Bronwyn Scott Read online

  ‘Is this what you’ve been sitting in the carriage all morning thinking about? How to put me off without endangering your father’s little tournament? How to deter me without your father losing me?’ In Bath, it had been her biggest fear—that he’d leave. He should have remembered. Instead, he’d given her womanly sensibilities too much credit. They’d come to a large spreading chestnut. He leaned against the trunk, arms crossed, daring her to admit to it.

  ‘No, that’s not it at all.’ Something akin to genuine hurt flashed in her grey eyes. ‘I was thinking of your best interests.’ Her voice was sharp and low. She stood just inches from him, her colour high. His desire for her stirred. A woman shouldn’t look so beautiful when she was rejecting a man. They’d have been better off standing in front of the store window with their masked conversation. This plain speaking exposed too much. No wonder society didn’t recommend it.

  ‘Listen to me, Greer. Last night was supposed to have been wild, a moment out of time fuelled by emotions.’ She mirrored his earlier sentiments exactly. He supposed it was reassuring to know they’d started that spiral into passion with the same intentions. But what she said next transfixed him. ‘Then it became...’ she glanced down at her hands ‘...more.’ She looked up at him, her soul evident in her grey eyes as she uttered the next, ‘It wasn’t supposed to, but it did.’ And if it keeps happening, we might both end up with far more than we sought.

  That’s when the truth hit him. She hadn’t known. He’d been the first to show her true pleasure, something beyond the physical.

  ‘There can be more, Mercedes.’ Relief was swamping him. She wasn’t rejecting him. She was just nervous, on unfamiliar ground, which he suspected happened very rarely to Mercedes Lockhart. He wanted to kiss her, to reassure her they could manage this. He reached for her but Mercedes warded him off with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. ‘Wait. You have to promise me one thing, Greer.’

  ‘What? Anything.’ She could have asked for a hair off the head of the Emperor of China. He would have promised anything, too, in those moments. Desire was riding him hard. But not so hard that he’d forgot the lesson of last night. Mercedes didn’t play by the rules.

  ‘That you won’t fall in love with me.’

  He wanted to laugh at the request but something in her gaze held him back. ‘Would it be so terrible if I did?’

  ‘Disastrous. Promise me?’ She was in deadly earnest.

  ‘All right. I promise.’ But his fingers were crossed, thank goodness, because he suspected he already had.

  * * *

  What had she done? Mercedes was still wondering that very same thing as she dressed for dinner that night. She’d allowed herself to commit to a relationship with Greer Barrington, something she’d vowed not to do when this crazy adventure of her father’s had begun. It had not been her intention when she’d started that conversation after lunch. She’d spent all morning in the carriage rehearsing and reasoning.

  She’d had her night; the mystique of him had been resolved. She had her entry fee. She needed to focus on the tournament, not a relationship that was bound to be short-lived. It wouldn’t last past Brighton. If she faced him in the tournament, she’d have to beat him and he would hate her for it. Until then, though, he might love her, for a little while. It was hard to convince herself it wouldn’t be worth it.

  Mercedes dug through her jewellery case until she found a pair of small pearl earrings. She laughed at herself as she put them on. It was ridiculous, really, pearl earrings to dine at an inn, albeit an upscale one. It was a sign of how far she’d fallen. Being with Greer was either the bravest or dumbest thing she’d ever done.

  In either case, it was definitely selfish. She’d wanted him, had wanted him from that first night in the garden. Even then the risks had been obvious to her, and then, like now, she’d given them no regard. She’d brazened ahead, taking what she wanted and now here she was dressing for dinner at an inn as if it were a lord’s manor.

  Mercedes gave her hair a final look in the small mirror and smoothed the skirts of her pale peach gown—a perfect affair for early summer in light layers of chiffon, one of the Season’s preferred fabrics according to the magazines out of London. She stared at her reflection a moment longer and took the opportunity to give herself a strong reminder. Be careful. This was how it had started the last time she’d got into trouble over a man. Luce Talmadge had been debonair and ultimately very persuasive to a young girl’s heart. He, too, had been a special favourite of her father’s and she’d ended up...well, she’d ended up in a very bad position with him. Enough said.

  A knock on the door ended that bout of self-talk. Mercedes answered the door and smiled. Greer stood there, ready to take her down to supper in the private parlour. He, too, had taken care with his appearance, changing out of his travelling clothes into a jacket of blue superfine that did dazzling things to his eyes, buff trousers and a gold-on-gold paisley-patterned waistcoat with the popular shawl collar.

  ‘I like the waistcoat,’ Mercedes complimented appreciatively, linking her arm through his. ‘Is it new?’ She couldn’t recall him having worn it before.

  ‘I had it ordered in Bath. Tonight seemed like a good night to break it in.’ Greer covered her hand with his where it lay on his arm. The gesture sent a shot of heat to her belly and a gambler’s deadliest mantra to her head: This time it will be different. If gamblers didn’t believe that, a whole lot more of them would walk away from the table a whole lot sooner and richer.

  But Greer wasn’t anything like Luce Talmadge. Besides, Greer had promised not to fall in love with her and a gentleman never broke his word. It was flimsy reassurance at best when he was looking at her with those hot eyes as if he would not only devour her right there on the stairs but would protect her from anyone else who tried to do the same.

  * * *

  Dinner was a festive affair with an excellent roasted beef, fresh vegetables from the local market and newly baked bread, accompanied by a good bottle or two of red wine. Luxurious by country standards, the meal was simple enough to be a welcome departure from the richer meals they’d eaten in Bath.

  The three of them had the night off, her father declared with a flourish, pouring a second bottle of wine. There was no billiards table at this particular establishment, although her father had heard there was one in the assembly rooms down the street. He thought he might take a stroll in that direction but Greer needn’t come.

  ‘That is if you two are all right on your own?’ her father asked solicitously. ‘I could stay in and we could all play cards.’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ Mercedes assured him. Under the table, she kicked off a slipper and ran a foot up Greer’s leg, attempting to finish what she’d started at lunch. ‘Maybe we’ll take a walk before the light fades.’ It wouldn’t be a very long walk. She knew exactly what she wanted to do with Greer and it did not involve walking or playing cards.

  She found a sensitive spot on the back of his calf with her toe and watched him stiffen in response. She hid her laughter in her wine glass. Dinner finished quickly after that. Her father was eager to get to the assembly room and she was eager to get...well, frankly, to her room and do some assembling of her own, or dissembling as the case might be.

  ‘You’re a very naughty girl, Mercedes,’ Greer said once her father had departed.

  ‘It’s not my fault you’re ticklish behind your knee.’

  ‘Truly, Mercedes, at the table? In front of your father?’ He finished the last of his wine and set his glass down.

  Mercedes could hear the evidence of humour in his voice. ‘It wasn’t in front of him. Technically. Besides, I’m twenty-three years old, far too old to be daddy’s little girl.’ He’d want me to have you, anyway. It would be good for him, came the unbidden thought. It was a most uncharitable idea and one she hadn’t had for quite some time, at least not since their arrival in Bath.

  On the heels of her quarrel with her father in Beckhampton, she’d been far too
focused on raising her own stake for the tournament to give much thought to manipulating Greer. In Bath, she’d hardly seen him in a billiards context. Her contact with him, while extensive, had been limited to the social, and her needs had taken precedence. Now that her place in the tournament was secured and the whirl of Bath was behind them, the old thoughts had nothing to hold them back. It was a most unsettling realisation following the commitment she’d made today to Greer and a reminder that there was more than one way she could hurt him in all this. He would be devastated if he ever believed the passion between them had been nothing more than a means to an end. There were two things she hoped he would never find out about her. That was one of them.

  ‘What are you thinking, Mercedes? You’ve gone quiet.’ Greer’s own foot was starting to caress a trail up her leg.

  ‘I’m thinking we should take that walk. Then, when my father asks in the morning what we’ve been up to, we can tell him the truth.’

  Greer laughed at that and pushed back his chair, feet games forgot. ‘Ah, verisimilitude at its finest, the impression of truth. Perhaps we’ll note a few minor landmarks on the way to add more credence to our claim.’

  The evening was fair and other couples were out strolling the High Street of the small town. A warm tremor of satisfaction rippled through her at the notion; they were a couple. For a little while, she was Greer’s. She should enjoy the moment and not worry so much how it would end. After all, she already knew it would and that was half the battle. It meant no unpleasant surprises.

  ‘People are staring,’ Mercedes noted as they made another pass down the street.

  Greer seemed unbothered by it. He put his mouth close to her ear so as not to be overheard. ‘Of course they are, that’s the purpose of all this, isn’t it? This is their version of society. They’ll go home and talk about who was with whom and what they wore and it will keep them busy until tomorrow night when they do it all over again. It’s no different than London or Bath, just a smaller scale.’

  ‘Much smaller.’ Mercedes laughed.

  ‘Italy has a similar custom,’ Greer said, helping her over a muddy spot in the street. ‘It’s called passeggiata. Literally, it means a slow walk. Every night, people come out into the piazzas and stroll for hours, talking and showing off new clothes.’

  ‘Showing off new loves too, I should think.’ Mercedes said the first thing that came to mind. ‘It would be the perfect way for a woman to say “stay away, he’s mine now.”’

  Greer chuckled. ‘My, my, my, what a calculating little mind you have, Miss Lockhart. Can’t it just be for fun?’

  She immediately felt guilty. It would be nice to have part of her mind reserved to see things as ‘just for fun’. ‘It sounds lovely,’ she said, trying to make up for her callous comment. ‘I have to admit, most of my social experiences have been overlaid with a heavy dose of calculation: the right dress, the right information about a guest used at just the right time to flatter him.’ She shrugged an apology.

  ‘Like the night I came to dinner?’ Greer asked softly, though there was an underlying edge to the question. They’d come to an intersection and Greer pulled her aside into a quiet street of closed shops. ‘I was supposed to meet you that night despite your protests to the contrary. I remember exactly what you said: “My father doesn’t need me to vet half-pay officers.”’

  He paused and searched her face. ‘You wore a blue dress a shade darker than the dining room. You looked like you’d been posed for a portrait, so beautiful, so perfect. How much of that was for me?’

  ‘I would have dressed well for the party regardless. My father wanted to sell tables that night.’

  ‘Mercedes, tell me the truth.’ His voice held the sharpness of steel in the gathering dusk. She hadn’t come out here to fight. ‘Your father knew I wouldn’t be buying any tables and yet you, arguably your father’s finest, most persuasive weapon, sat next to me.’ A dangerous realisation lit his eyes and Mercedes opted for honesty. Greer would not tolerate a lie. Why did he have to ask these questions now?

  Her chin went up. ‘I watched you play at the club through a peephole. My father wanted my opinion of your skill.’

  ‘And when I passed inspection, I was invited to dinner to meet you personally.’ Greer finished for her. He gave a wry half-smile. ‘You’ve been coaching me from the start, since that very first dinner.’ He waved a hand in vague gesture. ‘Is that why you don’t want me to love you? You’re afraid I’ll discover I’ve been nothing but another Lockhart pawn?’ Greer drew a deep breath. ‘And when you wagered the road against the envelope?’

  This was decidedly uncomfortable territory. She feared Greer was slipping away from her already, convinced she was in some conspiracy with her father, that she had used him, maybe was still using him. She had to act fast or her own little passeggiata was going to come to a screeching, disastrous halt. ‘Your own chivalry worked against you. I didn’t ask you to bet the envelope.’

  ‘But you threw the second game, knowing I’d feel badly about beating you twice.’

  ‘Your tendencies are not my fault,’ Mercedes argued, thinking how much he’d changed since then. He was far less vulnerable to that strategy, thanks to her. That was one lesson he’d learned well.

  Greer gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I was a fool.’

  ‘Why?’ Mercedes slid her hands up the lapels of his jacket. ‘Do you regret what has happened? This has been a fabulous opportunity for you and you’ve done well. I’m hard-pressed to say you’ve been “used.” You’ve made money, you have new waistcoats to wear.’ She smiled at her try for levity. It worked a bit. ‘You’ve been travelling, meeting people and doing something you love.’ She shot him a look from beneath her lashes. ‘I don’t think working the home farm would have provided the same. But perhaps I’m wrong?’ she said with an innocent air.

  Greer shook his head with a smile. ‘Lucifer’s balls, Mercedes, I swear you could sell milk to a cow.’

  She smiled back; inside she sang a song of relief. She wasn’t going to lose him tonight. It scared her just how glad that made her feel. ‘Don’t overthink things, Captain. Some things we should accept at face value.’

  He gave a genuine laugh, loud enough to attract a few more stares their direction. ‘Oh, that’s rich, coming from the woman who has turned passeggiata into a calculated marriage mart.’

  She looked up at him, her hands still twined in his lapels. ‘It’s not all calculation,’ she whispered. ‘This isn’t.’ She reached up and dared a soft kiss on his mouth. ‘And this isn’t.’ She blew against his ear. ‘Nothing that has happened between us has been planned, Greer. That’s why it’s been so very difficult.’ If he believed anything he had to believe this. ‘I didn’t bargain on falling for you.’

  Then he nipped at her ear and said the words she so desperately needed to hear. ‘I know.’

  She ran a hand between them for a discreet caress. ‘Let’s go back to the room and do something just for fun.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fun turned out to involve the rest of the wine and a bowl of strawberries with cream the innkeeper had put out for dessert. Greer grabbed up the bowl and wine and climbed the stairs behind Mercedes, watching the sway of her hips and acknowledging that he was staking a lot of assumptions on the sincerity of her climax last night.

  At the moment, a large part of his body didn’t care, but he knew later an even larger part would—the part made up of his honour, his intelligence and self-respect, the core components of a man’s pride. He would not stand for being duped, not even for a beautiful woman. In the military, one learned quickly to keep one’s wits about them or end up dead. Beautiful women were as dangerous as anyone else, just more distracting, which required double diligence.

  At the top of the stairs, Mercedes slipped the key into the lock and turned to him with a secret smile. ‘Won’t you come in?’

  He set the bowl and wine on a small table, taking in the room. It was bigger than his and far b
etter appointed. A massive oak bed stood in the centre of the room covered in a cheery blue-and-yellow quilt, and a maid had been in to lay an evening fire. There was a dressing screen behind which the private essentials were delicately hidden from view. In all, the room was homey and inviting. Mercedes stood before the fire, pushing down the puffed sleeve of her gown.

  ‘No.’ Greer strode forwards, taking her hand gently away from the sleeve. ‘Tonight, let me undress you.’ Last night had been a hurried joint affair. ‘I want to enjoy you, inch by inch.’ Last night had been frantic, physical sex. Fabulous physical sex, but tonight would be different. It would be a slow feast of love-making or at least as close as one could get to such a thing without breaking his promise, or exposing himself unduly to heartbreak.

  He removed her dress first, his hands skimming the soft skin of her shoulders and following the gown down over corseted breasts and slim hips, tracing the erotic silhouette of her, thankful the gown hadn’t required a petticoat. He took off the stays next, luxuriating in the feel of her breasts falling free into his hands, their dusky nipples pressing against the thin cloth of the chemise. He stroked them with his thumbs, his own arousal straining and thick in the confines of his trousers. But it was not time for that yet.

  ‘Sit for me.’ He pressed her into the chair and bent to her feet, removing her slippers and sliding his hands up one leg and then the other, searching for the hem of her silk stockings. His fingers brushed the damp triangle between her thighs, his erection surging at the evidence she was absolutely ready for him, but he would prolong this if he could, turn it into the most exquisite of personal pleasures for her.

  He knelt between her thighs, his face even with hers. Her pulse raced at the base of her neck, further assurance she was enjoying this. He gave a wicked grin. His hands covered hers where they rested on the chair arms. His mouth bent to the top ridge of her chemise, tugging with his teeth at the pale blue ribbon securing it, and pulled it through its eyelet casings. Greer rocked back on his haunches, extracted a knife from his boot and severed the ribbon into two lengths.