The Impostors: Complete Collection

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  For that matter, she hadn’t the first notion where to go.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  Chloe turned to find Lord Lindale, once again, standing between her and freedom.

  She gave him her most disapproving glare and snapped, “What do you want?”

  But she really couldn’t care less what he wanted; she’d already made up her mind.

  For once, Lord Lindale seemed to be weighing his damnable words. “I’m told you plan to leave.”

  “That is correct.” Chloe tugged on her remaining glove, determined not to allow the man to provoke her. She turned again to peer out the window, watching for the carriage to arrive.

  “Where is it you intend to go?” he asked as though he believed she had no available options.

  But, of course, she didn’t. That, however, was not his concern. Chloe spun to face him, furious that he should be so crude as to point out the impracticality of her decision. “Where I go is absolutely none of your affair, my lord.”

  He stepped into the room then, and Chloe instinctively retreated, hating herself for showing any weakness. Instinctively, she lifted two fingers to her lips. Even still… they felt… thoroughly kissed.

  He averted his gaze, peering down at his boots, placing his hands behind his back—an oddly docile gesture for him. And now he seemed to be contemplating his words—hardly usual for a man who was never at a loss for sarcasm or wit.

  At last, his gaze met hers. “Would it change your mind if I apologized?”

  Apologized?

  Chloe arched a brow. It certainly wasn’t like him to offer apologies for anything—not ever—but it was too late for apologies. “No,” she replied. “But, no matter, it would certainly be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  He arched a brow. “I take it you think I need lessons in social intercourse?”

  Chloe lifted her chin. “My lord… one need not be noble born to know that no gentleman would ever treat a woman so rudely.”

  “Alas,” he said. “It wasn’t the gentleman in me responding to you, I fear. I beg forgiveness, Chloe…”

  He took another step into the room and Chloe sucked in a breath but stood her ground. She glanced over her shoulder. It wasn’t as though she had any choice but to stand firm; there wasn’t anywhere left to retreat to. He took yet another step toward her and her heart beat quickened.

  “As for my desire… I have known wives who did not think it so crude to be desired by their husbands.”

  Chloe tried in vain to eradicate the memory of his kiss. “Perhaps, my lord, but I am neither a wife, nor a husband,” she said tartly.

  At her declaration, he came no further. He stood midway, putting his hands back in a non-confrontational stance, and Chloe released the breath she’d not realized she’d held.

  His voice softened and his eyes slitted as they regarded her. “You would hardly be mistaken for a husband,” he said, and the silky sound of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

  Why did he seem so different? And why did her legs suddenly feel as unsubstantial as pudding?

  Chloe fidgeted under the heat of his scrutiny. “Really, my lord, this is hardly an appropriate conversation.”

  “You must forgive me, Chloe,” he said, and the intimate way he spoke her name made Chloe’s breath catch. “I am afraid I was beset by my injuries and did not realize what it was I was doing.”

  Chloe arched a brow over his explanation. It was true that he hadn’t been himself since his fall.

  He gave her a disarming smile—one she’d never witnessed firsthand, though she knew he employed it all too often. She’d watched him work his wiles on unsuspecting women and had sworn to never be his victim. And yet… that smile… it made her heart beat a little faster, confusing her.

  * * *

  It was all Merrick could do not to claim her into his arms and carry her away, like some crude barbarian. He might regret his approach, but hardly the kiss.

  In fact, he wanted to kiss her again. This very moment.

  Somehow, he restrained himself. One step nearer and he would lose his reason. The delicate scent of roses teased him even at this distance. It made him want to bury his face against her throat and inhale the sweet scent of her skin.

  She looked so beautifully indignant. And lord-a-mercy, by the way she had touched her lips, he knew that the woman in her had reveled in his passion.

  Unbidden, a vision came to him of her straddling him, her rich, auburn hair spilling like silk down the length of her back, her delicate face in the throes of passion, and his loins tightened.

  God help him, he could still taste her upon his lips…

  She hitched her chin. “Arrive at your point, my lord. What is it you want?”

  What he wanted, was her. What he needed was her help, he decided. Merrick needed an ally. “I’m afraid the fall must have, indeed, addled my brain, Chloe. Clearly, I have been a wretch and today I see the error of my ways.”

  The arch of her brow lifted higher. “I could have told you that, my lord.”

  Saucy vixen. “Alas, I am mortified to say I had forgotten who you were. In fact, I thought you must be my wife. Isn’t that amusing?” he asked.

  Her brow furrowed. “Quite,” she agreed, but she didn’t return his smile.

  “I assure you it will never happen again,” he said, knowing it was a lie. If the opportunity arose, he would surely seize it. Kissing Chloe Simon was suddenly at the very top of his list of wants. 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 whilst he continued his quest. “As compensation, I will give you an increase in wages,” he added. “That is… if you agree to remain.”

  She gave him a skeptical glance. “You did not know who I was?”

  He shook his head. “Truly.” That much wasn’t a lie. Neither was the pain that flared suddenly in his head, and he lifted a hand defensively to his forehead. It ached him like the devil.

  For her part, Chloe seemed to be pondering his explanation and he closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy, lifting a hand to his temple as he stumbled.

  Chloe rushed forward. “Oh! You shouldn’t be out of bed. Come,” she demanded, pulling him firmly toward the bed. “Sit!” she said, and Merrick did as she bade him. Tilting her head this way and that, she studied him as he sat, inspecting his injured head.

  “Look at me. Can you see me clearly?” she asked. He did, and blinked at the look of concern nestled in her beautiful dark eyes. He couldn’t at once respond, so entranced was he by the unfathomable warm depths of her gaze.

  “My lord?”

  Merrick shook himself free of his momentary stupor to find Chloe regarding him very critically. She reached out to examine his wound, nibbling gently at her already swollen lip. Her voice when she spoke was sober. “I’ve heard of memory lapses arising after severe injuries to the head. Tell me, is there aught else you do not recall?”

  It wasn’t precisely a lie. “It’s coming back to me slowly, Chloe. But I don’t remember much at all.”

  * * *

  Devil take him. Chloe believed him. He’d never once before called her by her given name—always Miss Simon. But she was certain this was only a temporary loss of memory. As the injury healed, the fog would lift from his brain, and then he would doubtless return to his obnoxious self.

  “I don’t wish to alarm my mother,” he said.

  Chloe didn’t either, but she 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 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 prepared to give. Miser that he was, he would surely try to bargain her down. “Well, then… perhaps I might be persuaded if you would consider doubling my salary.”

  There was no bartering, not a bit. “Cons
ider it done,” he said to Chloe’s surprise.

  Chloe’s brows lifted. “Are you quite certain, my lord?” The fall had, indeed, juggled his brain!

  “It appears you are indispensable,” he said for answer. “To my mother… and… to me. Thank you.”

  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. “But I’m certain for that fee Lady Fiona could hire someone more experienced to nurse her.”

  His blue eyes were fixed upon her, entrapping her gaze. “It is not my mother who needs you most,” he said softly, and he rose from the bed. Chloe’s heart quickened a beat, but she couldn’t seem to look away.

  Something strange passed between them in that instant, some connection she couldn’t decipher. “You… you should rest, my lord,” she said breathlessly.

  “I’ll see the funds are available to be dispensed at once.” His gaze released her at long last and he turned to go. Stepping over her baggage at the door, he paused before taking his leave, smiling wistfully. “You would make a lovely wife,” he said.

  And then he was gone.

  Chloe stood, flabbergasted. She hadn’t the first inkling what had transpired. Indeed, Lord Lindale didn’t seem at all himself.

  Could it be he was telling the truth?

  It was quite rare to lose one’s memory entirely, but not unheard of. If it were true, perhaps she could use his present state to her advantage? And perhaps the deed to her home wasn’t lost, after all?

  He’d said she was indispensable.

  It’s not my mother who needs you most, he’d said, and the memory of his words made her shiver, though she didn’t trust him. He wanted something from her; Chloe was certain of it. She’d never known Ian to flatter anyone without cause. There was a time she’d believed him charming, but she’d very quickly come to realize that every word that came out of his mouth was coldly 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 babes, and who cared only for his own pleasures. It would behoove her to tread lightly with Lindale, 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. But, 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 not available to you.”

  The cocky bastard had informed him very baldly that he had no right to peruse the books. They were under lock and key, 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 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 cannot personally access them?”

  Edward stood rigidly by the cabinets where the ledgers were all kept, obstinately shaking his head. “As I’ve said 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 would send me to my mother, and she returns 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. But 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 at all. Imagine telling the Prince of Meridian he couldn’t have what he so pleased. “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, and I have no doubt my mother will tell you the same.”

  The steward’s arrogant facade cracked just a bit. “Yes, my lord, she is, indeed, quite fond of Miss Simon, but—”

  Merrick stood abruptly and made to leave without excusing himself. “Just do it, Edward,” he snapped, and he left before his temper could no longer be restrained.

  At least he now understood what answers his brother had sought from Edward to no avail. He experienced a momentary pang of regret for Ian. Was this what drove his brother to thievery?

  It didn’t matter.

  Thievery was hardly a noble pursuit—no matter that Chloe seemed to think it was.

  But as far as Edward was concerned, the steward only thought he was in control. Merrick was about to set the man on his heels. However, 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. He would make a mash of him, to be sure. But, at the instant his greatest dilemma was in getting a message to Ryo without alerting Ian, his father or his mother. Ryo was the one-and-only person Merrick felt he could rely upon without question. Despite that the old man’s loyalties lay primarily with Merrick’s father, ultimately Ryo would do what his conscience dictated.

  Intuitively, Merrick had a feeling Ian wouldn’t reveal himself straightaway, so there must be some way Merrick could alert Ryo that he had the wrong brother… or, at the very least, plant a seed.

  Chapter 7

  The house was dark as a sin. The office itself was gloomier. Although it was impossible to make out anything without a lamp, Chloe didn’t dare light one and call attention to herself snooping at this late hour.

  During the time she’d been in residence at Glen Abbey, 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 he had yet to return. Lord Lindale, too, ventured out for the evening—where he’d gone nobody knew, but they were both likely to return soon. Alas, she hadn’t been able to slip away until Lady Fiona fell asleep and the servants—few that remained— all retired to their quarters.

  Knowing she had precious little time, she hurriedly sifted through papers, bringing one pile, then another, to the window to read them by the moonlight shining in through the sliver 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.”

  Shock stole her breath. Her eyes narrowed with disgust. Rusty had only just lost his youngest daughter. The callousness over it all made her furious. She wanted to tear the document to shreds and to toss it into 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 the very devil peering at her from across the room.

  His face cast in shadows, he’d never looked so menacing. Good grief, she never even heard him enter. He strode forward with purpose and Chloe gasped in fright.

  Where now was her mettle? She berated herself.

  But, to her dismay, he’d never looked more beautifully dangerous—Lucifer himself looming out of the darkness.

  He closed the distance between them in just a few strides and snatched the document from her hand. He peered at it an instant, his face registering no emotion. Then he look
ed back at her and asked pointedly, “What are you doing here?”

  “I was…” Chloe fumbled for an explanation. “I mean to say… Well, I went to put out the lamp in your mother’s room…”

  His brow arched higher. “Her room is in the east wing,” he reminded her.

  Chloe nipped her lower lip, feeling utterly trapped. Zounds, she was a terrible liar. “Yes, well… when I was in the hall, you see… I spied someone stealing toward the steward’s office…so I followed.”

  She tried not to roll her eyes over the stupid explanation, but it was evident he didn’t believe her. His eyes clearly registered doubt. “Is that so?”

  Chloe nodded.

  His face remained an impenetrable mask as he peered down once more at the document in his hand, then proceeded to fold it whilst he studied her in turn. He slipped the document into his coat pocket.

  Chloe held her tongue under his painful scrutiny. God have mercy, she wanted to say so much, but something about the look in his eyes kept her silenced.

  “You’re a lovely little liar,” he said. “What is it you were searching for, Chloe?”

  The pang in her heart stilled her tongue. She was so close to uncovering the truth now, she could feel it. But if he realized she suspected him of stealing the deed, he would send her packing. “I…” She averted her gaze, unable to look him in the eyes, but she managed an easy tone. “Nothing… truly, my lord.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, his attention diverted by the echo of footfalls approaching 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 a hand firmly against her mouth, shushing her, and Chloe was utterly confused by his reaction.

  The curtains were still swaying when the door came open. Lord Lindale’s hand lingered over her mouth, but he drew it slightly away, scarce touching her lips. The heat emanating from his skin stilled not only her tongue but her breath and heart as well.