
Chloe hadn’t the first inkling what had just transpired between them.
Lindale didn’t seem at all himself.
Could it be he was telling the truth?
It was quite rare to lose one’s memory, but not unheard of. If it were true, perhaps she could use his present state to her advantage? Perhaps the deed wasn’t lost to her, after all?
He’d said she was indispensable.
It’s not my mother who needs you most…
The memory of his words made her shiver slightly, but she didn’t trust him.
He wanted something from her, she was certain of it. She’d never known him to flatter anyone without reason. There was a time she’d thought him charming, but she’d come to realize every word that came out of his mouth was calculated. He’d grown from a boy who’d defied his station to play with commoners into a coldhearted, greedy landlord who took food from the mouths of bairns and who cared only for his own pleasures. It would behoove her to tread lightly with him and to believe none of his words.
“What do you mean, the funds are not available?” Merrick asked, stunned by the disclosure.
He sat in a chair facing the steward’s desk and took in the state of the room. It was comfortably furnished and slightly less kept than the rest of the household. A film of dust covered the draperies and furnishings…everywhere but the desk, which was apparently well used. Unlike the rest of the house, it was obvious this office was not maintained daily by the servants.
“Precisely that, my lord. The funds are simply not available to you.”
The cocky bastard had informed him baldly that he had no right to peruse the account books. They were under lock, he’d declared—a lock to which, apparently, he had the only key.
Why would a steward have sole possession of the estate books and the house keys?
Was it possible the estate belonged, not to Ian, but to his mother? If so, how was it that Fiona trusted Edward over her own son?
Merrick rephrased his question. “By not available to me, do you mean they do not exist? Or do you mean that I simply do not have access to them?”
Edward stood rigidly by the cabinets where the ledgers were evidently kept, obstinately shaking his head. “As I’ve told you previously, my lord, I am not at liberty to speak of household investments. If you wish to know more, you must broach the matter with Lady Fiona.”
“I see,” Merrick said, and then added, surmising, “So you send me to my mother, she sends me to you and it goes precisely nowhere?”
The steward averted his gaze. “I am sorry, my lord.”
Like hell he was. It was perfectly clear by the man’s smug expression that he wouldn’t be persuaded to reveal anything more.
Merrick fully intended to get to the heart of the matter. He wasn’t accustomed to being refused; it didn’t set well with him. “I suggest you find a way to obtain those funds,” he told the steward, eyeing him pointedly. “Miss Simon will be paid as agreed upon. I’ve no doubt my mother would tell you the same.”
The steward’s arrogant facade cracked a bit. “Yes, my lord, she is, indeed, quite fond of Miss Simon, but—”
Merrick stood abruptly and turned to leave without excusing himself. “Just do it, Edward,” he snapped, and left before his temper could no longer be restrained.
At least he now knew what answers his brother had sought from Edward to no avail. He experienced a momentary pang of regret for Ian. Was this what had driven his brother to thievery?
It didn’t matter.
Thievery was hardly a noble pursuit—no matter that Chloe seemed to think so.
As far as Edward was concerned, the steward only thought he was in control. Merrick was about to set the bastard back on his heels. His first task was to find out to whom the estate belonged—to his father or to Fiona. Merrick suspected the miser was his father, in which case, Edward had better find himself a rock to crawl beneath.
At the moment his greatest dilemma was in getting a message to Ryo without alerting Ian, his father or his mother. Ryo was the one person Merrick felt he could rely upon. Though the old man’s loyalties lay primarily with Merrick’s father, ultimately Ryo would do what his conscience dictated.
Merrick had a feeling Ian wouldn’
t reveal himself straightaway. There must be some way Merrick could alert Ryo that he had the wrong brother…or, at the very least, plant a seed.
Chapter Seven
It was impossible to make out anything without a lamp, but Chloe didn’t dare call attention to herself.
During the time she’d been in residence at Glen Abbey Manor, she’d never dared enter the steward’s office. Late in the afternoon following her threatened resignation, she was afforded the perfect opportunity; Edward left in a huff and had yet to return; Lord Lindale, too, had ventured out for the evening. They were both likely to return soon, but she hadn’t been able to slip away until Lady Fiona was fast asleep in her bed. The servants—few that remained—had all retired to their quarters.
Knowing she had precious little time, Chloe hurriedly sifted through papers, bringing one pile, then another, to the window to read them by the moonlight shining through the part in the draperies. Thus far, it was all a worthless jumble—receipts for payments made and purchase orders for the kitchen. She’d already tried the cabinets to no avail. They were sealed tighter than a beggar’s grip about a copper.
A single piece of paper secured beneath a squatting silver elephant caught her attention and she plucked it out from under the paperweight and took it to the window. “Notice of eviction,” she read, scanning the page for a name. “Rusty Broun…for lack of rents paid.”
Rusty had only just lost his youngest child. The callousness over it all made Chloe furious. She wanted to tear the document to shreds and to toss it in Lindale’s face.
“Find something interesting?” a voice said at her back.
Chloe’s heart nearly leaped out of her breast. She spun to find Lindale peering at her from across the room. His face cast in shadows, he’d never looked so menacing. Och, she hadn’t even heard him enter. He strode forward with purpose and Chloe gasped in sudden fright.
Where now was her mettle? she berated herself.
To her dismay, he’d never looked more beautiful—Lucifer looming out of the darkness toward her.
He closed the distance between them in just a few strides and snatched the document out of her hand. He peered at it an instant, his face registering no emotion. Looking back at her, he asked pointedly, “What are you doing here?”
“I was…” Chloe fumbled for an explanation. “I mean to say…I went to put out the light in your mother’s room…”
He arched a brow at her. “Her room is in the east wing,” he reminded her.
Chloe bit her lower lip, feeling utterly trapped. Good Lord, she was such a terrible liar. “Yes, well…when I was in the hall, you see…I spied someone stealing toward the steward’s office…so then I followed.”
It was evident he didn’t believe her. His eyes clearly registered doubt. “Is that so?”
Chloe nodded.
His face an impenetrable mask, he peered down once more at the document in his hand, then proceeded to fold it while he studied her in turn. He slipped the document into his coat pocket.
Chloe held her tongue under his painful scrutiny. God help her, she wanted to say so much, but something about the look in his eyes kept her silenced.
“You’re a lovely little liar. What is it you were searching for, Chloe?”
She was so close to the truth now, she could feel it. If he realized she suspected him of stealing the deed, he would send her packing. “I…” She averted her gaze, unable to look him straight in the eyes. She managed an easy tone. “Nothing…truly, my lord.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, his attention diverted by the echo of footfalls approaching from down the hall. Chloe half expected him to drag her out to face the constable; instead he seized her by the arm and quickly pulled her behind the heavy draperies. He placed his hand firmly against her mouth, shushing her. Chloe was utterly confused by his reaction.
The curtains were still swaying slightly when the door opened.
His hand remained at her mouth, but he drew it slightly away, scarce touching her lips. The heat emanating from his skin stilled not merely her tongue but her breath. Her heart beat erratically.
It was Edward who’d nearly stumbled upon them; she could tell by the prudish gait of his footsteps. He lit a lamp and sat down at his desk, Chloe assumed; she heard the chair scrape backward and then the sound of a drawer opening. She heard the scrape of a pen. He hadn’t noticed their presence. Thank God. She prayed the curtain would still completely, lest they be discovered—though why Lord Lindale should fear discovery, Chloe hadn’t the first inkling.
Something wasn’t quite right….
Contemplating the document in his pocket, Merrick listened while Edward fiddled within the room. It just didn’t make sense; if Ian and Rusty were bedfellows, why would Ian oust the man from his home?
His gut told him that Ian hadn’t the first clue…or, if he did, he hadn’t any control over the situation…which validated his suspicions that their father retained control of the estate.
But he couldn’t think just now…
He drew Chloe gently against him, knowing she wouldn’t dare reveal them. Her back pressing against him, the gentle curves of her body teased him. The scent of her dizzied him, muddled his thoughts. It was all he could do not to sweep aside her lovely hair to brush his lips against the soft curve of her neck. God help him, he didn’t want to scare her into bolting or he’d have done precisely that. This was torment—to be so near her and yet so far. His loins reacted at once, hardening.
What had she 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 again the jingling of keys as the cabinet was locked once more. The lamp went out and the door closed.
They were alone again.
“Shh-hh,” he commanded her.
“Why did you not reveal me?” she 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? It’s your home.”
Merrick suspected otherwise. Who did the steward report to? How much autonomy did he have? He wanted a look at those books.
“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’m looking for proof. And you, Miss Simon…” He brushed a finger along the soft underside of her chin, caressing. “What are you really doing here?”
“I’ve already told you…” Her impudence returned and she shrugged free of him. “You can release me now, my lord. We’re quite alone!”
Merrick did as she asked and she boxed her way out of the draperies. He followed her out.
She faced him, her shoulders squared, her chin upturned defiantly. He could scarce see her face in the shadows, but it was impossible to miss the challenge in her 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 her.
“Very well, then. If that will be all, my lord, I shall retire, at last.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her incredible mettle. Never in his life had anyone dared speak to him so cheekily. “Don’t trip over any intruders on the way,” he taunted.
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 previous evening. “The color in your legs is quite good today,” Chloe said, interrupting her reverie. She gave Fiona a questioning glance—or at least, it seemed a question. At times Fiona was certain Chloe must know she w
as lying. She averted her gaze and Chloe returned to the task of massaging her legs.
Guilt gnawed at her.
Every day the lies seemed to grow in weight. This morning the burden was unbearable. It seemed one lie conceived another and another. Of late, she could scarce even look at her own son. What sort of mother did that make her?
She was utterly torn.
She had the power to change their circumstances, but if she told Ian the truth, she risked losing him. And there was no guarantee Julian would give him the same treatment he’d given Merrick. After all these years, she just didn’t know Julian anymore.
Nor did she wish to risk Merrick’s inheritance. She knew Julian had gone to great lengths to ensure his bloodline was not questioned.
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, she hadn’t wanted to like or feel sorry for Julian’s wife. But what must it feel like to have someone else’s child foisted upon you? To know that he would inherit over your own blood? Had it made her bitter? Sad?
Fiona knew that Julian’s wife had never conceived. Had he married her in name only, keeping her at length? Or was it she who had rebuffed Julian?
Fiona didn’t want to say he deserved it. No matter how much Julian had hurt her, no one deserved to suffer all their lives. She only prayed Merrick had not suffered a scorned woman’s wrath.
Fiona stared at the hands gently working her legs until they blurred through the mist in her eyes. Chloe, too, seemed lost in her own reverie. This morning, Fiona was grateful for the silence.
Fiona considered the young woman standing before her.
Chloe wasn’t a princess 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 wanted for her—a good man to cherish her. That’s what she wanted for her son.
Tanya Anne Crosby Page 6
