It didn’t matter; she knew him by his taste.
Desperate for this union, she dared to return his hungry kiss, pushing her tongue timidly into his mouth, giving as he gave.
He groaned in response and she felt his body harden against her.
* * *
Merrick’s body ignited with desire.
She was kissing him back with such abandon that it fueled his lust beyond reason. His blood burned through his veins like molten silver. Caught in a fierce storm of desire, he lifted her against him and carried her away from the road, deeper into the field, away from prying eyes. This very instant, his brain fogged with desire, he was no longer in command of his will. If she didn’t stop him, if she didn’t tell him no, he would take her… right here, right now… in the grass.
He lay her down, ravaging her mouth as they fell together.
God help him, he craved not only the taste of her lips, but the sweet nectar of her body. His hands caressed her hungrily. He wanted to taste her, wanted to bury himself inside her, to feel her secret places convulse with pleasure.
Chloe never wanted him to stop.
She was swept into a haze of passion, her body responding to his kisses with a fever of emotion. Never in her life had she felt this way about any man. Never had she longed for something more… to be kissed… to be held… to be loved.
She’d never realized how very empty she’d felt, until now…when the need to be filled was overwhelming.
“I am not who you think I am, Chloe,” he said, his whisper hoarse as he rolled to one side of her. His hands set her skin aflame wherever they touched.
Chloe trembled. “I know,” she whispered back.
It didn’t matter.
Their lips met once more, their tongues entwining feverishly. His hands slipped beneath her gown, caressing her leg… first one… then the other… heat sliding upward to her most private regions. Chloe braced herself. Though she wanted him to take her, and she craved it, she had never been touched before.
Her body shuddered as his fingers slowly ascended, teasing her with their excruciatingly slow ascent.
“Please,” she whimpered, though she hadn’t the first clue what she was begging for.
* * *
Merrick was consumed in a rage of passion.
Blinded by desire, he ripped off the mask, wanting nothing at all between them. He tossed the mask aside.
Her skin was so soft… so lovely…
“God, you’re so beautiful, Chloe,” he whispered, and meant it from the depths of his soul. She was beautiful inside and out. He felt her tighten the muscles of her thighs and demanded, “Open for me, flower.”
She did so, parting her thighs, and his loins throbbed violently, imagining the way it would feel inside her… like soft, deep warm velvet. When, at last, he touched her mons, his heart nearly burst through his chest. She was damp for him already. He closed his eyes and gently slid a finger inside, then stopped.
She was a virgin.
The knowledge sobered him.
They were in a field, in the cold damp night air. Anyone could come by and spy on them. His breathing labored, he removed his hand from beneath her skirt. This wasn’t the way he wished her to remember her first time.
She stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing was wrong.
Nothing at all.
His heart swelled with something like love. He wanted more for Chloe than for her to lose her virginity in the middle of a dirty field on a cold, damp night.
Still, he closed his eyes, craving the taste of her more than he craved his next breath. Lifting his finger to his lips, he slid the tip into his mouth, savoring the sweet nectar of her body. Christ, he’d not be deprived of this much.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling.
He slid his hand through her hair, caressing her. “It’s nothing, flower. Nothing at all… I simply don’t wish to hurt you.”
* * *
Chloe’s heart sank.
The look on his face was so full of regret.
He might not want her for more than this, but he’d given her one thing, at least. He’d trusted her enough to remove his mask. Her hand moved to caress his face, feeling the contours of his face. Her heart pounded so loudly she knew he must hear it, as well.
And then she realized it wasn’t her at all… there was a roar in the distance. The ground reverberated beneath them.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, his head lifting to the sound.
Chloe thought, at first, that it must be thunder, but then she recognized the sound.
Merrick realized it first, leaping to his feet, pulling her up quickly from the ground.
For an instant they stared at one another, panic-stricken, and then Chloe took him by the hand. “This way!” she demanded and dragged him behind her, stopping only long enough to seize his mask from the ground.
She pulled him toward the horse she had tethered. Protecting him was her first concern.
Chapter 15
Chloe and Merrick were no sooner settled together on the horse when the approaching riders came thundering to a halt before them. It was the constable and four of his men.
Merrick picked at something in her hair—weeds perhaps—and her face burned. She knew how it must appear. She could scarcely face Constable Tolly when he spoke.
“Good evening, Lindale,” he said to Merrick. And then to her, “Evening, Miss Simon.”
“Evening, Constable Tolly,” Chloe replied, but she averted her face, too embarrassed to face him.
Her reputation would be irrevocably damaged after this; it was inevitable. It was all she had left of value and it wasn’t as though she would have any recourse. She wasn’t nobly born, and Ian wasn’t required to make things right between them.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. It was her decision and she would live with the consequences.
Chloe averted her gaze, staring blindly at the horse’s mane.
* * *
As awkward as the moment was for Merrick, there was only one thing he regretted—the look on Chloe’s face.
“Constable,” he said in greeting.
The constable cleared his throat. “If you will, please forgive the lateness of the hour. I journeyed from Edinburgh as soon as I heard about Miss Simon’s unfortunate incident.” He studied Chloe carefully. “Are you quite all right, Miss Simon?”
Chloe lifted her chin, but wouldn’t look at him. “Of course,” she said. “Lord Lindale was…” She peered up at Merrick uncomfortably.
Merrick knew she hadn’t any guile. She hadn’t the first clue what to say. “We were… ah… returning from Rusty Broun’s,” he explained to the constable.
Chloe glanced back at him, something like surprise in her expression. He could tell her brain was quick at work putting pieces together. He certainly hoped he was right about her, because if he wasn’t, he was putting more than himself and Ian at risk. He was putting Rusty at risk, as well.
“His little girl is ill,” Merrick improvised, ignoring the look on Chloe’s face. “Miss Simon was kind enough to attend the child.”
The constable’s brows rose.
Once again, he eyed Chloe and this time his eyes traversed the length of her, taking in her disheveled state, no doubt. “I should say it’s quite the thing that you could take the time to accompany her, my lord. I’m certain you should feel honored, Miss Simon.”
Chloe swallowed. He could hear it clearly. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice a bit shivery. She still couldn’t face the constable. Her gaze remained steadfast upon the horse’s mane. She reached out and lifted a coarse strand of horse hair, spinning it idly between her fingers.
Nothing escaped the constable’s quick eye. Merrick knew the man noted everything, from the way she skirted his gaze, to the strands of grass that adorned her beautiful hair. He would have plucked them out for her, but he didn’t wish to call any more attention to them than was already inevitable. He knew
she’d made a tremendous sacrifice for his sake, and he fully intended to make this right for her.
She would not be ostracized, nor humiliated—not any more than she already felt this evening.
Merrick intended to make her his wife.
He didn’t bloody care that she hadn’t the bloodline his father was seeking. She was everything Merrick wanted. He couldn’t give her Ian’s name and he couldn’t tell her the truth until he found the answers he sought.
“I suppose,” the constable suggested, “I should pay Mr. Broun a visit. The poor man has borne more than his share of loss. Nothing serious, I hope?” he asked, looking directly at Chloe.
Chloe shook her head.
Good lass, Merrick thought. The less said the better.
Obviously, thinking to reach Rusty before Merrick could alert him, the constable said, “Well, then, I’m certain Miss Simon is weary after the evening’s trials. If it suits you, my lord, I’ll return first thing on the morrow.”
“Of course,” Merrick replied, unruffled by the veiled threat. He knew without a doubt that Rusty would cover for him, but the constable’s incessant hounding shed a little light on one of the reasons Ian may have fled Glen Abbey. Aside from the fact that Ian likely sought his own answers, the constable evidently suspected something already. His brother was probably feeling the wall at his back.
Christ, but Merrick was beginning to feel it as well, and he’d done nothing at all.
The constable gave him a curt wave. “You have a good evening, my lord.” But he said nothing to Chloe, merely gave her a disapproving glance, then left.
“Well,” Chloe said, her head still down, “that was rather awkward.”
“You’ve no need to worry, Chloe. Trust me, and everything will be fine.”
Chloe nodded, but still wouldn’t look at him.
He drew her closer to him, squeezing gently. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
She turned to look at him, then, and her eyes were glistening dark pools.
Merrick’s heart twisted at the sight of her tears. He leaned forward to kiss them away.
“Trust me,” he begged, and held her tightly as he spurred the mount away.
The following morning, while Merrick saw the constable to his carriage, Fiona waited for her son to return to the drawing room. She shuddered over the risks he was taking—both with his own life and now with Chloe’s.
She simply must find a way to make things right in this house, before everything fell to pieces.
She was furious at Ian for jeopardizing the reputation of a decent young lady. Of course, Fiona wanted them together, but she wanted it to be for all the right reasons. She’d sorely hoped Ian would see the things Fiona saw in Chloe. But, until now, her son was preoccupied with only one thing.
From a distance she’d watched Chloe grow from a child to a beautiful young woman. As a little girl, Chloe had been a solitary thing. Her father had kept her always by his side, tutoring her in the miracles of medicine. In this dwindling town, Chloe seemed to fit nowhere—much like Ian and for many of the same reasons. But Ian had snuck away like the mischievous boy to play with the tenant’s children, all the while, Chloe had been ensconced in her little house.
Fiona sighed.
Truth be told, Ian was still playing with the tenant’s children, she feared. And the game was much the same, save that the consequences were far more dire. And she hadn’t the least notion why she and her son skirted the topic so vehemently when each of them knew very well what was at play.
Tapping her fingers impatiently upon her invalid chair as she awaited Ian’s return, she determined that she was going to give her son a long overdue thrashing. She simply would not allow him to abuse Chloe’s reputation—or her heart. Already, there had been enough heartache suffered in this house.
“Ian,” she said when he walked into the drawing room. “Please close the door.” She had never spoken to him so harshly, not even as a child, but everything was at risk now.
Everything.
He lifted his brows, giving her that same sardonic expression that reminded Fiona far too much of his damnable father, but he did as she bade him and sauntered into the room.
He fell back into the settee, looking weary, regarding her curiously.
“I must insist! You will wed Chloe at once!” she told him. And she meant it. “It was ungentlemanly of you to place her in such an imprudent position!” Among other veiled accusations, the constable claimed Chloe had been covered in weeds and that her hair and clothing had been mussed and dirty. While Tolly would keep his tongue over the matter, his men doubtless would not.
Merrick’s brows lifted higher. “You’re afraid for her reputation and yet you encouraged the evening at the cottage?”
“Yes, but a private meal together in a romantic mise en scène is hardly the same as a public roll in the meadow!”
She hated to be so vulgar about it, but it was what it was. “I did not bring Chloe into this house solely as my attendant. The truth is I felt obliged to bring her into my care. After all, she is the daughter of a longtime friend, and you may not feel any duty toward her, but I certainly do!”
He remained silent, listening intently.
Fiona reasoned with him. “There isn’t much I request of you, Ian. We both know you travel your own path. But in this matter I will put my foot down. You will not abuse her.”
He said nothing, merely looked at her, and placed a finger to his mouth as though he were considering her argument.
“Ian,” she reasoned, softening her tone. “I realize how you feel about marrying until after you’ve inherited. But if you wait until then, it will be too late for Chloe. I beg of you to consider her well-being in this matter.”
“So you want me to wed her… right now?” he repeated, sounding a little aghast at the notion.
Fiona straightened in her chair, cursing herself that she should be trapped by her own lies. God’s bloody truth, she couldn’t wait to get into the privacy of her own room so she could dance and run about like a madwoman.
“Yes, I do,” she replied without hesitation, and tried to calm herself, knowing it would gain her little to push Ian too far. He was strong-headed, like his father. “I know you feel frustrated by the fact that you’ve no control in this estate—as yet. I know you must feel an impostor with no land to accompany your title, but you must trust me. Someday everything will return to you.”
Namely, once she was dead and Julian no longer felt the need to bind her to him. Fiona’s heart squeezed painfully. Though she wouldn’t be alive to see it, she dreaded the day Ian would discover the truth. And he would, she feared, because once she was gone, Julian had sworn to return Glen Abbey Manor to Ian. Once her son knew the truth, Ian would never forgive her, she knew—for denying him the truth about his father.
Merrick nodded, listening, his narrow-eyed expression somehow an accusation in itself. “And… in the meantime we must live on the meager earnings of poor folks who can scarcely afford to feed their young?”
Fiona frowned at him, hating the way the truth sounded.
“Where do the rest of the funds go, Mother?” he persisted. “Why do you not allow me access to the books? Why does Edward dole out paltry allowances?”
Fiona winced at his questions. “Why must we go through this again and again? Someday, Ian—though you’ll not like what you discover—you will have complete control of this land and this house and you may do whatever you wish at that time. Give away the tenants’ lands, have them all move into Glen Abbey Manor, do what you will… but until then, I only ask that you respect my wishes and my privacy.”
Merrick listened intently, restraining the temper that was smoldering inside him like a combustible flame.
It was the first opportunity he’d had since arriving at Glen Abbey Manor to gain the answers he sought. He wasn’t about to let the opportunity go. But the more he heard, the angrier it made him. Not only had his own life been a miserable pack of lies, but his broth
er had obviously lived like a pawn in his own home. It was no wonder Ian took matters into his own hands. It humbled him to hear the things his mother thought Ian might do with his inheritance. If, in truth, she believed those things, then Fiona was right about him. His brother was a good and decent man.
“In the meantime,” he persisted, “Am I to remain the puppet master of this house?”
The woman who abandoned him had no answer to that question.
He pressed her. “Am I to allow the townsfolk to believe I am willing to drain them of their last coin only to satisfy the needs of this estate?”
“Ian,” his mother said, her voice pleading.
He hadn’t meant to make her cry, but her eyes grew misty. Still, she held her head up proudly, meeting his gaze. Merrick didn’t know whether to feel pity or pride in her reaction. At the heart of the matter was this simple fact: He didn’t know her at all. She hadn’t allowed him that opportunity.
Why did she choose Ian over him?
Once again, a wave of envy came over him regarding the brother he didn’t know. But it was ridiculous considering that Merrick grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth and his brother had obviously been tossed meager scraps from his table.
His father had long ago handed over the finances to Merrick, but Merrick never once saw a single reference to Glen Abbey in the ledgers. Whatever money the estate made through rents or investments did not go into the royal coffers, so the question remained… where did the funds go?
Not into the house, nor toward the care of its mistress, that much was certain. His mother’s gown—as were all the gowns she’d worn in his presence—was quite modest. Unlike the royal palace in Meridian, the house had very few servants. And he knew for certain that Ian didn’t have access to a single copper.
Which left only one possibility.
Merrick’s nostrils flared with anger.
Edward.
Every time, it returned to Edward.
But how to prove it when he didn’t have access to the books?
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 14
