Rusty’s other daughter shook her head adamantly, seconding her sister’s sentiments. “She din’t like to eat anythin’ but carrots. But Papa can’t only grow carrots.” She peered up at her father. “Right, Papa?”
Merrick didn’t know what to say to the child.
A glance at Rusty revealed a pale face and eyes that were visibly misted.
Rusty scratched his forehead, trying to make the effort a casual one, and averted his gaze, but Merrick saw the control he struggled to maintain and turned his attention to the girls to give the man time to compose himself.
He got down upon one knee, at their level, and said solemnly, “We’ll see what we can do about getting you more carrots.”
Chloe watched from the porch, along with Emma, Rusty’s wife, as Merrick fell to his knees to speak to Rusty’s daughters. Something about his body language made Chloe smile, despite the pall their conversation had cast over her mood.
“What does he want?” Emma Broun asked.
“I haven’t the first inkling,” Chloe confessed. But she hoped it had nothing to do with the document he’d ripped up. Then, again, she hadn’t actually inspected the document—she hoped he hadn’t anticipated her request and disposed of something else entirely.
Chloe turned to find Emma studying her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I certainly do not!” Chloe didn’t mean to sound so vehement, but she just couldn’t have anyone thinking she had feelings for Lord Lindale. Even if he weren’t a cad, he was certainly not for her.
He was an earl; she was nothing more than a physician’s daughter.
Emma turned her attention toward Lindale and her husband. “In any case, I think ’e likes you, Miss Chloe.”
Chloe shook her head adamantly. It was entirely Emma’s imagination.
Or was it.
He did seem to like to kiss her. She could tell by the way he was always staring at her mouth. She thought about the kiss they’d shared and her cheeks warmed at the memory. She was glad Emma was no longer staring at her. To her dismay, her body reacted at once. Her breasts tingled as she watched Merrick speak to the girls and she licked her lips gone suddenly dry.
The taste of him still lingered.
God have mercy, she was afraid Emma might be right.
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she vowed to guard her heart.
Merrick turned his attention to the youngest child. “Now, that’s a fine doll you’ve got there,” he said. “What’s her name?”
The little girl threw an arm over her eyes so that she couldn’t see him, obviously too embarrassed to reply.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” the oldest daughter explained, taking her little sister’s hand protectively. “It used to be called Mairi, but now we call it Ana.”
“We painted her hair red,” said the middle child, seizing the doll from her little sister. “But it din’t look verra good…see.” She held it out for Merrick’s inspection, pointing to the head. The worn-out little doll was made of burlap, with a string tied about a small round rock to simulate a head and neck. There were no arms or legs and the face had been painted, very likely, by their mother, though the hair had obviously been lovingly painted by a different hand—theirs. The toy had certainly seen better days. He thought about all the things he had taken for granted as a child.
The oldest explained, “It was s’posed to be the color of Papa’s and Ana’s hair, but it wasn’t, so we washed it out.”
Unfortunately, in their effort to eradicate their artwork, the eyes and mouth had faded along with the scrubbed head, but Merrick refrained from pointing out that particular fact.
The oldest daughter peered up at her father and, sensing his distress, sweetly offered him her free hand. Instinctively she seemed to understand that he needed the tender touch. Rusty quietly accepted her offer of love, his eyes haunted in a way only a father’s could be after losing a child.
Rusty robbed to feed his children.
Somehow that revelation muddied the line dividing right from wrong.
Staring down into the dirty, lovely little faces of Rusty’s three little girls, Merrick was suddenly relieved he hadn’t had Rusty arrested. It didn’t make thievery right, but somehow, looking at his girls, it didn’t seem entirely wrong, either.
Merrick was at a loss for words.
He wanted to know more about the daughter Rusty had lost, but couldn’t very well ask the man, when he was certain he was already supposed to know.
Fidgeting, the middle child kicked her bare feet against the ground, turning Merrick’s attention to the land that Rusty seemed so grateful for. Merrick examined the topsoil. It was thin and the ground was hard, nearly impossible to till. Poor Rusty must break his back just to coax a simple seedling from it.
Our sister Ana went to heaven, but we don’t wanna go there yet…
Christ. His heart ached him at the memory of those innocent words.
Merrick wasn’t certain how long he knelt there, contemplating the silt that sifted like sands of time through his fingers…contemplating his brother’s involvement in these people’s lives.
It must have been only seconds, but it felt like hours.
His brother had dirtied his hands for these people…in more ways than Merrick could imagine. This was his family’s land; these people had very likely relied upon his ancestors for centuries. These were not the sort of folk who traveled far from their homes. They were born here, raised here, died here. Ian must have felt entirely responsible for them.
Merrick stood, his view of the world having somehow been drastically skewed in those few seconds.
In Meridian, he sat within his nice, comfortable office, calculating investments and drinking his port, completely oblivious to the fact that somewhere in the world a child was dying of starvation.
There was something he could do about it.
Perhaps he couldn’t save the world, but every life mattered.
“Katie, sweetling…” Rusty’s voice broke. “Go now and take your sisters with ye. Let us talk.”
“Yes, Papa,” Katie said, seizing her younger siblings by the hands to lead them away. “Come on,” she directed them, her childish voice curiously adult-like. She turned her big blue eyes upon Merrick and waved. “’Bye, sir.”
She hadn’t a clue even how to address him. She was just a child who saw a man.
The two younger sisters followed her lead. All three waved as they scurried away toward the house where their mother stood upon the porch along with Chloe, watching from afar.
It occurred to him as he watched them go: this was a simple life, but Merrick could be happy if these were his own children and Chloe their mother. She stood there, completely oblivious to his scrutiny, hair blowing in the breeze, arms crossed and smiling fondly as she watched the children run giggling toward the house. Without question, if it would save their precious lives, he would steal for them, too.
He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing, he realized. He needed to contact Ryo and it occurred to him that there might be a way to kill more than one bird with a single stone.
A ring stone, to be precise.
If he could help it, Merrick intended to make certain they never had to steal again…save, perhaps, one last time. “I need you to do something for me,” he told Rusty.
“Anything, Hawk,” Rusty answered without hesitation.
“Good. This is what I need you to do…”
Chapter Nine
“An invitation?”
“Yes, Miss Chloe,” said Aggie the following day. The staff was kept at a frugal minimum and each servant labored furiously to accomplish the long lists of tasks assigned to them. Aggie was one of the few who hadn’t been dismissed.
“From who?”
“Lord Lindale!” Aggie exclaimed, giggling.
“You must be mistaken,” Chloe said, confused.
The girl nodded enthusiastically, her youthful face aglow. “An invitation to dine!” She was no more tha
n seventeen, Chloe surmised, and lovely with strawberry-gold hair and sun-kissed cheeks. She didn’t mean to, but she gave the girl a frown—for sounding so utterly delighted by the prospect.
Lindale had doubled her salary…now he was wooing her… He must be after something, but what? Whatever could he want from her? Chloe had nothing left of value to her name.
And why, pray God, the sudden interest? He hadn’t spared her more than a few polite exchanges in the seven months she’d been in residence, and now, suddenly, he seemed to be pursuing her.
It didn’t make sense.
Neither did the gooseflesh that erupted on her skin.
She couldn’t possibly be flattered by the invitation. She refused to be bought. Anyway, even if he wanted nothing more than her company, she told herself, it didn’t mean she could suddenly forget his previously sour attitude and general discourtesy.
“Thank you, Aggie,” Chloe said, accepting the proffered envelope. It was sealed. Chloe furrowed her brow. “How did you know it was an invitation?”
Aggie gave an excited little nod. “Because ’e said so, Miss Chloe.” She smiled winningly. “And I really think ’e likes you!”
Lindale only liked himself. He’d probably already used up every available woman in Glen Abbey, she thought to herself, and Chloe was to be his final conquest—or so he believed. But not if Chloe had any choice in the matter—and that was the one thing she did have. Choices. One always had choices, no matter the circumstances.
She tore open the invitation and sat upon the bed to read it. It read simply, “The Right Honorable The Lord of Lindale requests the pleasure of your company this evening for dinner. Please arrive in the foyer to be escorted at eight, prompt.”
Chloe chewed her bottom lip. She supposed it must seem a dream come true, a physician’s daughter to be the invited guest of an earl. And Lindale was quite the handsome suitor, after all. He was absolutely adored by the ladies—all the ladies—and his lineage was impeccable. He was, as some would say, a most eligible bachelor. But Chloe was not impressed. Indeed, he must have a motive, but what could it be?
She couldn’t very well refuse him.
Could she?
Should she?
She glanced at Aggie. The girl awaited her response with bated breath.
Chloe hated to disappoint her.
If she embarrassed Lindale with a refusal, would he ask her to leave the manor? He was the master of this house, after all. It wasn’t as though she truly wanted his affections; he couldn’t hurt her anymore than he already had. Besides, she was interminably curious.
“You may inform Lord Lindale that it would be my pleasure.” Though Chloe’s tone was tinged with sarcasm, Aggie overlooked it and gave a little leap of joy.
She clapped her hands together. “What will you wear?”
Something like butterflies took flight in Chloe’s belly. It was only Aggie’s enthusiasm that left her just a wee bit giddy. As for a gown, she really hadn’t much to choose from—but it didn’t matter because this wasn’t what it appeared. “I don’t know,” Chloe answered honestly, and laid the invitation down upon the bed, contemplating her choices.
All at once her face felt flush and her palms slightly damp. Unbidden, the memory of his kiss assaulted her and her heart flopped against her breast. She stood, fanning herself, trying to eradicate the taste of his mouth from her lips, the memory of his embrace. “Maybe I shouldn’t go, after all,” she said weakly. “I feel suddenly quite feverish.”
Aggie giggled softly. “It’s just nerves, Miss Chloe,” she said, sounding suddenly far too mature. Another glance at the girl’s face showed a very different Aggie. Something about the knowing look in her eyes made Chloe feel like the more naive of the two.
Chloe took in a breath and tried to clear her head.
There was so much to be done in so little time! Lord, but there must be something suitable she had to wear!
A sense of panic enveloped her. She rushed to the wardrobe. Opening it revealed a meager assortment of garments that might have embarrassed her to wear in more finer households, but here, at Glen Abbey Manor, everything was old and overused. Even some of Lady Fiona’s own gowns were somewhat worse for the wear. Still, Aggie gasped with delight at the riches Chloe unveiled and Chloe felt an immediate twinge of guilt.
Chloe reached in, pulling out a wrinkled dress of soft blue chiffon with ivory lace cuffing at the sleeve and hem. The neckline was fashionable but modest. She’d worn the gown to her cousin’s wedding in Edinburgh two years before. There hadn’t been an occasion to wear it since.
Aggie sighed wistfully. “It’s beautiful, Miss Chloe! It’s aboot time to stop wearing mourning colors anyway.” She held her hands out. “I’ll take it and press it at once.”
Chloe wasn’t accustomed to being waited upon. “Oh!” she said, “but I don’t mind doing it myself.”
“I insist!” Aggie said. “It’d be my pleasure, Miss Chloe. Anyway, you’ve your own duties to attend to.” She tried to take the dress from Chloe’s hands.
Chloe frowned. “Well…thank you, I suppose,” she said, reluctant to release the gown. It wasn’t her place to utilize the servants in such a capacity. She was scarce more than a servant herself.
Aggie pulled it firmly from her grasp, smiling reassuringly. “It’s a fine day, Miss Chloe, when one of them notices one of us. I want to do this, please.”
Chloe sighed. “Very well,” she relented, releasing the dress.
She hated to disappoint Aggie, but she was certain Lord Lindale hadn’t romance on his mind.
Aggie didn’t give her even an instant to reconsider. The girl scurried out of the room with a flurry of blue chiffon trailing behind her.
The instant she was gone, Chloe wanted to race after her.
She couldn’t do this.
She’d never dined with a man before—never alone. Come to think of it, never at all. Her father didn’t count, and he’d never invited guests to dinner. He’d worked hard and she had worked by his side, eagerly learning everything he would teach her. By the end of the day, it had been a blessing simply to enjoy a peaceful meal together.
It had been Chloe’s childhood dream to continue her father’s practice, but it wouldn’t be an easy goal to achieve because she wasn’t a man and therefore could never formally study medicine. What she knew, she knew only because her father had respected her enough to teach her and because she’d pored over his medical journals. It was highly unlikely that she could take her skills to Edinburgh or to London. No one there would seek the care of a woman. Only in Glen Abbey was she free to pursue her dreams, but when she’d lost her house, she’d lost what little security a roof over her head had afforded her.
Lindale, the cad, was a greedy penny-pincher who parted with his coin only to satisfy his own vices. That he’d agreed to double her salary was shocking. Chloe had to see it to believe it.
Perhaps the fall had knocked some decency into him. Chloe could only hope. And yet, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that had changed, something had.
Never in her life had anyone looked at her the way he had. He’d gazed at her with such—she couldn’t describe it—unbridled hunger in his eyes that it made her quiver merely at the memory. To her dismay, she couldn’t stop thinking about it…the way he’d kissed her, the way he’d held her.
She wondered what he was doing…and then wondered why she was wondering what he was doing.
What was the matter with her that she couldn’t stop thinking about him? Would she lose her head over any man who dared to steal a kiss from her?
It must be true, because Lord Lindale was hardly the sort of man she admired and respected.
He was nothing like Hawk.
Hawk was everything she’d ever desired in a man—compassionate, kind, generous, courageous…
The heroic images she conjured in her head at the thought of him made her shiver slightly.
They claimed he was tall, nearly six
-foot-eight, and that he had once single-handedly killed six men. Chloe wondered if it were true. If so, she was certain he’d had good cause, as he’d yet to harm a hair upon the heads of his victims. The men he might leave rankled, but the women were left in a swoon of admiration. Indeed, he was fodder for bed tales, and mothers recanted his stories to children as they closed their eyes at night. Sometimes, come morning, there would appear a brimming basket of goods upon the hearth…and lying beside the anonymous gift was the single, tiny white feather of a hawk. Children strung them and wore them as trophies about their necks.
No one knew what he looked like, because he wore a black hooded mask to hide his face. But a prostitute Chloe had once treated who worked at the Pale Ale had encountered him more than once and swore she’d spied him bareheaded. She’d said that his smile was like a string of shimmering pearls and that his eyes were like gentle blue moons, bright and glowing with kindness.
Chloe sighed softly.
She’d come to fear there were no heroes left in the world. They were all Lord Lindales.
And she was a silly fool to hope for anything else.
He’d stood her up.
And worse, he’d sent his mother in his stead, Chloe thought as she descended the steps and saw Ian wasn’t there. It was just like the cad to do something so vile. Was this the way he intended to punish her for yesterday’s insolence? She took a step downward, trying to mask her flare of temper. As she made her way down, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, denying herself even the smallest sliver of self-pity.
What had she expected?
God help her, she was ashamed to admit that she had actually been anticipating the evening. What a silly chit she’d been. She was acutely aware that Aggie had gathered the servants; they were all peeking at her from behind their various hiding spaces. Even Edward, who was standing at the front door, was present to witness her foolishness.
“Before you go on cursing him,” Lady Fiona said, smiling serenely. She put up a hand to silence Chloe when Chloe opened her mouth to deny it. “You must know that Ian has quite a design for this evening.”
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