“Really? That’s the fourth visit this week,” Merrick remarked, and Fiona ignored the heat climbing into her cheeks.
“I do believe he has set his cap for you,” Chloe teased.
“Poppycock! Don’t even say it. I am too old for an affaire de coeur.”
“I don’t believe that,” Chloe argued.
“So what did the constable want?” Merrick asked.
“Nothing much. He wished to know how we fared. And he wished to inform me that Edward had not yet been found, though he assured me he has, in fact, fled the area.”
Chloe perched herself on the settee facing Fiona, crossing her fingers in her lap and leaning forward to listen. “How can he be so certain?”
“Well, it has been weeks now, Chloe. As you know, this is a small town. No one would dare shelter that man, considering what he has done, and no one has seen him. No, Constable Tolley feels certain Edward has fled and that we have seen the last of him.”
“Perhaps he has,” Chloe agreed, sounding hopeful.
Fiona peered up at Merrick, who had yet to come into the room and make himself comfortable. He stood watching the pair of them from the doorway. “Merrick, dear? What are you thinking?”
“I was wondering if Edward had reason to go to London.”
Fiona blinked. “Why ever would he?”
“To seek out Father.”
Fiona shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing. There was no connection between the two of them, except that Julian trusted Edward with the position of steward for Glen Abbey Manor.”
Merrick remained silent.
Fiona’s brows drew together. “Is there something you know that I ought to know as well?”
Merrick shook his head. “I simply can’t quite figure out his motives.”
Fiona sighed. “Isn’t it enough that he’s gone?”
Merrick scratched his forehead and shook his head. “I don’t know, Mother. Something plagues me, though I can’t place it. It’s probably nothing.”
“Well, I can assure you that man would have no reason to face your father,” Fiona told him with conviction. “Julian is not one to be trifled with and Edward knows it. To be sure, Julian has nothing to fear of anyone but me—that is, once I am strong enough to face him. No, Edward is long gone—and good riddance!”
The Princes’s Gallery at Vauxhall Gardens was the destination of the evening. All of London had been invited for the celebration, although the admission fee had been raised to an exorbitant six shillings to keep out the dregs.
Fifty thousand lanterns were lit for the occasion and were now festooned amidst the foliage. To the lament of young lovers and the relief of some mothers, the dark walks were not quite so dark this evening.
The duchess had spared no expense. And even so, Victoria couldn’t seem to spare two minutes to give Claire direction or even to enlighten her about whether Merrick planned to attend. The evening’s festivities were as much a farce as the engagement itself—all for show without an ounce of meaning. She forced herself to smile at passersby who tipped their hats and waved. And yet, she was loath to confess that, on some tiny level, she rather liked the fact that London seemed suddenly to adore her—if only because it validated her sense of self-worth in the face of Merrick’s father’s avid disapproval and Merrick’s neglect.
Dressed in a proper, black satin dress that reflected her mood, Claire stood conversing with Alexandra for the first time in more than a week. Her attention, however, was centered on the crowd.
Where was he?
Despite that their engagement was a sham, he was an absolute villain to treat her with such complete disregard. In fact, Claire had already heard apologies for Merrick’s absence from no fewer than half-a-dozen guests.
Humph!
So much for thinking he might be even the tiniest bit “attracted” to her.
Sighing, she tried to make sense of Alexandra’s prattling.
“Don’t you think so, Claire?”
Claire nodded very absently, gazing up into the night sky. At least the evening was temperate and the sky was clear. That should please Victoria immensely, as the duchess had planned for a midnight fireworks display.
Too bad Merrick would miss it.
Good grief, if he didn’t care to suffer her company, he could at least have taken pity and given her news of her brother. For all Claire knew, Ben was already dead and she was standing for naught in the midst of a faux celebration, pretending to be joyous when she felt more like weeping.
Papa, she asked silently, how could you have left us so destitute?
Hoping to keep the disgust from her gaze, she eyed Lord Huntington who seemed distracted for the moment, regaling his present company with tales of his misadventures in India.
“Claire!” Alexandra exclaimed. “Where are you, my friend? Please, don’t look so glum. It really doesn’t suit you.”
Claire cast Lexie an irritated glance and continued to search the crowd, sipping anxiously at her beverage.
“You shouldn’t drink that arrack punch so quickly,” Lexie advised, returning a frown. “You aren’t accustomed to it and it’s quite strong.”
“I don’t feel a thing,” Claire swore.
Nothing except acute disappointment.
“Cheer up, Claire. Very soon you’ll carry his name—and his credit,” Alexandra said. “Then you can do whatsoever you wish. Only think of all the dresses and shoes you will acquire.”
Claire lifted a brow and took another sip, trying not to roll her eyes. Traditionally made with arrack, dark rum, fresh lime juice and syrup, the punch was, indeed, quite heady. But this evening, it happened to be her saving grace.
“At any rate, you really can’t have expected him to behave any differently,” Alexandra was saying.
Oh, yes, she certainly had—and not because she had any ill-conceived notion that Merrick might care for her, but because they had an arrangement. Claire bristled.
“You do recall the way he treated me, do you not?” Alexandra seemed obliged to recount. “He was arrogant and rude.”
Claire couldn’t help but recall their own first meeting, when he’d not so subtly impugned her honor and then insulted her integrity.
Indeed, he was arrogant and rude.
And nevertheless, she would have liked to believe things were different now.
Somehow.
Something like sadness curled up in her belly and settled, heavy as stone.
She was nothing but a silly fool.
But why should she care? she asked herself. All she truly desired was her brother’s safe return. What did she care about Merrick or silly weddings or shoes?
“Lady Claire,” someone called to her.
Starting at the interruption, Claire nearly spilled her punch as she turned to face a young man who appeared no older than sixteen. He was huffing and puffing as though he’d run some distance.
“How rude, young man!” Alexandra declared, no doubt taking high offense over the lad’s bedraggled appearance more than his interruption. “Did you not see that we were conversing?” she asked.
The young man ignored Alexandra. “Here, madam,” he said, handing Claire a small, folded parchment that appeared to be some sort of crude invitation. “I was told to give this to you.”
“Really, I thought they’d banned his sort tonight,” Alexandra remarked, as though the lad were completely deaf.
Actually, they hadn’t banned anyone at all, simply made admission to the gardens unaffordable for most.
Claire cast her longtime friend a withering glance, wondering how she could have borne Lexie’s self-important demeanor all these years. If Alexandra hadn’t wished to take the chance that some poor devil might speak to her, then she should have declined the invitation to this party. They were in a public venue, after all.
In any case, Ben’s ordeal had taught Claire more than she’d ever cared to learn about life. And she scarcely had any patience remaining for those who didn�
�t appreciate their blessings. In truth, there wasn’t much difference between Lexie and Claire and the young man standing before them, except that the lad probably had far more common sense and a greater appreciation for every breath he took.
In fact, all that stood between them was a matter of fortune, good or bad.
She thanked the young man, opened her purse, and found and offered him sixpence.
He grinned and tipped his hat. “Thank you, madam!” he exclaimed, then bolted away before she could change her mind.
“He looks like a rag-mannered footpad,” Alexandra complained, scrunching her nose.
“He merely looks hungry to me,” Claire countered, unfolding the missive.
It read: “If you seek news of your brother, meet me at the west end of the quadrangle. 11:30 p.m. Come alone.”
“Wait!” she called after the boy. “Who gave this to you?” But he had already vanished into the crowd.
“What does it say?” Alexandra asked, skirting closer to peer over Claire’s shoulder.
Claire folded the makeshift invitation. She considered sharing the missive but quickly reconsidered. She might be a fool, but she was desperate to hear something—anything—about her brother. The instructions said to come alone, and it was nearly midnight now. What if they were watching? The last thing she intended to do was tell Lexie and have Lexie follow.
By now, the crowd was beginning to gravitate toward the east end of the quadrangle in hopes of gaining a better view of the fireworks display.
“Where are you going?” Alexandra asked.
Claire couldn’t gather her thoughts enough to respond. She held her breath, praying that she was doing the right thing as she started toward the west end of the quadrangle.
“Claire!” Alexandra shouted after her. “Where are you going?”
Chapter 20
Trying to calm her stuttering heart, Claire waited anxiously near the northwest colonnade in the quadrangle.
She’d discarded her glass of punch along the way and stood empty-handed, waiting to discover who’d summoned her.
A few couples wandered past her into the Dark Walk area, but she daren’t venture further from the crowd.
Ten minutes passed and still no one approached her, though she had the distinct impression she was being watched from afar. With every turn of her head, it seemed a shadow flitted back into the gardens. She told herself it was only the punch. But she was suddenly afraid she’d made a terrible mistake. It was far from secluded here, but with the fireworks about to begin, a scream would be lost in the night.
“Expecting someone?” a familiar voice asked.
Claire spun about to face Merrick.
He raised a familiar brow. “A lover, perhaps?”
She straightened her spine, both relieved by his presence and affronted by his question.
“Hardly,” she retorted. “Really! It’s about time you arrived. You may not care one whit about me, sirrah, but it’s quite rude to leave me alone to manage your affairs. I agreed to accompany you when necessary, to buy you time to find someone more suitable, but not to shield you from your duties or be your agent.”
He grinned at her. “You missed me, I can tell.”
Claire bristled. “How can you think such a thing?”
He leaned close and whispered, “Because you’re already behaving like a wife.”
Claire’s cheeks heated. “I most certainly am not!”
“You are,” he countered, and seized her by the hand. “Come, let us explore the Dark Walk, my beautiful bride.”
Despite her pique, Claire’s body quivered at his words. She told herself it was only the chilly night air, but even headier than the punch, his compliment went directly to her head, dizzying her. Her heart thrumming painfully, she tried to ignore the shocking sensation of his strong, warm fingers lacing through her own. In all her life, only her father had ever held her hand. Her brother had simply used her braids to get her wherever he wanted her to go.
“Where have you been?” she asked, trying to sound calm though bedlam had just erupted in her breast.
“Looking for your brother, of course.”
Lamplights and chatter faded behind them, and the night darkened the path that continued before them, greeting them with silence. “We shouldn’t go this way,” Claire protested, nipping at her bottom lip. She had never walked apart with any man, not even in daylight.
“It’s perfectly safe.”
For whom? she wanted to ask.
She shivered, realizing that while she inexplicably trusted him, she didn’t quite trust herself in his presence. Somehow, Merrick managed to turn her brain into something like mush and her knees to pudding.
Like now.
Where was her anger when she needed it? All it seemed to take to diminish that familiar shield was a single kind word from him, or a compliment.
This was pure insanity.
She wasn’t thinking clearly, and the punch wasn’t helping.
She tried to draw him back to no avail. He was stronger than she was. He kept walking, tugging her along.
“We’ll miss the fireworks,” she said, sounding far too desperate for her own liking.
He turned a disarming smile her way, challenging her with a wicked glance that made her swallow convulsively. “What’s the matter, princess?” he asked, winking. “Afraid to be alone with your prince?”
Claire relented at once, relaxing her grip on his hand. “Of course not,” she lied.
Good Lord, her father had always thought her too proud; now she knew it was true, because she continued walking despite her better judgment.
“Of course not,” he mocked her, his smile vanishing. Squeezing once, he released her hand. “A little less fearlessness would serve you better,” he reprimanded.
Claire’s brows drew together. “Perhaps,” she agreed, turning up her chin. “But a woman must do what a woman must do, and right now, I must trust you.”
Without a single glance backward, she quickened her pace to catch up. “And anyway, it’s not as though I have anyone else to turn to.”
* * *
Ian’s heart twisted at her honest defense. She’d said it as a matter of fact, without any bitterness. He retrieved her hand and tugged it. “You have me,” he said, and meant it.
“For now,” she said.
The resignation in her tone gave him a pang.
It was true.
She didn’t have anyone at all, he realized—except her brother, if the bugger wasn’t already dead. And what good was the wastrel if he couldn’t even keep his own arse out of difficulty? How could he possibly protect Claire?
What would she do once Ian was gone? That time was bound to come sooner rather than later.
In that very moment, he decided that once he had his own affairs settled, if she didn’t loathe him for his lies, he would invite her home to Glen Abbey.
He would marry her in truth.
It was the only way he knew to keep her safe.
And if she didn’t wish to marry him, well… he could walk away with a clear conscience, knowing that he had done all he could.
At any rate, if she said no, it wasn’t as though his heart would break. He was only doing this for her, and because it was the right thing to do.
This section of the garden was nearly abandoned. Everyone had gathered close to the fireworks tower to await the night’s promised display. He pulled Claire aside and turned to face her, trying to determine how best to say what he wished to say. His tongue grew thick in his mouth.
For a long, long moment, they stood staring at one other in silence.
“What is it, Merrick?” Her expression grew fearful. “Is it Ben? Have you found him? Have they harmed him?”
Ian shook his head. “We haven’t found Ben yet, though we think we’ve found your attacker.”
Claire sucked in a breath.
Merrick seized her by the arms, holding her gently, wanting her full attention. “Claire, if he realizes
how close we are, he may be a danger to you. Promise me you will not wander off without—” me, he wanted to say “—without someone to protect you.”
Her delicate brows slanted. “I promise.”
He would beg Ryo to guard her. He didn’t need the man’s continued presence. Ian was a man grown and was accustomed to fending for himself. By now, Ryo must realize that Ian would never harm his own flesh and blood. Claire needed his protection more than anyone.
She was staring up at him expectantly, her beautiful face lit by the moon, her cheeks pale.
How would he ever confess the truth?
“We should be getting back now,” she suggested, her voice trembling.
His breath growing shallow, Ian inched closer. “Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head, her chest rising between them.
Ian tried desperately to ignore it.
She was giving him that look again, the one that had so moved him on the first day they’d met. She stood straight and proud, much like a warrior princess; only those green eyes revealed vulnerability.
A few curls escaped her otherwise perfect coif, flying irreverently in the soft evening breeze, beckoning his fingers to tame them.
Ian resisted the urge. Devil rot his soul.
Regardless of the polished appearance, she looked much as she had when she’d lifted herself up from Drury Lane, brushed herself off and reprimanded him for his lack of manners—defiant and noble.
She was so beautiful, so unaffected, so unlike other women of his acquaintance. He could just as easily see her romping in the heather with his children as he could see her as mistress of his home.
Not for the first time, the thought made his cock stir.
Her black satin dress revealed little of the curves he knew existed beneath the crisp fabric. Her décolletage was modest, hiding the pebbling of her buds. His mouth longed to taste her skin, roll those sweet nipples between his teeth.
His body reacted swiftly, sending fire seething through his veins and heat into his loins.
Heaven have mercy, he silently begged.
But he couldn’t help himself. He drew her closer, needing to feel the curves of her body.
The Impostors: Complete Collection Page 34
