Kitabı oku: «Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12», sayfa 41
He did not figure well in either scenario. But maybe would she choose him for the simple reason that she was Mercedes Lockhart, a woman possessed of a boldness unequalled? Greer turned back to the hotel. He wouldn’t know unless he asked.
Chapter Nineteen
Mercedes could muster no enthusiasm for the sausages and eggs piled on her plate for breakfast the next morning. She’d decided around three that sleeping alone was not conducive to a good night’s rest. Around four, she’d concluded neither was a restless mind. Both of which had resulted in having very little appetite for breakfast. A pity, really, when the breakfast looked quite fine. She was certain it looked better than she did. She didn’t need a mirror to show her what she already knew. Her appearance was drawn, and dark shadows created purple circles beneath her eyes. She could practically feel the bags.
She was not alone in that regard. Greer, who always looked fresh, looked haggard in spite of his impeccable clothes and polished boots. He must have sent them out after he came back from his walk—his very long walk. She knew. She’d seen him leave the hotel from her window and she’d stood sentinel until she’d seen him come back, safe and unharmed, although the exercise had not resulted in a restful night.
She caught the faintest whiff of the sandalwood soap he preferred as he sat down. But all the grooming in the world couldn’t hide the tiredness in his eyes and she felt a twinge of guilt over having been the one to put it there.
‘How’s your hand?’ she asked quietly before her father reached them. He was across the dining room, finishing assembling his plate from the buffet.
‘Much better.’ He smiled and flexed the hand to show her. ‘We need to talk.’ He spoke in low, urgent tones, aware that their time alone was limited. ‘I’ve made some decisions.’ Ah, so that was what he’d been doing on his walk. Thinking. Deciding. Weighing all things in the balance. There was no time to hear more.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ Her father smiled broadly and took a seat, effectively interrupting. ‘Did we sleep well?’ Mercedes gave him a critical stare. He wasn’t fooling her. For all his apparent zest, he had not slept particularly well either, but it hadn’t diminished his appetite.
‘I’ve decided we should have a slight change of venue,’ he said between bites of egg. ‘The new railway line runs up to Manchester. I think we should go. We couldn’t have hoped to reach Manchester and get back to Brighton in time by coach, but a railway makes it possible. We can take the railway straight to London from Manchester and then—’ he snapped his fingers ‘—we’re home from there in plenty of time, just like that. What do you think? I can get us tickets on the eleven o’clock. The coachman can drive the team back to Brighton.’
It wasn’t really a question. She knew her father too well. He’d already decided. They were going to Manchester.
Greer pushed back from the table and set his napkin aside, his eyes serious as they darted her direction in a quick glance she couldn’t quite interpret. ‘I will not be coming. I told you last night that I was done and I meant it.’
Beneath the table, Mercedes’s fingers clenched around her napkin. Greer was leaving. He’d finally had enough of the manipulating Lockharts. This was the decision he’d alluded to. She’d known it would end. But she’d thought she’d have until London. Just yesterday they’d been walking in the botanical gardens, dreaming impossible dreams, and now it was over. Her heart sank with the sudden realisation she’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted Greer Barrington.
Her father took the news with his famous equanimity. If he was upset over this announcement, he didn’t show it. He took out his wallet and began counting out pound notes. ‘We can meet in London. You can take the coach to Coventry and carry on with the tour.’
‘No, thank you, though the offer is generous.’ Greer was all courteous politeness, but there was firmness as well. Whatever came next, her father wasn’t going to like it. ‘I will be ending my tour here. All of it.’ Translation—he was ending his association with them. ‘I think it is time for me to move on. I thank you for the experience. It has been illuminating.’
She shifted her gaze to her father. What would he make of that? He smiled and dug into his proverbial bag of tricks. ‘Is it more money you’re wanting? You’ve been playing well and you’re not an unschooled apprentice any longer. How does twenty per cent of the take sound, and a slice of the profits in Brighton? You’ve earned it.’ It was a generous offer. Her father must be desperate to keep him.
‘I must decline,’ Greer said solemnly. She knew it must be killing him to refuse the money.
Her father’s eyes narrowed at the last refusal. ‘Is my money not good enough? You think you can simply walk away whenever you want? After all I’ve done for you? After all Mercedes has done for you? Don’t think I don’t know what the two of you have been up to.’
Mercedes blanched, embarrassed. Of course her father would make her private business his own if he thought he could use it. But Greer was not cowed and Mercedes silently applauded him. When it came to knowing his own mind, no one knew it better than Greer Barrington. Watching a man be true to his principles was a gratifying experience. So much of her life had been lived around chasing the money, convictions be damned if they got in the way. Principles were easily trampled by pounds.
Greer dropped his voice to a dangerously low tone. ‘After all you’ve done for me? I think the accounts are settled. I have earned my keep, sir, and then some. You’ve done very well with me by your side. You’ve used my skill and you’ve used my name to great advantage. Whatever I’ve owed you has been well and truly paid and you know it.’
Greer rose and offered his hand to her father. There would be no further negotiation. She’d never seen her father so utterly silenced. ‘Will we see you in Brighton?’ her father asked with a hint of his earlier Lockhart smile.
‘If you do, it will be as my own man, not as your protégé,’ Greer replied. There was an odd emphasis in the sentence. He had said ‘you’ in contrast to her father’s ‘we’, and it had a singular tone to it. She was still puzzling out his intent when she felt his gaze on her, his hand outstretched.
‘Mercedes, will you come with me? My train leaves slightly earlier than your father’s.’ It was not a choice she wanted to make and certainly not in such a bold fashion. She would have railed at him if she hadn’t been so keenly cognisant that he was giving her a choice. He hadn’t assumed she’d follow him. He was letting her decide. He wanted her still.
The enormity of his question and all it denoted, all it stood for, overwhelmed her. She fought to master the sensation in the seconds she had to make her choice. She forced her mind to dissect her options with a gambler’s assessment of risk. Greer knew her most scandalous secret and he’d chosen her anyway. Because he loved her, although she’d asked him not to? Or because he didn’t intend to keep her long enough for it to matter? He’s not Luce, and he’s not your father. He doesn’t think like that. What he feels for you is genuine.
Would it be enough? Did it matter? She wanted Greer Barrington and Mercedes Lockhart took what she wanted. She set aside her napkin and stood. She put her hand in his and felt the strength of his grip close around her, warm and reassuring.
‘Mercedes, think!’ Her father rose, disbelief etched on his face. ‘Don’t do anything rash. You know how it worked out the last time.’ It wasn’t a plea, but an accusation, a thinly wrapped threat.
She focused on the feel of Greer’s arm at her waist, ushering her towards the door. He was already gesturing for a runner to fetch her trunk and get it to the station.
‘Mercedes, stop and listen!’ Her father was at her other side, refusing to let them leave without saying his piece. ‘This is madness. What do you think will happen? He’ll use you like Talmadge did and then he’ll throw you away. You don’t think he actually loves you, do you? He could never marry you and eventually you’ll come crawling back to me, begging me to bail you out. He’s a lord, Mercedes, and you’re the daughter of a bootboy.’
Hearing her worst fears spoken so blatantly did nothing for her nerves. She had notoriously bad luck in love. For all her bravado, she’d never stood on her own. She thought of the stake money she’d won in Bath, neatly hidden in her trunk. She’d earned money once—she could do it again if need be. ‘This is not about Greer. This is about me.’
‘Taking her home, are you?’ Her father turned to Greer, ignoring her outburst altogether. ‘Devonshire, is it? That will be lovely.’ His gaze swung back to Mercedes, his features calm as if this was a usual conversation. ‘Home to meet the Viscount? Really, Mercedes? How do you think that will go? I know how it will go, but if you need to find out for yourself, so be it. I give it two weeks and you’ll be begging me to save you.’
He shuffled through a pile of cards he’d taken from his coat pocket until he found the one he wanted. ‘Here it is. There’s a gentleman from Bath who’s from that area. He invited me to come for a visit. I think I’ll change my travel plans and do just that. I’ll be there until the twentieth of June.’ His eyes softened. ‘You can come to me and all will be forgiven.’
‘I won’t.’ She met his eyes evenly. He was calling her bluff. But he didn’t understand all the potential that waited for her if she would just embrace it. This time she finally understood no one was going to give her a chance unless she gave one to herself. This time, he would lose.
‘I’m going with Greer,’ she said firmly.
It was a final declaration of independence. She turned, stepped out the entrance into the bright morning light with Greer beside her, and walked into the busy streets of Birmingham, into her future.
They spoke little on the drive to the station. Her mind was still reeling with what she’d done, acknowledging what she’d done. This time it was different. Walking out with Greer was about taking charge of her life, of deciding she wasn’t going to be one of her father’s pawns any longer. She wasn’t going to hide away in his Brighton mansion playing hostess, ignoring her talent and hoping to be noticed some day for what she was. When she’d accepted the offer to come on the road, she’d seen Greer as her chance. She’d not imagined in what way that chance would come. But here it was and she was going to seize it.
Greer settled into the plush seat across from Mercedes. He’d paid extra for the private accommodation. It would be worth it. There were things that needed settling and there was no time to wait. He’d seen their trunks boarded and they’d had time to settle their turbulent emotions. Now, with the sliding door shutting out the aisle, they needed to talk. The morning had not been without its share of drama.
‘I hope your decision is a little bit about me.’ He crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his head in a casual pose. She’d come. He told himself not to get greedy. Last night his goal had been to free her. He’d done that. He’d made the opportunity available and Mercedes had taken it.
‘Of course it is. You know it is.’ She gave him a small smile that assuaged his male ego.
He understood. She didn’t want him to feel any pressure, to feel any sense that she was under his protection now. She was, though. She would protest if he ever said it out loud. But he would protect her, care for her, as long as she would let him. He would have to be subtle about it. She wouldn’t tolerate any blatant chivalry.
He also understood that for Mercedes, getting on the train wasn’t entirely about him, although for him, asking had been entirely about her. He’d have to change her mind, but for now it was a start. She was still smiling at him, the colour returning to her face as the train pulled out of the station. ‘So, we’re on the train. Where exactly are we going?’
He laughed the first real laugh he’d had in a while. ‘Shame on you for getting on a train with a strange man without even knowing where it goes.’ But it was exactly the kind of thing she would do, the kind of thing that made her Mercedes Lockhart, the woman he loved.
‘That’s nothing.’ She gave a wide smile, her eyes lighting up. He shifted his position slightly to accommodate the beginnings of an arousal. He’d have to address that in short order. ‘I once heard of a man who went on the road with a woman he didn’t know simply because he lost a billiards bet.’
‘Probably the best adventure he ever had.’ Greer grinned and reached for her. She came willingly, straddling his lap.
She reached up and flipped down the curtain that covered the small window of their sliding door. ‘It’s about to get better.’
It most certainly was. Her mouth was on his, her hand between their bodies, stroking his cock through his trousers. He groaned, his nascent arousal growing in full force. ‘I see great minds think alike,’ she murmured against his mouth.
She slid down to the floor and worked the fastenings of his trousers, pushing them down past his hips. ‘I believe it’s my turn?’ They’d not done this yet and Greer’s breath caught in anticipation.
‘I hope that’s a rhetorical question.’ Real thought, real response beyond the physical was becoming an increasing impossibility. Greer gave a soft moan as she touched her lips to his phallus, kissing, licking, building him to a frenzy with each wicked stroke of her tongue, until she took him in his entirety into her mouth.
Her hand found his balls, and she squeezed ever so gently, just enough to increase his pleasure to nearly unendurable limits. Greer moaned and arched against her, his hands tangled in the silky expanse of her hair. He’d never been touched so sensually before, never experienced such depths of eroticism as the ones summoned up by her hands, her mouth, caressing him in tandem. And yet, when he arched against her, spilling himself in the achievement of his pleasure, the core of him knew that it wasn’t the eroticism of the moment alone that had conjured such ecstasy.
She looked up at him, a veritable Delilah with her hair falling over her shoulders, looking for all the world like a very happy cat who’d licked the cream, which of course she had.
Chapter Twenty
Pride was all well and good, but it couldn’t feed you, which was why Greer found himself at a billiards table an hour after getting off the train. Still, he wouldn’t have taken Lockhart’s money for anything. He was going to do this ethically and on his own.
Greer studied the lay of the table. He’d need to use a bank shot to get around the mess of balls blocking his access to the pocket. He bent, lined up his shot and halted in mid-strike, distracted by movement in the open doorway—a glimpse of a coral-coloured gown, of long dark hair curled into a single thick length, the sound of a sultry voice full of unwavering confidence.
‘Good evening, gentlemen. Care for a game?’ Mercedes. It was hardly worth the effort to ask what she was doing here. He knew what she wanted before she began to move from the doorway. She wanted to play. Her eyes met his ever so briefly before sliding away. She was wondering what he’d do. It was something of a shock to realise she wasn’t certain of his response—would he support her bid for acceptance or would he usher her straight back to the inn with a scold?
This would be the first test of their togetherness. If he did the latter, he’d prove himself no better than her father and that would be anathema to their relationship. Mercedes didn’t want a man who would chain her to rules. Even for her own good.
Greer stood, gauging the reactions of the other men in the room. They were slack-jawed in amazement, as well they should be. Mercedes was stunning. Like many of her dresses, this one wasn’t given to excessive trims and bows, relying instead on the curves of her figure for its adornment. The faintest hint of lip-colour highlighted her lush mouth and drew one’s gaze upwards towards her eyes as a subtle reminder of where a gentleman should be looking when he addressed her. Most of the men in the room were having difficulty remembering that rule.
She strode towards the table, surveying the game. Greer followed her with his eyes, wary and waiting for her to signal what she was up to. This was a test for her, too. He’d been clear that he wouldn’t run any of her father’s crooked gambits. He would play fairly and without artifice. He needed Mercedes to accept that as much as Mercedes needed him to accept her right to play.
‘Is it your shot?’ She looked at him for the first time since she entered the room. ‘You’ll need to use a bank shot to get around that mess.’
Greer smiled in hopes of easing the tension that had sprung up. The men didn’t know what to make of a female presence in their male-dominated milieu. He could help them there and he could help Mercedes. He nodded and held out his cue to her. ‘An excellent assessment. Perhaps you’d like to take the shot for me?’
A few of the men snickered, thinking he asked out of sarcasm. He quelled them with a look. Mercedes was not daunted. She took the cue, bent to the table and made the complicated shot with practised ease. Appreciative murmurs hummed around the table.
‘Would you like to join our game?’ Greer offered. The invitation had to come from him. No one else would dare go that far. They had to live here after tonight with wives and mothers who would never let them forget their one lapse in solid country judgement. But he could tell they were impressed.
‘I would love to.’ Mercedes chalked the cue and blew the lingering dust lightly over the tip in his direction. A few of the men sidled away to join card games in other rooms, but most remained, intrigued by the woman in the coral dress who would be gone in the morning, leaving them with a night they’d long remember.
‘Were you surprised to see me?’ Mercedes asked as they made the short walk back to the inn well after midnight.
‘No. You wouldn’t have got on the train this morning if you’d meant to hide away in inn rooms.’
‘You’re very astute for a man,’ she teased.
‘That’s quite a compliment, coming from you.’ Greer laughed into the mild summer darkness. In moments like this, laughing with her, walking with her, he felt alive as if he needed nothing more than Mercedes and enough money in his pocket to make it to the next town. Those were not thoughts worthy of a man raised to be a viscount’s son, but they were his thoughts and he’d been thinking them more and more often—one of his many fantasies when it came to Mercedes. She provoked the impossible in him.
‘You really weren’t surprised?’ she pressed. ‘I wore this dress just for you.’
‘Nothing you do surprises me, Mercedes.’ He drew her close and stole a kiss, and then another, a slow spark beginning to ignite. Why not? There was no one out that late to see.
‘Nothing? We’ll have to work on that,’ she whispered between kisses.
What happened next would always remain blissfully fuzzy in his memory. He was fairly sure it was Mercedes who danced them back into a shallow alley off the main thoroughfare and hitched her leg about his hip. But it was him who rucked up her coral skirts and took her wildly against the brick wall of a building just like he’d wanted to on a prior occasion, both of them aroused beyond good sense by the eroticism of the encounter and the exhilaration of the night. Climax came fast, a blessed, thundering release.
‘Nothing?’ Mercedes sucked at his ear lobe. ‘Really?’
‘All right,’ Greer panted, exhausted. ‘Maybe that.’
‘Maybe that?’ Mercedes echoed softly. ‘I’ll try harder tomorrow.’
Greer caught his breath and arranged his trousers with a laugh. Good Lord, if she tried any harder, he’d be worn to a stub before they reached Devonshire, which might not be an unpleasant experiment.
Mercedes hoped Devonshire would not prove to be an experiment in unpleasantness. Devonshire was close to nothing, least of all Birmingham. It had taken a week’s worth of travel to reach this south-west corner of England. The week itself had been extraordinary, made up of billiards games and trains, and coaches, when the rails ran out. Every night was spent in Greer’s bed. Every day was spent believing this could work. They could be together—weren’t they proving it?
But now that they were here, Mercedes’s stomach was an inconveniently tight ball of nerves. By the time Greer’s home came into view down a long winding drive lined with ancient oaks, her rampant thoughts had coalesced into one singular concern: what had she done? She was miles from anywhere with a viscount’s son, about to meet a family that couldn’t possibly welcome her, but who could quite possibly throw her out of their home.
The sprawling estate loomed over a horseshoe-shaped drive, an overpowering sandstone testament to good breeding that dwarfed the Brighton terraced homes and she knew. She’d overstepped herself this time, reached too high. On the road it had become easy to forget all that Greer had been born to. There would be no forgetting here, for her or for him. Greer reached over and squeezed her hand, reading her thoughts with alarming accuracy. ‘You’ll do fine.’ He pulled the gig they’d rented in the village to a halt and he moved around to help her down, his hands resting at her waist. ‘I would say “they’re going to love you … ”’ he murmured.
‘But they’re not.’ She gave him a smile. They were here for Greer. He needed to make decisions and put ghosts to rest and that could only happen here where they could be confronted.
Do you love me? She hated herself for the traitorous thought. She’d asked him not to love her and now she found that was the very thing she craved. You don’t need him, her mind rallied. Didn’t need Greer? What a lie. She didn’t want to need him, but she did. When he’d held out his cue to her, when he’d punched Luce Talmadge, the countless times he’d made her laugh, or divined her thoughts before she’d voiced them—all proved it.
Worst of all, she suspected she more than needed him. She loved him. What else could explain why she’d risked coming here where there wasn’t only his family to face? There was also the possibility Greer might never leave. He might take a look around and decide to stay. There was no guarantee he’d go on to Brighton. But she would. She had to. Her ghosts had to be exorcised there.
‘Don’t borrow trouble, Mercedes.’ Greer squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘It’s just my family, not the Spanish Inquisition.’ He led her up the curved stairs to a front door which opened before he could knock, a footman bowing with a gracious, ‘Milord, welcome home.’ For a second it was all very formal, then chaos broke loose.
‘Greer!’ Two blonde girls rushed at him from the wide staircase in the foyer, and more people materialised from doorways. There were hugs and handshakes for Greer. It was not a moment for intrusion. Mercedes stood back, giving Greer the moment to drink in his family. After the initial onslaught of familial affection had ebbed, Greer drew her forward.
‘Everyone, this is Miss Mercedes Lockhart. Mercedes, these are my sisters, Clara and Emily.’ They were charming, blue-eyed and blonde. Clara was perhaps fifteen, Emily seventeen and on the brink of womanhood. She’d be going to London soon and breaking hearts with a smile that looked so much like Greer’s there was no doubting the resemblance.
‘This is my brother, Andrew.’ The heir, the brother who wanted Greer to take over the home farm. He had Greer’s looks, but not Greer’s graceful build. He was solid, sturdier, not unattractive, but lacking Greer’s magnetism. He was a practical man, a reliable man who’d probably never entertained a risky thought in his life. It was no wonder he couldn’t understand Greer’s reticence to embrace the home farm.
‘This is my mother, Lady Tiverton.’ Viscountess Tiverton, Mercedes thought. She had a kind smile for Mercedes but Mercedes was reluctant to trust it. Such a smile wouldn’t last, not when she discovered the type of woman her son had been fraternising with. It wasn’t self-pity or a sense of inadequacy that led to the thought, just honesty. She’d lived in Brighton, after all. She’d seen plenty of nobility and she knew where the lines were drawn. Rich billiards players and their daughters were fine when it was all fun and games. They became de trop when blood was on the line.
‘And this is my father, Viscount Tiverton.’ Greer completed the introductions. The Viscount was tall, having passed on his lean physique to Greer, and his more reserved personality to his older son. Mercedes thought Greer had got the better portion of the genetic deal.
Lady Tiverton ushered them all in to the drawing room and rang for tea, giving the staff time to recover from the surprise of Greer’s arrival. Tea would give Lady Tiverton time to arrange for rooms to be prepared. Mercedes had used the ploy more than once when her father had brought home unexpected visitors. For the first time since she’d left her father, Mercedes felt a twinge of loss. She’d had a week to let her anger cool and in the absence of that anger, she missed him.
Tea was a polite interlude. There was nothing more than small talk exchanged. If there was to be an interrogation, it would occur in private. Well, there was no ‘if’. Mercedes knew there would be an interrogation. She was aware of Andrew’s eyes on her, studious and discerning. The next time she caught him watching her she looked him straight in the eye and smiled. He looked away hastily, nearly spilling his teacup and earning a short scold of caution from Lady Tiverton.
Greer nudged her covertly with the toe of his boot as if to say, play nice. She’d try, but she’d decided after the second cup of tea she could be nothing other than she was and Mercedes Lockhart didn’t tolerate insolence in any form, not even from viscounts’ heirs.
When rooms were ready, Mercedes found Emily and Clara at her side, insisting on accompanying her upstairs. They chattered the whole while, pointing out aspects of the house as they passed hallways and closed doors.
‘What’s down there?’ Mercedes gestured to one corridor the girls didn’t mention.
‘That’s all storage. It’s where we keep the nice things for special visits.’ Clara shrugged as if such an area was commonplace. Mercedes didn’t comment, but the corridor intrigued her. It might be worth a visit. She’d noticed a change in the house as they’d moved up the stairs. The public rooms had been exquisitely done up, but the private areas lacked that same veneer.
The runners on the hall floors were clean but worn, having seen generations of Barringtons. The long curtains at the hall windows were faded from years in the sun. Tables that should have been cluttered with knickknacks were bare.
The room she was given was lovely, done up in light yellows and pinks with a view of the south lawn and gardens, but by no means sophisticated. The old, solid oak furnishings would have suited a well-to-do farm house. Her rooms in Brighton far outclassed them.
The girls made themselves comfortable on the wide window seat, watching in wide-eyed amazement as she unpacked her trunk.
‘Don’t you have a maid?’ Emily asked.
‘No. We’ve been travelling and it’s been faster not to be burdened with one.’ Mercedes shook out the blue dinner gown she’d worn the first night she’d met Greer. She hoped he wasn’t being interrogated downstairs. She’d felt awkward leaving him after a week solely in his presence. Since Birmingham it had just been the two of them. That would all change. Now there were others vying for his time. She’d have to learn to share him.
Emily’s eyes widened further. She was old enough to take in the implications of such a statement. ‘You travelled alone with my brother?’ Mercedes wished she’d worded it more carefully.
‘He’ll have to marry you!’ Clara chimed in with a worthy amount of adolescent fervour over the scandal.
‘No, he doesn’t.’ Mercedes turned away, putting a chemise in a bureau drawer scented with sweet lavender. Would she marry him if he asked? It was an academic question only. They’d never talked of any future beyond Brighton and even that future had become uncertain lately. Would they go on to Brighton? Or would only she go on? Greer had not mentioned the tournament since leaving Birmingham and it was highly possible, once he saw the benefits of home, he’d simply stop here. He didn’t need Brighton, not like she did.
‘How did you meet my brother?’ Emily asked. ‘Was it at a ball? Did he sweep you off your feet? Greer’s a great dancer.’ Of course, she would think they met at a ball. Where else did nice girls of Emily’s background meet nice young men? It was another reminder of how far apart their two worlds were.
The girl would have to be redirected before the questions became more awkward. She wouldn’t lie to Greer’s sister, but the truth might see her expedited from the house. His parents wouldn’t like her telling impressionable Emily that she’d been travelling the countryside playing billiards with men and masquerading in brothels.
‘I met him in Brighton. He had business with my father.’ It was true, but it wouldn’t hold up for long. It was time to redirect. ‘Have you been to Brighton?’ She didn’t expect they had. Young girls didn’t travel further than the distance between the schoolroom and the dining room. ‘The Prince’s pavilion is a sight to behold. I’ve danced there once.’
