Bronwyn Scott Read online

  She raised a dark brow. ‘Mistakes aren’t usually of this magnitude. My father was already a renowned champion in our circles when Luce took up with us. If I’d been smarter, I’d have seen that Luce was using me as access to my father. Luce was, and is, a consummate user of people, only he’s not very subtle at it, which makes falling for him that much worse.’

  She shook her head and traced a pattern on the sofa cushion, unable to look at him. ‘I mistook his lack of subtlety for boldness and tenacity. When we’re seventeen, I suppose we don’t make those distinctions. My father tried to warn me, but I was too stubborn to listen. Anyway, my father took Luce on a short tour to advertise the Brighton room. He was good at billiards and even better at separating people from their money. I went with them and it was heady stuff for a girl fresh out of boarding school.’

  Much the same as it was now. The comparison between the two situations was not lost on him. It was the second time in as many hours he’d been cast in the role of Lockhart’s protégé, and the label did not sit well with him. He was about to protest that this time was different, but Mercedes read his mind. ‘Now that I’ve started, you have to let me finish.’ She put a soft finger to his lips.

  ‘Luce convinced me he was in love and that he wanted to marry me. He painted a compelling picture. We’d be the most dazzling couple in Brighton and I was not immune to the images he conjured. They were exciting and I entirely overlooked the reality that all of Luce’s dreams were built on my father’s subscription room. He’d assumed I would inherit the club. It was only one of many assumptions Luce made about my connection to my father’s wealth.

  ‘We married three days before we returned to Brighton, a secret wedding in the morning in a church in a tiny sea-coast village. Luce told me I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He wooed me with kisses and a solid gold ring. He’d even been a bit misty-eyed when he slipped it on my finger.’

  Mercedes shrugged. ‘In truth, I was having misgivings before we married, but in my stubbornness I shoved them away, blaming it on my father. I wouldn’t let myself be influenced by him. I was going to make this decision on my own.’

  Greer wanted to punch the man again. He knew men like Luce Talmadge, who preyed on the susceptibilities of young girls. Fortune hunters existed at all levels of society. It just proved that ‘susceptibilities’ came in all forms; her own inherent stubbornness had been as lethal to Mercedes as a weaker woman’s belief in false flattery. But he could well imagine an obstinate Mercedes, a formidable force even at seventeen. Words would not have stopped her once she’d set her mind.

  ‘We didn’t tell my father until we got back. He was furious. He said a real man would ask permission, a real man wouldn’t slink off behind his back and marry a man’s daughter. We were in my father’s study and I remember very clearly how my father looked at me and said, “He’s only after your money, Mercedes.”’

  Greer’s gut clenched in anticipation of what would come next: a deal of the kind Lockhart loved to make, the kind where no man was forced to do anything other than what his nature motivated him to do, like the greedy man in the club tonight. The only difference was that tonight, the man had been his own victim. In this scheme, it had been Mercedes.

  ‘Of course, Luce made all the requisite noises about being offended by my father’s brash assumptions. Then my father stood up and went to his safe. He pulled out a stack of pound notes and a document. He set them on his desk. He opened the document and showed it to Luce. It was his will, in which he left the subscription room to Kendall Carlisle. In the event that Carlisle preceded him in death, it comes to me in the form of a trust to be overseen by my father’s solicitor. It’s never mine directly.’

  ‘Let me guess—Talmadge didn’t like that arrangement?’

  Mercedes gave a sad laugh. ‘At the time, I thought he was going to faint. It’s rather funny now, at a distance. But I assure you, it was not humourous then to look the man you thought you loved in the face and see quite clearly that your love was a one-way thing.’

  Promise me you won’t fall in love with me. Was that because she didn’t feel the same way? Had she extracted that promise in order to protect him? ‘What did your father do next?’

  ‘He tapped the pounds notes with his hand and said, “There are a thousand pounds in this stack and I’ll write you a personal cheque on my account in London for nine thousand more if you take the money, declare the marriage false and walk out this door today with the promise that you will make no further claim on Mercedes.” I don’t think it took Luce even a minute to make up his mind. I had not seen him in six years until this evening.’

  Tears threatened. Greer could see them swim in her grey eyes. She swiped them away with a dash of her hand. But they weren’t tears for Talmadge. ‘It’s embarrassing beyond words to know you were sold for ten thousand pounds. In my girlish dreams, I’d thought forever would cost a bit more.’ She shrugged and tried for a smile.

  ‘I think you have it backwards.’ Greer said thoughtfully, his eyes on her. ‘You weren’t sold. Your freedom was bought.’ Whatever he might think of Lockhart, the man had done this one good deed.

  She nodded. ‘I’ll always owe my father for that. He’d warned me. I didn’t listen and yet he was still there, in his own way, to pick me up.’

  It was one of the ways in which Lockhart had a nobility of his own. Greer saw that. But he also saw the prison it created for Mercedes and he liked that even less. Lockhart was not above using people, even his own daughter. Greer had seen him do it on two occasions. Lockhart knew precisely what he was owed by others, Mercedes included.

  Greer pulled his hand out of the ice and flexed it experimentally, slowly. ‘I’m glad I hit him.’ He knit his brow. ‘Is this the reason you didn’t want me to fall in love with you? You didn’t want me to find out about Luce?’ He hoped it was as superficial as that and not his earlier supposition.

  ‘Something like that.’ Her answer was not reassuring.

  ‘But not quite? Talmadge and I are not the same. I’m not using you, not looking to trap you. You’ve said you’re not using me.’ He could not make it any plainer without breaking his promise to her. He would break it, but not yet. An inspiration struck him.

  ‘Why did you come on this trip?’ Based on what she’d revealed, coming made very little sense, especially if she saw too many similarities between these circumstances and the previous ones.

  He could see this question bothered her more than anything she’d told him about Luce. She rose and paced the room, going back to her curtain at the window and looking out. So he couldn’t see her face when she lied to him? He didn’t want to believe that.

  ‘Well, Mercedes?’ he prodded. ‘What is it you wanted badly enough to put yourself through this?’ The pieces were coming fast and furious to him now. This trip was a proving ground for her, a chance to claim...something... The fight in Beckhampton... The madness of the Bath brothel. Yes. He had it.

  ‘You...’ Greer began, grappling with the reality that flooded him. ‘You wanted to be the protégée.’ She had coveted what he would throw away, what he felt distaste for. He had unwittingly stolen something from her that she cherished.

  She turned back from the window, her face fierce. ‘Yes, I wanted to be the protégée. I wanted to show him I could not only train you, but beat you. I did and it still made no difference.’

  Because she owed Lockhart. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in suggesting Lockhart had bought her freedom. He’d merely transferred it from one gaoler to another. This was the side of Lockhart that Greer could not countenance. Everyone had a purpose. Greer wondered what his was. He was not naïve enough to think he would be the one singular individual to escape Lockhart’s machinations. He wondered, too, if he could free her. Would she ever leave her father? Tonight was not the time to put the question to her.

  ‘I should go.’ Greer stood. He needed time to think, time to sort this all out and his place in it as well.

  She
came to him and ran a finger down his shirtfront. ‘I think you should stay.’

  Greer trapped her finger with his good hand. ‘Not tonight. We both have too much on our minds. I don’t think there would be room in bed for all of it.’ Not when she was vulnerable, not when she might be tempted to use sex as a way to bind him to her. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. ‘Goodnight, Mercedes. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  But he couldn’t help wondering as the door closed behind him if things would ever be the same between them. His mind was far too restless for sleep. A walk would do his body good and the gaslights of the city centre made Birmingham safe enough if a man was careful.

  * * *

  The irony of what occupied his mind, however, was that his thoughts were not on Luce Talmadge and the brief, ridiculous marriage. He’d been the first to show her true pleasures. In his more fantastical moments he hoped to be the last and only man to do so some way, somehow.

  Knowing about Talmadge made it far easier to understand Mercedes and her reticence to admit this relationship between them was anything more than sex. But that would also be the easy answer. Did she return his feelings or was she using him? Was he still merely a tool to get what she wanted from her father? Was she so determined to wrest it from her father that she was willing to sleep with the enemy? Did she still hate him for being the protégé?

  The real issue that occupied his mind as he walked Birmingham was what to do about Lockhart. The longer he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Lockhart was the villain of the piece and he wanted no more part of it—no more inns, no more days on the road, no more nights watching Lockhart trade on his celebrity in big towns or adopting false aliases in small towns in order to ‘pluck peacocks’ or some other game. Lockhart liked toying with people, determine their price.

  Greer felt shame that he’d let Lockhart toy with him for so long. Lockhart had been in his element in Bath, introducing him as Lord Captain Barrington. And Greer had let him, convinced that such a use of his title could buy Mercedes acceptability. In part, he’d begun to believe in his own mystique, charmed by his own growing celebrity as he won game after game, as he danced with Mercedes in his arms, distracted by beauty, lust, and money.

  It had been a glorious life for a few weeks. He wanted to be angry at Lockhart for leading him into such iniquity, but there was no one to be angry with but himself. Lockhart had simply dangled the carrot—something the man was very good at doing. No one had made him take it. No one could make him stay.

  Birmingham had a direct train route to London. He should be on it first thing in the morning. But truly, he didn’t want to go to London. He wanted to go home, to the rich fields of Devonshire, fields he hadn’t seen in three years. There would be sense in Devonshire, equilibrium, even if there was a reckoning to go with it. But he couldn’t go, not without Mercedes. If he left her now, he would not get her back. If there was one thing he didn’t regret about this madcap trip, it was her. Could she say the same for him? Would she come? There was only one reason to come and many reasons to stay. Would she refuse because of Luce?

  Only the densest of people would fail to see the parallels there in his request. Or would she refuse because it meant choosing another man over her father, who had rescued her once before and to whom she felt indebted? Or would she refuse because she’d been using him all along? If he was gone, she could be the protégée just as she had planned.

  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 kil
ling 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.