“Tell me what happened,” he demanded, settling down beside her on the settee. He tucked the blankets about her, wrapping her tighter, and Claire wanted to fly into his arms. It wasn’t rational. She scarce knew this man, but somehow, she felt safer in his presence.
“Claire?”
She was suddenly afraid to tell him, lest he think she had been abused. “Someone…attacked me,” she said, though she dared not admit where. Never in her worst nightmare had she imagined someone would violate her in her most private space. She shivered again.
He gently placed a hand at her waist. It lent her strength and courage. “Where?”
“In my home.” She looked away.
Ian felt as though someone had punched him in the gut.
He examined her naked, wiggling toes and her state of dishabille, and understood what she was reluctant to say. Fury ripped through him.
“Claire,” he began, forcing himself to speak calmly. “Did he harm you?”
She shook her head and played with the ring on her finger. “No.”
Ian released the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding. He reached out and gripped her chin, lifting her face, needing to look into her beautiful eyes. “Are you certain?”
She nodded, wearing the same vulnerable expression she’d had in the carriage the first day they’d met…and then again on High Street, when he’d rescued her purse from the raging dog. His suspicions had been validated; she was deep in the suds, and every fiber of his being wanted to come to her aid. His own troubles were entirely forgotten as he peered into her eyes. She was but a tiny kitten hiding behind a lioness’s facade.
“Claire, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what happened.”
She blinked and he yearned to reach out and draw her into his arms, but he didn’t dare. The feel of her would unman him.
He was deplorable, because here she was, completely distressed, and he wanted nothing more than to press his tongue between her lips. He’d spent too many hours imagining the taste of her.
He willed his thoughts away from her half-dressed body—even disheveled, she was a tempting armful—but his gaze betrayed him, sliding to her bare feet.
Devil hang him, because despite his best intentions, his governor had risen.
She seemed entirely unaware that she was sitting next to a hound.
“He stole into my house while I slept,” she said finally.
Ian gritted his teeth. “Who?” A jealous lover?
She shrugged, her brows drawing together. “A man.”
“Did you know him?”
Claire shook her head. “Please, will you release my chin?” she asked, without temper. “You’re grasping it too tightly.”
Ian dropped his hand at once, chagrined to have allowed his anger to manifest itself in such a rude manner. “I’m sorry, yet again.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, rubbing her chin with a dainty finger. She offered him a consolating smile.
Ian wanted to bend and kiss the small red spot where his fingers had pressed her. He resisted the urge, reminding himself that he had no right to such an intimate gesture.
“I did not know him, though I have seen him before,” she disclosed.
“When?”
She tilted her head, her expression more self-assured, and her lips curved. She dared to bait him. “The day you ran me down.”
Ian smiled back, amazed she could find her mettle even now. He amended his previous observation: She was a lioness hiding behind a kitten’s facade. “You mean, rather, that day when you weren’t watching where you were going?”
She laughed, the sound enchanting.
“Very well. I concede to some fault. Yes, that day when I was wasn’t watching where I was going.” And then she contorted her face. “At any rate, I was coming from the pawnshop….”
“Pawnshop?”
Her cheeks brightened as she proceeded to tell him about her father’s debts, her brother’s disappearance and his captor’s demands.
“That’s quite a load to bear alone,” Ian remarked, astonished that she had done so for this long.
She shrugged. “I had no choice. They said no bobbies, and I’m quite certain they mean to carry out their threats.” She told him about the finger. “And he demanded that I give him the ring,” she said, lifting her hand to reveal the winking monstrosity. “But I didn’t.”
“Obviously,” Ian remarked. “You are quite fortunate he didn’t snip off your finger and simply take it.”
“I wasn’t wearing it,” she confessed. “I told him I didn’t have it. I was afraid he would kill Ben if he no longer had use for him.”
Brave, levelheaded chit.
“You did the right thing for Ben’s sake,” Ian assured her. “Tomorrow we’ll make another trek to High Street. Tonight you’ll rest here. I’ll have a room arranged for you at once. Agreed?”
She nodded, and he felt both relieved and tormented at the thought of having her under the same roof.
“Thank you,” she said, and seemed to mean it. Her eyes glistened.
He reached out to take the ring from her finger. “I’ll put it somewhere safe.
She snatched her hand away. “If you don’t mind, I would rather hold on to it.”
“Suit yourself,” Ian said.
“But I do thank you for the shelter. I didn’t know where else to go. I no longer feel safe…at home.”
She hadn’t a clue.
She wasn’t safe here, either—no safer than that bloody ring was on her finger. But he didn’t bother to point out the fact.
It was going to be a long damned night.
Chapter Sixteen
That night, Claire tossed and turned.
It was the first time in nearly seven years that she’d slept outside her home, and, after tonight’s ordeal, every strange noise left her ill at ease.
She’d requested a room near Merrick’s, and was comforted to know he was a mere shout away. Still, she couldn’t seem to sleep.
Her mind raced with the night’s possible outcomes. Had circumstances played out differently, she might be dead right now, or left violated. The man’s breath had been repugnant. And the sound of his voice still echoed in her ears. He’d stolen into her room and he’d held her at knifepoint. He could have forced her to do unspeakable things. He might have taken the ring and then disposed of Ben entirely. She hoped her brother remained unharmed.
As for Merrick, God surely worked in mysterious ways to have put him not once, but no fewer than three times, in her path. She might have taken a cab to and from the pawnshop and never have met him. On High Street, she might have been afraid, or even somewhat more sensible, and decided not to go. On the night of the engagement—she despised galas of that sort—it would have been easy for her to decline Alexandra’s invitation. But she hadn’t. And now she was sleeping in his home—and betrothed to him, no less!
But not really, she reminded herself.
It was simply a ploy to buy Merrick the time he needed to find himself another, more suitable bride.
Even though she told herself his choice of words didn’t bother her, they did.
Anyway, what was it that made her so unsuitable?
She frowned up at the ceiling. The thought of Merrick wedding someone else left her feeling sullen.
But that didn’t make sense, because she couldn’t have feelings for a man she hardly knew. And she shouldn’t care one whit if he walked down the aisle with another woman.
The sound of footsteps outside her door made her bolt upright in bed. Her heart fluttered. She held her breath, listening.
What if they had come for the ring…here?
They wouldn’t dare!
She bounded out of bed and hurried to the door to listen, ready to scream if the knob should turn.
Outside Claire’s door, Ian stood, hand poised to knock. But he hesitated.
What more could he do tonight, except ask how she fared? Anyway, she was likely fast asleep by now. In fact, he
’d waited hours in hopes that exhaustion would save him from making a fool of himself.
He just wanted to see her.
Frozen in indecision, he stood, considering the circumstances.
Earlier this evening, he had been prepared to disclose himself to his father, but the situation had changed. Now, he was no longer willing to jeopardize his position if he could somehow be of aid to Claire. And neither could he disclose himself to her.
Even if the situation were different, and if Claire didn’t smack him for the thoughts he was entertaining, he risked ruining her reputation by visiting her so late without a chaperone.
Still, he was torn. His hand remained in midair.
He couldn’t give her what she deserved. He couldn’t even give her the money she needed to ransom her brother. Not yet.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to see her, he told himself. He forced himself away from the door, retreating, knowing it was the right thing to do.
Damn it all to bloody hell! Why did he suddenly have to grow a conscience?
The following morning’s trek to High Street was a far different venture from Claire’s first visit to the much-deteriorated quarter. Merrick ordered the driver to await them as he stepped into the bleary weather to assist her from the carriage.
“Perhaps you should not have ventured here again, denka,” Ryo commented as Claire alit from the vehicle.
Merrick gave the man a quelling glance.
“It is said the nail that sticks out is the one that gets hammered down,” the man persisted.
“Whatever does he mean?” Claire asked beneath her breath.
“The man fancies himself a poet,” Merrick snapped, ushering her away from the carriage. “Pay him no mind.”
“Why does he call you denka?” Claire asked. “What does it mean?”
Merrick seemed to hesitate before answering, and then replied somewhat curtly, “It’s simply a name, nothing more.”
Claire frowned, wondering why the question should nettle him.
When they reached Cameron’s office, Merrick held the door open and waited until she was inside before stepping in behind her.
His hand brushed her waist and Claire’s skin prickled. She ignored the sensation, focusing her attention instead on the man seated behind the desk. She was simply nervous, she told herself.
Cameron stood and came around his desk, his eyes fixed curiously upon Claire, though his hand was extended toward Ian.
“So…what brings His Royal Highness to High Street on this fine day?” Cameron asked, finally looking at Ian.
He bowed to Claire and smiled.
Ian felt his jaw clench, and like a jealous lad, he wanted to step in front of his woman so that Cameron’s greedy eyes could not violate her.
But she wasn’t his woman, he reminded himself.
What the devil ailed him?
“Allow me to introduce Lady Claire Wentworth,” Ian said. “My fiancée,” he added as Claire offered Cameron her hand bearing the tear-shaped sapphire.
Cameron looked up from the enormous jewel. He smiled. “Yes, I understand congratulations are in order.”
Ian nodded. “News travels quickly.”
“Indeed, it does. Though I’m certain this is not a social call,” Cameron added, and turned again to address Claire. “You must excuse my boorish manners, my lady. It seems I have been mingling too long with the common folk. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
He gestured toward an old wooden chair that could hardly be described as comfortable even under the most generous of circumstances, waited for Claire to seat herself, and then turned to Ian and asked, “How may I be of service to the Prince of Meridian and his lovely bride?”
The man was an arrogant bastard, Ian decided once and for all. With luck, his investigative skills were as sharp as his tongue.
Claire peered up at Ian, her green eyes stark and wide. It was the same desperate look that had moved him on that first day in the carriage.
Ian gestured for her to begin. It was her story to tell, after all.
She looked down at her lap. “Yes, well, whatever I say remains in the strictest of confidence, I assume—because it could ruin my family’s good name.”
Cameron seated himself upon his desk, crossing his arms. “I assure you, my lady, that I do not kiss and tell.”
Ian cast the man an irritated glance, but held his tongue, allowing Claire to continue uninterrupted. She told her tale quickly, though she held her aplomb quite well, Ian thought.
“I wouldn’t worry overmuch about the finger,” Cameron suggested when she was finished. “I’m sure it belongs to someone else, not Ben.”
Claire tilted her chin up, looking both strong and vulnerable. “Truly?”
Cameron nodded. “Ghastly as it may seem, there are men who have few qualms about disturbing the dead for monetary gain,” he explained. “It happens quite frequently. And it’s quite an elementary tactic, if you think about it.”
Ian hadn’t even considered that possibility. In Scotland, the dead were sacred.
Her green eyes glistened. “How can you be certain?”
“Because, if Ben were to bleed to death or to die of infection, he wouldn’t be worth a single copper to them. I can assure you, they won’t risk his good health, not as long as he is of use.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, yes, I see.” She nodded. “That does make sense.”
“How long has he been missing?” Cameron continued to interrogate her.
“Three weeks,” Ian answered, though Claire had already opened her mouth to respond.
He was beginning to feel invisible and didn’t like it one bit, particularly where Claire was concerned.
He was jealous, he realized.
Cameron eyed Ian with an annoying twinkle of amusement, as though he sensed Ian’s thoughts, and continued speaking to Claire. “Where did you last see him?”
Claire shrugged and her expression gave Ian reason to believe she’d been keeping something from him. She glanced at Ian. “Well, I was concerned that he was being secretive,” she relented, after a long moment, “so I followed him one night.”
“Where to?”
“White’s,” she answered, looking a little sheepish over the confession. “That’s how I discovered he was gambling.”
“That’s certainly nothing out of the ordinary for a man of Ben’s means,” Cameron contended. “Who doesn’t attend White’s, madam—and not necessarily for the wagers?”
“But that’s just it,” Claire argued. “We were quite cleaned out. I don’t really know how, but we were. Ben said not to worry, that he would take care of it. But then he would disappear at odd hours, and things would go missing along with him.”
“I see,” Cameron said. “So that was the last time you saw your brother?”
Claire shook her head. This time she kept her focus trained on Cameron. “Once more. I followed him the next evening to a house on George Street.”
Raising his brows, Cameron looked at Ian. “That’s hardly an area of the city a woman of your caliber should be venturing into,” he said.
“So I’ve been told,” she retorted, frowning.
Ian tried not to grin.
Fearless wench.
His grin faded on the heels of his next thought. That same fearlessness would be the death of her if she didn’t take care.
“So that’s the last time you saw Ben?”
“Yes,” she said, “though I do know he returned that evening, because Mrs. Tandy—our housemaid—saw him depart the following morning. He told her that he was going to speak to someone and didn’t have time to break his fast, and he never returned.”
“It sounds as though someone may have led him to a private game,” Cameron said. “And I can assure you, in that part of town, it was likely not a friendly one.”
“Is there anything you can do?”
Cameron engaged Claire with a sympathetic smile. “How can I possibly refuse a lovely lady?”<
br />
Claire’s cheeks stained a deep rose. Her gaze shifted to Ian, and she smiled—not for Cameron, but for him.
For an instant, he forgot where they were. He forgot what they were doing. He forgot to breathe. And he certainly forgot that their engagement was a complete ruse.
For the briefest instant, she was his beautiful, fearless bride.
And then Cameron’s voice intruded.
“It just so happens that the first time His Royal Highness inquired about my services—” he cast Ian a meaningful glance “—I was unavailable. Naturally, to make amends, I accepted his father’s assignment to locate Prince Merrick when he vanished. As you can imagine, however, my services were no longer necessary once he resurfaced.”
Sudden clarity came to Ian. His suspicion was correct. Merrick and Cameron had met previously, he realized.
Cameron’s attention returned to Claire, allowing Ian a moment to digest his affirmation.
“Helping his lovely bride is the least I can do after accepting such a handsome sum for doing absolutely nothing,” Cameron was saying.
It all made good sense now.
Evidently, like his father, Merrick had attempted to retain Cameron’s services, perhaps to investigate the letters their father had written to their mother. When Cameron had refused him, Merrick apparently took the task upon himself. In any case, Cameron would have realized after Ian’s initial greeting that Ian hadn’t recognized him. From there, it would have been easy enough to deduce that Ian wasn’t Merrick.
Still, Cameron had remained silent. Why?
“Thank you,” Ian said, pondering the man’s possible reasons for holding his tongue. Extortion, perhaps?
Cameron was studying his reaction, he realized. “I’m certain you’ve been told the family resemblance between you and your father is uncanny,” he remarked, smiling slightly.
“Never.”
Cameron nodded. “I make it a policy not to intervene in familial affairs.”
Ian understood the message.
Whatever Cameron’s reservations, he didn’t intend to interfere. It seemed Ryo and Cameron were both resolved to stay out of his way, and there was little danger of his father discovering the truth. The man was so mired in his own affairs that he hadn’t an ounce of mind to spare.
The Impostor Prince Page 12
