Chapter 12
The bloody ring was nowhere to be found.
Merrick checked even the closed bud of the rose he’d given her, thinking she might have slipped the ruby within. It wasn’t there; it wasn’t anywhere. Hell and damnation! Either she tossed the bugger out the carriage window or it remained on her person. But though he’d seen glimpses of her fiery temper, he knew she wouldn’t have cast so valuable a piece, so that left one place to search…
He raked a hand over his face.
Christ almighty, this wasn’t just any ring. Passed down from father to son for over three hundred years, it bore the Welbourne family crest. Merrick would be giving it to his own son someday. Ryo would have known instinctively that Merrick would never part with it—not at any cost—and he would have taken its delivery as a call for help. If Fiona knew anything of its value—and he was certain she did—she would have known not to part with it until Ryo arrived to claim it.
What did little Miss Chloe intend to do with that ring? What did she know?
The little vixen.
Cursing, he left off searching the deuced carriage. A third perusal would be a wasted effort. She was probably already concealing the ring somewhere within the cottage… so she could return for it later. Damn. This evening wasn’t going at all as he’d planned.
She wasn’t in the living area when he returned. He checked the kitchen; it was empty, as well. Which left only two possibilities. It was a small cottage. Either she’d managed to slip out while he’d been searching the carriage and was halfway to Edinburgh by now—he knew she no longer had familial ties in Glen Abbey—or she was in one of the two bedrooms.
He made directly for the master’s bedroom.
He found her there, standing before the oval mirror, casually brushing her hair.
The vision was such an intimate one that it took him momentarily aback. For a befuddled instant he couldn’t even remember why he’d been searching for her to begin with, so entranced was he by the sight of her.
Her dark auburn hair was swept down, framing her lovely face. The ends of her long, silky hair curled gently… like a lover’s finger atop her breasts. Her skin was flushed from the curve of her breasts to her beautiful cheeks. He swallowed. Hard. And he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, catching sight of him in the mirror. “My lord!” She spun to face him when he entered, pretending to be startled by his sudden appearance. “I—I hope you don’t mind terribly,” she said, her voice betraying a slight quiver. “My pins were giving me a dreadful megrim.”
Merrick still couldn’t find his voice to speak.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking coy. “I shouldn’t have… it’s only that… I know I looked horrid with my hair a mess and tear stains on my face.”
She looked anything but. She was ravishing.
Merrick’s mouth felt suddenly parched; he licked lips gone dry. His loins tightened to the point that he hoped she wouldn’t lower her gaze. No trousers could confine the greedy beast stirring there.
He cleared his throat. “Not at all,” he managed to say. He forced himself to remain at the door, lest he go to her, lift her up, throw her down on the bed and take her like some crude barbarian. He was that bloody aroused.
She wasn’t like the ladies of the ton, who gasped by day at the very thought of entering a man’s boudoir, but secretly slipped between his sheets by night.
Nor, evidently, was she some shy miss.
He remembered the way she’d peeked beneath his coverlet when she’d thought him asleep and experienced a sudden violent wrenching of his gut at the thought of her lying with some other man.
He had to know—as badly as he needed to find that ring—if she was still a virgin.
She shouldn’t have ventured into his bedroom, he thought darkly. Merrick considered himself a gentleman, but he was no saint and she’d changed the rules of the game when she’d entered his lair. Still, he daren’t move too quickly. Like a tiger in a crouch, he waited for the right moment to pounce.
“You look radiant,” he said, and meant it, his voice sounding thick even to his own ears.
* * *
Chloe’s heart began to thump wildly.
She hadn’t found the necklace, of course, but she knew it must be here somewhere. Looking into his stormy eyes, she realized her foolishness. She heard the clip clop of her carriage fading away and realized he’d sent the carriage off; she was alone with him now.
The hungry intensity in his eyes was the same as it was the morning he’d kissed her. His eyes were like blue flickering flames and his gaze, where it touched her, lit her body slowly afire. Her skin prickled with something like fear as he took a step nearer, but it wasn’t precisely fear, she acknowledged. She swallowed the knot that arose in her throat and with a mind for self-preservation, took a step backward.
“Tell me… what are you really doing here, Chloe?”
She gulped deeply at the sensual sound of his voice, low and throaty. Her breathing grew heavy and her body convulsed in secret places. “M-my lord?” she said, feeling as though she would swoon under his scrutiny. His presence filled the entire room. “You invited me… remember?”
“To dine, yes, I know,” he finished for her. “I meant… what are you doing in my bedroom?” He took her ring out of his pocket, made a point to look it over, then walked past her to the night table, eyeing her as he set the impostor ring down on the table.
Chloe watched him with a growing sense of alarm.
Why didn’t he ask about the real ring?
If he did, she would return it straightaway. She’d only wished to know the truth.
He was closer now and she had the impression that it was by careful design. He watched her closely as he said, “I sent a message to the house that you’ve been robbed. The constable should be alerted at once.”
Chloe’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t even thought about the constable. She knew the man would leap at the opportunity to interrogate her. It seemed to Chloe that he wished to catch Hawk more than he wished to breathe. What should she tell him? What if she were wrong about Lord Lindale? What if he was not Hawk, after all?
He must be bluffing, she decided, and straightened under his regard. She refused to be cowed. If he was playing games, she could do the same.
“Good,” she said, nodding, but her tone wasn’t entirely convincing even to her own ears. She was a horrid liar. Even now, the cold metal ring stung the flesh between her breasts, and she longed to pluck it out and cast it at him accusingly. Heaven help her, she should never have come here to begin with. She should have gone back to the manor.
But… she couldn’t stop staring at him, despite knowing it was a dangerous game she played. His gaze locked upon her face, his eyes entrapping her, and for the longest moment of Chloe’s life, they stood staring at one another.
And she knew…
He knew.
Her heart beat like thunder against her breast. Her hand dropped helplessly at her side, the brush slipping to her fingertips. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye and came and took it from her, tossing it on the bed.
Chloe suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“My God,” he whispered. “You are so lovely.” His fingers slid through her hair, pausing at her cheek.
Chloe’s head fell backward at the shocking intimacy. She found it impossible to swallow, though she tried. As his hand cupped her face, she sucked in a breath. Why was she responding so wantonly? Why was her body behaving so traitorously? She was already seduced, she feared, and he had barely touched her.
No man had ever affected her so strangely.
Was she so hungry for the touch of another human being that she would lower herself to such behavior?
She lapped at her lips. “My lord,” she protested, but it sounded more like a sigh when it passed through her lips.
“Chloe,” he said, and it sounded like a plea. “I realize I promised I wouldn’t, but I long to kiss y
ou,” he said, his tone sounding tortured. His arm went about her waist, drawing her fully against him. “Tell me you want me to.”
Chloe’s lips parted, but no words came. Her heart pounded so fiercely she knew he must hear it, as well. She melted against his embrace, closing her eyes, trying to summon the will to resist.
“I need to kiss you,” he whispered hoarsely.
But kissing him would gain her nothing, Chloe reminded herself.
Loving him could lose her everything.
“If you tell me you don’t want me to, I won’t.” His face touched her cheek, his lips lightly brushing her skin.
Chloe clung to him, her fingers clutching desperately at the sleeves of his shirt.
“But dear God help me, I’ve wanted you from the instant I saw you,” he whispered. His arms locked about her waist, the hunger apparent in his embrace.
Chloe wasn’t a child. Her father never treated her as most fathers treated their daughters. He’d never sheltered her from truth. She knew what kisses led to. But Heaven forgive her for being so wanton, she needed him to kiss her, too. She nodded almost imperceptibly, but he must have felt her because his lips closed over hers in that instant. He pressed his mouth against hers so tenderly, so delicately, that Chloe could only moan in response.
He was an earl, she told herself desperately. This was foolish… she must stop… but her lips would not obey.
“So sweet,” he whispered against her mouth, and Chloe felt his words throughout her body; the blood warmed through her veins and her breasts tautened until they ached. She gasped softly for breath as his tongue swept over her lower lip. She was drowning in desire… felt with parts of her body she didn’t know could feel.
* * *
Merrick’s body responded with an explosion of desire.
It had been so long since he’d lain with a woman—so long since he’d wanted to. But she wasn’t merely some woman… she was a rare flower and he never wanted her to wilt—never wanted to be the cause of it. By her response to his kiss, timid, but eager, he knew it would be so easy to lay her down… right here upon the bed and take her… but he couldn’t… not yet.
He wanted her not merely willing, but forever.
If he violated her now, she would regret the hastiness of their loving. And yet… if he walked away now, it also meant he couldn’t search her for the ring.
It was a matter of priority. The ring or Chloe?
Instead of taking it, he would have to coerce it from her…make her want to give it to him. For that, he needed her trust.
Knowing he would pull away after one last taste of her, he drank deeply of her mouth, feeding from the sweet nectar, and then, reluctantly, tore himself away, thoroughly ignoring the throbbing of his loins.
He couldn’t be alone with her tonight.
He couldn’t be trusted, he realized.
Aside from that, he couldn’t trust her to remain in the vicinity of the necklace.
* * *
His withdrawal left Chloe feeling both relieved and dashed.
If he hadn’t been holding her so tightly, she might have crumpled at his feet, so dazed was she by his passionate kiss.
“I’m certain you’re not in the mood for an elaborate dinner after the ordeal you’ve been through,” he suggested, sounding suddenly curt. “The carriage will return soon.” He turned her to the bedroom door and gave her a gentle shove toward it.
Stunned by his sudden, obvious dismissal, Chloe allowed him to lead her out of the room.
Panic filled her.
No! She couldn’t leave yet!
She certainly couldn’t leave the cottage without finding that necklace! “But I’m ravenous!” she lied.
“Not to worry,” he countered. “I’ll see you safely home and then have a meal sent to your room.”
There was nothing Chloe could say to that. His tone brooked no argument. She hadn’t the first notion what she’d done, but it was evident by his demeanor that he no longer wished Chloe to remain in his presence.
True to his word, it wasn’t long before the carriage returned—or perhaps it had never left. Chloe was too confused to know. Lord Lindale saw her aboard, then returned briefly to the cottage. Chloe suspected she knew why, but said nothing as he boarded the carriage and sat in the facing seat.
He lifted up the rose before settling himself and handed it to her with a slight smile. “This, my love, belongs to you.”
But his look did not match his sweet words.
He’d called her my love.
Could it be that he used sweet words for every woman he knew? At least for those from whom he wanted something?
Or had he meant it?
Chapter 13
That night, Chloe lay in bed twirling the rose in one hand, the ring in the other.
The evening had managed to thoroughly confuse her.
It seemed to her that Ian MacEwen—Lord Lindale—was not at all the man she’d supposed he was. She’d discovered more about him during the past week than she had in all the months she’d been in residence. And what she discovered was that he was full of secrets.
Had his wastrel attitude been entirely an act from the first day she’d met him?
Since his youth, Lindale was said to have had a greater taste for women than he did for his whiskey. Her belly turned at the thought of him wooing other women. It gave her a twinge of some emotion she daren’t confess to—jealousy?
Surely not.
Gossip would have it that he frequented every unseemly pub in the Glen Abbey vicinity, flouting in the face of propriety. Chloe had to wonder now if that had merely been a cover for… other activities.
Could it be that he hadn’t wanted her presence at Glen Abbey only because he hadn’t wanted her to unmask him?
Still, something about the situation did not add up.
I’ve wanted you from the instant I saw you…
Could it be true?
His words clung to her brain like the taste of him upon her lips.
At first Chloe had been invited to take her meals in the dining hall, along with Lord Lindale and his mother. Lord Lindale had repeatedly declined to join them, and then, the one-time Chloe did not join them, he’d returned to the table. It sent a clear message to her that she wasn’t welcome, and from then on she’d declined to join them ever.
Aside from that, however, he’d never actually mistreated her. In fact, he’d scarcely even talked to her. Like Edward, he’d barely acknowledged her presence.
But now he claimed he’d wanted her from the instant he’d spied her. It simply didn’t ring true. The fall from his horse had obviously, in truth, rattled his lying brain, so that he no longer knew what was true and what was not.
She inhaled the sweet scent of the rose he’d given her and then set it upon the night table, turning her attention to the ring in her hand.
By the moonlight she studied its design. The stone was a richly colored ruby that bore the etchings of a family crest on its belly. She couldn’t see it now in the dim light, but she knew it was there. The ring itself was gold and it, too, bore intricate carvings that were unfamiliar to her.
Why had he given her this ring to give to Lady Fiona? Would Lady Fiona recognize the jewel? And why hadn’t he simply handed the ring to his mother instead?
Chloe considered her best course of action. Should she give the ring to Lady Fiona? Or should she use it to draw out Hawk? She fell asleep devising a plan.
Lady Fiona took the news well.
She assured Chloe that the loss of the necklace wasn’t her fault, but Chloe felt entirely responsible. She fully intended to see to its return, no matter the cost. She didn’t dare bring up the ring, but Lord Lindale did, indeed, give his mother Chloe’s ring—which only made Chloe wonder if she weren’t mistaken. Perhaps he wasn’t Hawk. The entire situation was simply confusing.
But, as they sat in the drawing room examining the strange gift, Lindale seemed properly perplexed by the ring’s significance. He scar
cely looked at Chloe. His mother wasn’t able to shed any light upon it, either, but Lady Fiona cast Chloe a questioning glance.
Chloe’s face burned hot under Lady Fiona’s quick scrutiny. Judging by her expression, Fiona must realize the ring belonged to her. But she never revealed as much to Lord Lindale, and Chloe was beginning to feel Glen Abbey Manor was a house full of impossible secrets.
Later, after Fiona was settled in the garden, Chloe slipped out of the manor and ventured into town.
The one person she knew who’d connected with Hawk was Emily. Chloe sought her out, discreetly sending a young lad into the Pale Ale to ask Emily to meet her in the alley.
Emily emerged from the inn almost at once, her slim hips swaying beneath a faded blue dress. Her dark hair was pinned atop her head in a haphazard fashion. She was a lovely girl, not more than seventeen, but she looked and behaved older than her years. Life had dealt her a brutal hand; the lass had been on the streets since the tender age of twelve. But Emily was obviously quite pleased to see her; she gave Chloe an eager embrace, then stepped back to examine Chloe. She said, without a trace of envy in her voice, “You always look so nice, Miss Chloe.”
Chloe thanked her, but she was anxious to enlist her aid and came directly to the point. “Remember how you told me you’d met Hawk?”
“Aye,” Emily replied with a wink and a grin, eager for the opportunity to tell her romantic tales of the highwayman.
“I need you to get a message to him for me. It’s urgent. Do you think you could do that?”
Emily’s smile faded. She shrugged noncommittally, her expression suddenly uncertain. “Miss Chloe… I don’t know… you know I’m always grateful for your help, but I really don’t know if I should.”
“Oh, please! You must!” Chloe urged. If she must call in every favor in her effort to find Hawk, she would.
“He’s like the wind,” the girl said dramatically, waving her hand in a breezy fashion. “No one can find him, he must find you,” she explained.
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 12
